Folk Round-Up (Mànran, Nick Harper, Eve Goodman and SERA, and more)

Perfectly formed acoustic pop with tasty fiddle breaks, accordion asides, a tight rhythm section and a rolling gait in the ensemble sound makes this new Mànran album, To the Wind (Mànran Records ****), a keeper. The Scots seven-piece, known for charting a Gaelic song in the UK Top 40, mix Gaelic and English language songs here, with Kim Carnie’s voice and poppy dynamics driving the likes of ‘Woah’ and ‘Something That I Said’, though the sheen gets a bit shiny on ‘Annie’. Revel in the full band stretching its legs across instrumental numbers like ‘Downpour’ and the slower, majestic ‘The Big Yin’.

Nick Harper was born into 1960s rock and folk royalty as the son of Roy, whose buddies ranged from Bert Jansch and Davey Graham to Bolan and Bowie. Young Nick soaked it all up, and it comes across on this live set of storytelling and songcraft that is 58 Fordwych Road (Weatherbox ***). His intros, such as being Davey Graham’s preteen drugs mule, and the matter of his dad’s hash box, are very funny. And while it sometimes looks too firmly at an illustrious past that is now very far away, he is a fine player and singer.

Eve Goodman and SERA’s Natur (Recordiau Anian ***) draws inspiration from musical project Spell Songs and the Welsh names for birds, bees, flowers and the like. From these, they fashion an album of Welsh-language songs that are about “accepting our wild nature in an increasingly complex and digitalised landscape”. Both native to Caernarfon, they draw inspiration from their locale. The result is a strikingly lyrical set, with vocals weaving beautifully across the 10 tracks. ‘Tymhorau’ (Seasons) is a pillow-soft ballad, while ‘Gaeafgwsg’ (Winter Sleep) employs drone, harmony vocals and acoustic guitar to great effect.

Anna Ling’s Light (Fleet Mill Records ***) sees the Devon-based choirmaster and lush-voiced singer self-releasing her debut album, supported by players including clarinettist Isis Wolf-Light and multi-instrumentalist Briony Greenhill. Light is the key word here – light casting out rays of hope under the shadows of uncertain, dystopian times. It’s a warm-hearted set, oozing musical and lyrical delicacy, while avoiding the kind of mytho-poetic excesses that can easily run amok. Ling’s home is a yurt by the River Dart, and it’s hard not to feel yourself in earshot of its calming vicinities, wherever you are, when you listen to Light.

Fiona Tyndall’s Éinin an Cheóil (Fiona Tyndall ***) is an Irish-language album drawn from a handwritten book of more than 200 songs Tyndall’s father, Buadhach Tóibín, collected and set down in Irish script and with musical notations so that Tyndall and her siblings could sing them. Her father’s death was the impetus to record this limpid, lyrical selection of some of those songs she’d learned from him in childhood. Her own daughters, Aisling and Caoimhe, contribute vocals to the album. There’s a generous range of musicians stepping up in support, too, including Seán Whelan and Tim Edey, and while the echoey sheen of the production is sometimes dialled too high, the performances are exquisite.