‘It was spooky’: folk singer Olivia Chaney on how a song reflecting her own Brontë-ish love triangle wound up in Wuthering Heights

Offsetting Charli xcx, Chaney’s take on 19th-century ballad Dark Eyed Sailor accompanies Margot Robbie on the moors – but it’s just a tiny part of her culture-crossing, history-vaulting musical catalogue

An hour into Emerald Fennell’s Wuthering Heights, Margot Robbie is in a gauzy wedding dress, gliding forlornly across the moors towards the man her character feels she has to marry. A lone female English voice appears to accompany her, high and pure against the buzzing drone of a harmonium, singing about a woman roaming alone, and a man who, for “seven years, left the land”, before his eventual return.

Olivia Chaney: Dark Eyed Sailor – video

Long before Emerald Fennell found Olivia Chaney’s version of 19th-century ballad the Dark Eyed Sailor online, Chaney was preparing to sing it for a 2013 live session on Mark Radcliffe’s BBC Radio 2 folk show, in the midst of her own Brontë-esque love triangle. “I was at the beginning of my relationship with the man who is now my husband and the father of my two children – he nearly married someone else, and I nearly had kids with someone else.”

She recounts this from her Yorkshire living room, minutes after getting home from the nursery run. “So to see this song first pop up to support Cathy’s emotions around her being with the wrong man … it was very spooky.”

Fennell told Chaney she was choosing between three of her songs for the film. She settled on this one “because she connected with it”, says Chaney. “There’s something about the way she uses my voice, not surrounded by [an] orchestra at all, that shows how raw and emotional I felt.”

 

The song’s rescue from the vaults came at a serendipitous time for Chaney, a wide-ranging artist recently returning to folk. Her previous three albums, mainly of originals, include 2024’s Circus of Desire; its title track was remixed by Vessel, and Chaney’s dancing in the video recalled the two years she spent singing live with Zero 7. On 27 February, she plays her first gig with her new British folk-rock band, News From Nowhere, which has quite the lineup: Tom Skinner, the drummer from the Smile and Sons of Kemet (“one of my favourite musicians on earth”), Owen Spafford on violin and electronics, singer-songwriter Clara Mann, and composer/producer Leo Abrahams, with whom Chaney recorded her debut EP the same year as that fateful Mark Radcliffe session.

Chaney discovered folk music as a path for herself in her 20s. She knew some folk-rock and singer-songwriters from her parents’ record collection, but she sang Hildegard of Bingen’s music with the Oxford Girls’ Choir, and won a scholarship to Chetham’s School of Music at 14 to study voice and piano, going on to study jazz at the Royal Academy of Music in London in 2000.

Seven years later, after being stood up on a date – “a bit blue, really in my own world, and not knowing where to go with my singing” – she went to an afterparty with friends at London’s Southbank Centre. “And I saw this really shy busker playing this heavenly music. I ran over, begging, ‘What are you playing? Who are you like? Do you want to work together?’” The busker, Matthew Ord, now a lecturer in folk music at Newcastle university, was playing Planxty Irwin, a tune by the 17th-century Irish composer and blind harpist Turlough O’Carolan.

Ord taught Chaney many traditional songs, including Dark Eyed Sailor: “I really responded to the words and the emotions in it,” she says. Then, one day, he turned up at her house with a harmonium and asked if she wanted to play it. “And that was that.”

Chaney became one of Britain’s most exciting new folk performers, earning the respect of veteran folk artists. She supported Shirley Collins on her 2017 tour, sang with Richard Thompson at his 70th birthday concert at the Royal Albert Hall and performed at last year’s all-star tribute gig to Martin Carthy in Hackney. She also fronted folk-rock supergroup Offa Rex with the Decemberists; their brilliant 2017 album, Queen of Hearts, was nominated for a Grammy.

This summer, she’s also releasing an album of songs by composer Henry Purcell and performing them with a chamber ensemble at the London venue Kings Place, where she’s an artist in residence this year. “Purcell wrote for kings and queens, but he was also down the pub listening to the ballads and the broadsides,” says Chaney. “His ability to write a catchy tune, almost like a pop hook, made his songs go straight back into the street culture of the day. I’m so interested in those connections.”

That cross-cultural mindset is typical of Chaney’s outlook. The only other voice heard singing in Wuthering Heights is that of Charli xcx, who produced a companion album to the record. “I think her music’s great and very harmonious with my song – it all ties in really well together,” says Chaney. “Even though there are some bangers, harmonically they are in a similar world to Dark Eyed Sailor. There’s even synths and sounds that are in a similar sonic tonal world to my harmonium.”

For years, Chaney’s version of Dark Eyed Sailor only existed in live YouTube clips, but she finally released a recorded version last Friday, produced by Oli Deakin (mastermind of CMAT’s albums If My Wife New I’d Be Dead and Euro-Country). She’d recorded “many” versions of it before – three were even mastered for albums, but “never quite fit”. She finally heard it fit at the Wuthering Heights premiere in Leicester Square on 5 February.

What was the evening like? “Drinking champagne behind Richard E Grant?” She laughs. “Insane. I gripped my husband’s hand so tight when the song came in – hearing my voice all alone – that it reminded me of giving birth, gripping my doula’s hand so hard I nearly broke her knuckles!”

The song appears again when Heathcliff returns to Cathy, now rich and grown up, and in the film’s final, longing minutes. It’s always been Chaney’s husband’s favourite recording, she adds. “It’s a song I love very much. It comes back and haunts you.”

Source: ‘It was spooky’: folk singer Olivia Chaney on how a song reflecting her own Brontë-ish love triangle wound up in Wuthering Heights

Gwenifer Raymond “Live at WFMU”

Gwenifer Live at WFMU was recorded on December 8th, at the tail end of Gwenifer Raymond’s December North American tour dates. This session captures Gwenifer Raymond performing a stark, spellbinding selection of songs drawn from her critically acclaimed albums Last Night I Heard The Dog Star Bark and Strange Lights Over Garth Mountain.

Widely regarded as one of the great folk artists of the 21st century, Raymond has earned international praise for her raw, hypnotic instrumentals rooted in Mississippi and Appalachian traditions.

Live at WFMU is a one-time, 300-copy pressing of her set recorded on the show Everybody’s Songs.

Listen to the audio here – wfmu.org/playlists/shows/159833

Source: Live at WFMU, by Gwenifer Raymond

To That Man Robert Burns

Woody Guthrie

In this letter-poem, Woody Guthrie points out the similarities between himself and Robert Burns, and the deep connection he felt to the poet, as well as reminiscing about visiting Scotland as a torpedoed seaman during the Second World War.

Dear Robert Burns,

You skipped the big town streets just like I done, you ducked the crosstown cop just like I ducked, you dodged behind a beanpole to beat the bigtime dick and you very seldom stopped off in any big city where the rigged corn wasn’t drying nor the hot vine didn’t help you do your talking.

Your talking was factual figures of the biggest sort, though. Your talking had the graphboard and the chart and had something else most singers seem to miss, the very kiss of warm dew on the stalk.

Your words turned into songs and floated upstream and then turned into rains and drifted down and lodged and swung and clung to drifts of driftwood to warm and heat and fertilize new seeds. Your words were of the upheath and the down, your words were more from heather than from town. Your thoughts came more from weather than from schoolroom and more from shifting vines than from the book.

I go to the church halfway between the farm and halfway into the town and halfway back. I sing and dance at just one altar only and cry with the folks that would like to be more fertile. If there’s a bench I kneel down to laugh and cry on, I suppose it’s this bench with the kids waiting along it while us dads and us mamas stamp and stomp around looking for something to give our trip more sense. I worship in the limbroof arbors of pure fertility and very little else makes sense to me. Like Robert Burns and Jesus and some others I believe we ought to learn how to make a law or two to help us brothers love the sisters more.

I bought your little four-inch square book when I was a torpedoed seaman walking around over your clods and sods of Glasgow and the little book says on the outer cover, Fifty Songs of Burns, the price 4d, and I read from page to page and found you covered a woman on every page. I thought as I picked the book up here at home that maybe the book ought to have some kind of a new name. Like, Fifty Pages of Fifty Women, enlarged upon by Robert Burns.

Well, Rob, it’s awfully rainy here in Coney today. Been drizzling like this now for several days to make some folks happy and some folks sad, since this is a big resort town and folks pay good money to come here from all over. Some like the rain today and some folks hate it. I like it and love it for several reasons, like you’d love it, to see our new seeds grow in this old trashy back yard, and to see these green shoots, roots, limbs and leaves start dancing like Tirza and her Wine Bath. And because Marjorie just painted some flowers of a wild and jumpy color on the pink wall of the baby’s room so when he does squirm his way out here to see his light of the day he’ll see some twisting flowers like you seen all around your rock hearths and heatherhills there all over your Scotland. This rain is making the grass and flowers spud out, the roots to crawl like guerrillas, and the house to take a better shape, so’s our little shoot and shaver can have these growing limbs to give him such a good fast start that maybe he can grow up in four years with us giving him pushes to be as happy and dancy and glad and joking and pretty as our little Stackybones was on that Sunday’s afternoon when she got dressed up her very prettiest in her pinkest dress and greenest ribbon to look just as nice and sweet and glad and pretty as any of your fifty girls you raved about. And fifty times fifty. The only good part about living you really did miss, Bob, was not to get to stick around a house like Marjorie keeps and see a kid like Cathy dance and grow. You died at thirty-four which was a bit too young for you to get to see these things I’m seeing in the faces of my kids.

This is why I’ll keep you posted and brought up to date as the year leafs out and me and Marjorie have more kids of the kinds you missed out on.

Published in Woody Guthrie, Born To Win (Macmillan, 1965), pp. 213–15.

June Tabor “Mayn Rue Platz”

“Mayn Rue Platz” (My Resting Place) is a famous Yiddish poem and song by Morris Rosenfeld, a “sweatshop poet,” commemorating the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire victims (1911), where a worker tells his beloved not to look for him in beautiful places but where “lives wither at the machines,” a powerful reflection on exploited labor, with various artists performing modern versions.