Music
‘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.
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.”
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
Ye Vagabonds: All Tied Together – Five stars for this powerfully raw modern trad
By Ed Power | Irish Times
Among the new wave of critically acclaimed Irish folk artists, it has been all too easy to overlook the Ye Vagabonds siblings, Diarmuid and Brían Mac Gloinn. Although their music has long had a beautifully rapturous quality, they lack the in-your-face wow factor of the Mercury-nominated drone punks Lankum or the storytelling charm of John Francis Flynn.
Their moment of recognition may at last be at hand with this stunning album for Geoff Travis’s River Lea label, a wonderfully vulnerable collection rooted in angst and woe but carried aloft by a poetic defiance.
Recorded in a house in Galway, All Tied Together is a powerfully raw listen that comes off as a sort of craggy Irish Simon & Garfunkel, the effect heightened by luminous harmonies and keening instrumentation.
Tender yet never maudlin, with diaristic lyrics about tragic break-ups and unfulfilled futures, it knits together the ancient and the modern with haunting verve. One moment you’re soaking up the turf‑fire glow of On Sitric Road, the opening track; the next the LP knocks you backwards with the dam‑busting instrumental refrain of The Flood.
Above all, it arrives as a blessed relief amid trying times for Irish traditional music. In one sense the genre has never been more acclaimed: Lankum headline festivals around the world; and the vampire caper Sinners, which has been nominated for a record-breaking 16 Oscars, including for its score, soundtracks a pivotal scene with a modern take on Rocky Road to Dublin, complete with Riverdancing undead.
But, as often happens in the music industry, the renaissance in trad has now been commodified. This has been brought painfully home over the past year with the existential horror that is Kingfishr’s Killeagh, an ode to the east Cork hurling team that marks the coming of age of the new “boggercore” genre.
Boggercore has been with us a while – it stretches, via the 2 Johnnies, right back to D’Unbelievables. But with Kingfishr and their sonic and sartorial clones Amble it came into its kingdom as a cynical dumbing down of the great strides made by traditional over the previous decade.
This isn’t to question anybody’s taste – people like what they like – or to pit, say, Lankum against Kingfishr. It’s merely to acknowledge that in every genre there comes a moment when the mainstream wants a piece of the action. That, alas, was trad’s fate in 2025 – to which we can only say, “Killeagh, nah, nah-nah”.
Without ever intending to, Ye Vagabonds offer some much‑needed spiritual respite from that bleak trend with the sublime All Tied Together. It’s as stark as a shriek, as murkily mysterious as bogwater and lit by a constant sense of curiosity and wonder.
The album also marks a new chapter for the duo, who were raised as Irish speakers in Carlow and went on to become embedded in Dublin’s folk underground.
Among their fans is the Boygenius singer Phoebe Bridgers, who asked for Ye Vagabonds to open for the indie supergroup in Dublin in 2023.
They pour all of those experiences into tracks such as Danny, a starkly modern tale of a young man unravelling in contemporary Ireland (“His girlfriend hit the needle … You could see that she was fading / By the shadows round his eyes”).
As with the best modern trad, the project constantly takes risks – on Gravity they fuse the melancholy of Irish folk with the menacing bite of postrock. The mood then swerves back to a-cappella pop on Mayfly, a tune that lives up to its name with its beautifully flitting evanescence.
A record full of cries and whispers ends with the hush of Forget About the Rain, which frames the siblings’ voices with gentle piano and guitar. It is heartbreakingly sad – as many of the songs here are – yet ultimately this is an album sure to fill its listeners with joy.
