The myth of the English wild woman — a symbol of pagan rebellion and untamed nature — is an archetype often marginalized or romanticized. The New Eves, a Brighton-based quartet, fully embody this spirit, rejecting any confinement imposed by contemporary musical conventions. To call them simply a folk band would be reductive: their sound is a hypnotic fusion of Northern European rhythms, Balkan strings, and proto-punk intensity; the references are clear — the possessed chanting of Patti Smith and early Siouxsie, as well as the tribal pulses of the Raincoats, PIL, and The Fall.
Their debut The New Eve Is Rising opens with The New Eve, a fierce, visceral statement of intent. An apocalyptic, salvific figure emerges, overturning traditional narratives of femininity and embodying a folkloric rebirth. The theme of emancipation runs throughout the album: Highwayman reinterprets Alfred Noyes’ famous poem, tearing away the tropes of lost maidens and charming bandits to rewrite a wilder, angrier story. Forget the graceful corpse at the window: now it’s her turn to tell her tale, with blood on her boots, dirt under her nails, and a solo ripping through the trees like a banshee on a mission.
In Astrolabe, a nomadic and rebellious life takes shape; Cow Song oscillates between pastoral calm and chaos; Mary, a mournful ballad, weaves raw voice and refined arrangements. Each track reveals a meticulous attention to detail.
The New Eve Is Rising is one of those debuts capable of pulling the listener into a totalizing sonic experience — instinctive, unbound, and fiercely alive.