Hadley Roe – The Inner Garden
The Inner Garden
Hadley Roe
June 1, 2025
May 8, 2025
April 3, 2024
February 25, 2024
February 18, 2024
October 10, 2023
September 3, 2023
August 6, 2023
July 30, 2023
July 5, 2023
June 25, 2023
December 10, 2023
August 24, 2023
November 26, 2023
February 4, 2024
September 11, 2023
June 11, 2023
June 1, 2023
May 15, 2023
May 7, 2023
April 27, 2023
April 23, 2023
April 16, 2023
April 5, 2023
April 11, 2023
March 26, 2023
March 19, 2023
February 26, 2023
February 9, 2023
January 26, 2023
December 11, 2022
December 3, 2022
November 21, 2022
November 14, 2022
January 29, 2023
January 22, 2023
January 15, 2023
January 8, 2023
December 30, 2022
October 19, 2022
September 17, 2022
September 8, 2022
September 4, 2022
July 3, 2022
June 25, 2022
June 23, 2022
June 1, 2022
May 22, 2022
May 28, 2022
July 17, 2022
June 28, 2022
July 8, 2022
July 13, 2022
July 22, 2022
July 21, 2022
May 6, 2022
April 27, 2022
April 18, 2022
April 4, 2022
March 15, 2022
February 27, 2022
February 24, 2022
February 13, 2022
February 8, 2022
January 31, 2022
January 20, 2022
January 25, 2022
January 10, 2022
December 23, 2021
December 16, 2021
December 6, 2021
December 1, 2021
November 11, 2021
November 2, 2021
October 26, 2021
October 20, 2021
September 13, 2021
August 1, 2021
July 10, 2021
June 30, 2021
March 25, 2019
March 25, 2019
May 9, 2019
May 10, 2019
May 13, 2019
May 28, 2019
May 29, 2019
June 11, 2019
June 24, 2019
June 25, 2019
June 27, 2019
July 2, 2019
July 2, 2019
July 12, 2019
July 30, 2019
August 8, 2019
August 23, 2019
August 29, 2019
September 5, 2019
September 10, 2019
September 20, 2019
September 24, 2019
September 30, 2019
October 4, 2019
October 9, 2019
October 10, 2019
October 12, 2019
October 14, 2019
October 14, 2019
October 26, 2019
October 30, 2019
November 4, 2019
November 5, 2019
November 6, 2019
November 11, 2019
November 20, 2019
November 25, 2019
November 27, 2019
December 2, 2019
December 5, 2019
December 20, 2019
December 21, 2019
December 24, 2019
January 7, 2020
January 10, 2020
January 17, 2020
January 19, 2020
January 22, 2020
January 23, 2020
January 31, 2020
February 4, 2020
February 7, 2020
February 17, 2020
February 19, 2020
February 20, 2020
February 29, 2020
March 7, 2020
March 12, 2020
March 13, 2020
March 15, 2020
March 20, 2020
March 20, 2020
March 20, 2020
March 24, 2020
March 27, 2020
March 29, 2020
March 31, 2020
April 6, 2020
April 13, 2020
April 13, 2020
April 18, 2020
April 23, 2020
April 24, 2020
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020
May 1, 2020
May 5, 2020
May 6, 2020
May 7, 2020
May 11, 2020
May 13, 2020
May 15, 2020
May 15, 2020
May 28, 2020
June 5, 2020
June 5, 2020
June 5, 2020
June 10, 2020
June 16, 2020
June 17, 2020
June 19, 2020
June 23, 2020
June 26, 2020
June 27, 2020
July 1, 2020
July 14, 2020
July 17, 2020
July 18, 2020
July 20, 2020
July 21, 2020
July 23, 2020
July 24, 2020
July 30, 2020
July 30, 2020
July 31, 2020
August 2, 2020
August 5, 2020
August 7, 2020
August 11, 2020
August 14, 2020
August 18, 2020
August 19, 2020
August 21, 2020
August 24, 2020
August 25, 2020
August 29, 2020
September 5, 2020
September 5, 2020
September 9, 2020
September 11, 2020
September 14, 2020
September 15, 2020
September 17, 2020
September 21, 2020
September 27, 2020
September 28, 2020
October 13, 2020
October 16, 2020
October 21, 2020
October 29, 2020
October 31, 2020
November 1, 2020
November 5, 2020
November 10, 2020
November 12, 2020
November 23, 2020
November 26, 2020
November 29, 2020
December 4, 2020
December 10, 2020
December 12, 2020
December 15, 2020
December 22, 2020
December 27, 2020
December 30, 2020
December 31, 2020
January 7, 2021
January 9, 2021
January 17, 2021
January 24, 2021
January 31, 2021
February 1, 2021
February 7, 2021
February 18, 2021
February 24, 2021
March 4, 2021
March 11, 2021
March 31, 2021
April 16, 2021
April 20, 2021
May 4, 2021
Liam Murphy
October 26, 2021
Tracks in this feature
Tracks in this release
A pained chord sequence fades in and sits itself plainly in front of the listener on your wake. The raw twang of the notes is soothed momentarily by twin voices that begin to float out into a great cold expanse. The vocal melody is elegantly sung, but its lyrics speak candidly of a person dogged by the memory of someone who has left them. The starkness of heartbreak at exactly the wrong time sees our singers life withering away as they 'aged two years in a couple of months.’ Alone and adrift, the singer's only solace is convincing themselves that they were the one that was heartbroken. However, the pain and seclusion blurs their memory as they struggle to remember exactly who is to blame. Though the opening track plays out in a fairly classical way, there is a certain teasing toward sonic manipulation in the contrast of raw guitar and icy atmospheric vocals.
burden notches up the heartache from the very start with a guitar sequence that clambers through melancholic chords. A memory appears clearly and repeatedly in the singer's head as they communicate in a more certain and rounded tune. The simple remembrance of a time and place causes painful realisations about trust and foolish optimism. Hannah Sandoz carries a smaller and more innocent replication of herself who sings the lyrics alongside her at an impossibly fragile pitch. As she reaches up higher still, the two voices cling together in a lonesome embrace. The guitar releases its pent up emotion and the voice laments on things lost before coming to a steady and solemn finish.
A more rousing atmosphere comes with sleepy weepy sunday, the guitar moving more hurriedly as if it were rushing out of the cold. A fiddle played by Margo Roberts accompanies the proceedings, adding another film of sad reflection to the surface of the track. Though it feels Hannah Sandoz is a little more communicative and open with her vocals in this track, they speak of missing family members and even a desire to bring a mangled and disrupted life to an end. But the warm momentum of more certain and determined guitar is met with pontification on whether life would carry on the same. The flickering volume of the vocals conjuring images of a struggle up an endless hill through whipping wind. Thankfully the track is brought to a close with happy laughter and a promise to hold on for a little longer.
Hannah stretches a plucked guitar sequence till it becomes an unstable, granulated vapour. Aptly named :,,) (or happy face, with tears), this track pushes the tiny and fragile iteration of Hannah Sandoz to the forefront with the normally pitched voice swirling about in an obscuring fog. The small voice seems to represent the innermost feelings of the singer, as it describes a separation of body and soul. A pressure exerted by a broken world that threatens to tear the two apart. Though it is heartbreaking, there is a certain air of acceptance in the lyrics that is supported by the songs emoticon title. Not overtly sad, just a willing and teary acceptance of the power of feelings.
A guitar sequence rolls through quaint and optimistic chords, accented by the unmistakable sound of affectionate purring. Hannah's voice warms the track even more, with comforting harmonies and rolling coos. marigold, i miss you detaches from a sense of general moroseness and longing to celebrate one specific friend. Though it ends with an exclamation that the passing away of the friend will set their spirit free, the wholesomeness of the chords and memories sung wins out and a love for Marigold is beautifully conveyed.
ur baby begins with a plodding guitar throbbing in and out of focus. The words sing of a desire to play out a love story, an unstable connection that is tarnished by a loss of sleep and years of silence. But as we make our way through the track, its pitch heightens. At the start the voice is natural, and by the time Hannah sings of taped voicemails, it has been pushed up to a tinny and fragile pitch. The effect illustrates the desires for a troubled love as childish and immature. But there is a cuteness to the sound that is hard not to get wrapped up in. Time is truncated here, in contrast to the first track. Years of longing and heartache compressed and referred to in sped-up lines that sound like something out of a teenage diary.
It is on the closing track that we hear the results of all Hannah Sandoz's sonic manipulation. Her own voice struggles through a restrictive gauze, spitting feedback and artefacted sound. The listener can hear her desperately pushing her feelings through this robotic mouth. A solemn sequence of notes is breathed through distorted guitar, contrasted by clean and quaint strummed chords. As the almost indecipherable lyrics are run through again, screams begin to peel past the shrouded sound. The pressure of all of the broken and defunct sound becomes too much as voices crack and judder in pain. They settle as the sound dissipates, pushing breath through tired lungs as the torrent of noise disappears.
Plagued by loss and heartache, Hannah Sandoz trudges through seven incredibly engineered tracks. It is fairly difficult to avoid feeling a deep empathy when experiencing The Year of Alone. The lyrics are deeply upsetting at times, and heartwarming at others. But the melodies and textures themselves are used as vessels, to explore these feelings in deeper and more complex ways. The artist splays out the contents of her heart, contorting it through innovative sonic manipulation.