This is going to sound silly for a bit, but bear with me. Last year I spent some time in Devon at a rewilding facility, and one evening I crept down the bank to a quiet bend in the river, where the farmer had told me a family of beavers were living. We sat, very quietly, on a log, and waited. I’d never seen a beaver before, apart from in David Attenborough documentaries, so wasn’t really sure what to expect. I knew them to be funny little things with large teeth and clunky, industrial tails, and all down the bank I’d seen their meticulously carved out stumps from where they’d felled trees for the dam, and all the woodchips and things, too. I was aware that I was in their home, and that I owed it to them to be a respectful guest. So we sat, quiet, as the bugs came out and the sun went down.
Eventually, the surface of the water rippled, and a furry head popped out. It was silent and very, very graceful. It swam right up in front of us and waddled about on land, collecting twigs. It was less graceful on land, but still very, very lovely. Then, it got back in the water and was all grace again.
It’s worth knowing before I say this, that I cry at a lot of things, so you could say I’m easily moved, but this lovely encounter really caught me by surprise in how much it moved me. It was the belonging that got me. This funny little creature was made beautiful in the context of how wholly and fully it belonged where it was, doing what it was doing. Most beautiful maybe, moving through the water, which it is so cleverly designed to do.
I think this is something I think about a lot, and this encounter pressed on that. What is in our nature? How do we belong in what we are doing? I wouldn’t find a crane pecking down a tree particularly beautiful, or a beaver flying between treetops particularly beautiful either. Every thing has its place, and in its place is beautiful. I think maybe that’s one of our human missions - made loud by artists - to find where we belong. And maybe that’s simple; be like the beavers. Have the courage to show up exactly as you are. You belong just by being. The beavers’ work is not work to them, it is their way. Maybe it could be that way for me, too. Maybe I don’t have to earn it, maybe it’s there. And maybe my work as it is, and as I am, is more simple than I thought. Maybe it has secretly been that way for all of us, and we’re all too worried and stressed to see it. So that’s why it made me cry.
Music is full of people who are searching for belonging, and often in making music we are reaching out to others that feel like they do not belong, and pulling them into that circle of belonging with us. But, it requires something of artists to find this in their output, in their practice. Authenticity, maybe? I don’t know.
Anyway. Watching artists show up, unapologetically, plainly, and have the courage to say “I’m here, and we all are together, isn’t that a strange and lovely thing?” is another thing that makes me cry.
So I’d like to invite you to Soundings, where I hope we can all belong together for a bit, in the presence of two artists who prioritise this kind of showing up in their work, on June 23rd, with the inimitable Lilo and Chloe Foy, both of whom have had new albums out earlier this year.
Listen to them here:
Lilo
Lilo are a band built on friendship, trust, and an almost telepathic musical connection. Made up of lifelong friends Christie and Helen, the duo’s sound merges tender folk roots with the shimmering edges of pop and Americana, always anchored by their instinctive harmonies and candid storytelling. Their long-awaited debut album Blood Ties is a deeply personal and emotionally expansive record, tracing the messy beauty of growing up, weathering heartbreak, and holding onto each other through it all. Written over years of shared experience—from euphoric late-night drives to gut-wrenching personal reckonings—the album is as much about the power of chosen family as it is about the music itself.
Chloe Foy
With her strikingly beautiful voice and emotionally direct songwriting, Chloe Foy has a penchant for finding magic in the spaces between light and dark. Growing up in the quiet of the English countryside, it was through music that she first learned how to express the nuance of emotion. Her songs are a reflection of that stillness, woven with threads of vulnerability and longing. Her lyrics speak to the complexity of the human experience — love, loss, and the subtle daily battles we all fight. With a voice that’s as delicate as it is powerful, she creates music that speaks to the heart, carrying listeners through moments of intimacy, wonder, and reflection.
Woody’s Round-Up - or, what I’ve been up to
Recently I’ve been working a lot. Started working in a bar again, alongside my other day job. I am both performer and captive audience behind the stage of the bar top. It’s a strange position to be in. Maybe I’ll write a bit about it. It’s very sticky - I have to shower when I get in at 2am to get all the alcohol off me. I forgot what it was like.
I played a beautiful show at folk & outsider art gallery and shop Field System in Ashburton, Devon. They gave me a mug by a local ceramicist. It was one of my favourite shows in recent memory.
I also played Union Chapel for the first time, opening for Bernard Butler’s trio, Butler, Blake and Grant. It was epic.
I also announced that I’m going on tour to open for Flyte in the autumn/winter around the UK/EU, which is going to be nuts:
I’ve been writing a lot of music for the solo acoustic guitar. And swimming as often as I can. And reading Toni Morrison.
That’s all from me for now.