Machynlleth-born Cerys Hafana is a master of the Welsh triple harp, an intimidating instrument of three rows of glistening strings. In the 2022 anthology Welsh (Plural), excerpted in the Guardian, she wrote that “it is viewed as a kind of historical artefact, hailing from a better time when everyone in Wales spoke Welsh”. Glorifying that past “is an erasure of all the things that have changed for the better”, she added, spit in every syllable.

Hafana explores resonances from the past that connect with the modern day in a contemporary, creative way. On her second album, Edyf (meaning “thread”) she uses her harp as a percussive, jagged-toothed tool with which she excavates songs from the Welsh National Library’s archives. The instrument gives a buzzing pulse to Y Mor o Wydr (The Sea of Glass) – a strange hymn about doomsday that crackles with the heated present of climate change – and a raw beat to Hen Garol Haf, a Celtic summer carol that amplifies current interests in pre-Christian traditions. In Tragwyddoldeb (Eternity) and Cilgerran (named after a wooded village on the banks of the River Teifi in west Wales) it creates thickets of wonder in bright sounds. Hafana also sings movingly, her high voice like an indie-pop soprano shorn of its sweetness.

There are also moments of deep contemplation. On the glorious Bridoll, she interprets a psalm tune that she worked on in Bangor’s Capel Y Graig, a former nonconformist chapel converted into an experimental art space. Comed 1858, based on hymn writer Benjamin Jenkins’ reflections on light shooting through space, is also profoundly beautiful. “Every age in the interval of time / Reveals some greatness”, Hafana sings, articulating a communal ache for hope.

Also out this month
Paul Hillery’s compilation Folk Funk & Trippy Troubadours: Volume One (RE:WARM) may have an aggravating title, but it is a soul-soothing selection of sultry late-summer 60s/70s private press folk and auxiliary grooves. The women are especially great, including Wendy Grose, Ruth Finlay and Cindi Titzer. Alison O’Donnell’s Hark The Voice That Sings For All: New Songs in An Ancient Tradition (Talking Elephant) is full of musical ambition, featuring uilleann pipes, modular synths and O’Donnell’s dramatic, visceral vocals. Jackie Oates’ Gracious Wings (self-released) is a gentler affair, folding ballads and originals together tenderly while avoiding high sugar (although her lovely take on the Longpigs’ On and On should get the John Lewis Christmas advert team on the phone pronto).