Hilary Woods drifts inward on breath and reverberation. A former bassist who turned toward composition and analogue film, her work balances delicately peeled-back emotion with trained precision. Songs unfold as ceremonies beneath the moon, doors opened into unlit places made of brass, choirs and strings wavering between devotion and decay. Dreamlike yet tactile, her work is rooted in soil and smoke, half-remembered folklore and prayer that has swept away audiences at the likes of Roadburn, Le Guess Who?, Zemlika, Southbank, Beyond the Gate, Quarter Block Party and Cafe OTO.

Released on Halloween 2025, her new album Night CRIÚ (Sacred Bones) extends that balance to its furthest edge, a work that lingers with ancient patience and writhes with new births. It’s a record that moves like a shadow, quietly, inexorably present, threading warmth through its droning woodwinds and low-lit percussion while her voice rises as smoke from a distant fire. Here Woods draws strength from restraint, each sound chosen for its weight and resonance to create an experience that is meditative without losing momentum. There’s an underlying pull between fragility and force, a sense of something sacred forming in real time.

• Night CRIÚ, by Hilary Woods

• Night CRIÚ, by Hilary Woods