Pilkington brings her earthy, pitch-perfect soaring vocals and Bothwell brings off-kilter lyric-bombs and witchy-technoesque mixing desk sensibilities to Dawson and Davies’ original avant-garde folk duo. They take their name from the Welsh term for the Old North, reflecting the quartet’s Welsh, Northern and Scottish roots. Hen Ogledd were formed by experimental folk behemoth Richard Dawson and harpist Rhodri Davies in 2012 since then they’ve been joined by Sally Pilkington and Dawn Bothwell. So, the excitement of seeing them live in a warm, human-filled space for the first time was real - I hadn’t looked forward to a gig so much in ages. We forgive them for not taking us into that particular inferno, because instead we’ve let them conjure us up a technological heaven.I’ve been a fan since Mark Riley first played Tiny Witch Hunter on the radio in 2018 and I stood rapt in the middle of the kitchen thinking ‘What the fuck is this? I love it!’. The crowd chants for more but are denied. There’s no encore tonight, with the only song from the album not played being the closer Welcome To Hell, their ominous cover of infamous ’70s Geordie rockers Venom. When the industrial revolution hit the North, naysayers feared it would destroy culture and now as the digital revolution shifts the focus from coal mining to data mining, Hen Ogledd are ready to embrace that future.
The word is an Ogledd creation, a portmanteau of magic and logic. The final song of the night is Transport And Travel, their ode to the modes of transport that have evolved over the last few hundred years, with Bothwell’s crisp Scots wordplay adding profane Shakespearian overtones, and Davies grunts out the phrase “Mogic”. Pilkington asks the crowd to sing along if they know the words of recent single Tiny Witch Hunter, her helium infused sonnet to modern sciences and it’s a shame the song wasn’t released twenty years earlier or it would have been a top 10 hit for sure. It may be about mechanical and emotional detachment but with its parting coda of “I don’t feel anything”, it’s hard not to feel genuine pathos in the moment. On the track Etheldreda Pilkington assumes the character of a robot constructing an environ based on human experience, over a melody inspired by colliery bands and church choirs. The song doesn’t take a cynical stance, the band instead choosing to revel in the opportunities and fallacies of the modern age. Recent recruit to the band, Dawn Bothwell carries her own on the blistering First Date, a song about the potentiality of online stalking and information accumulation in twenty first century same sex romantic encounters. He also performs album highlight Gwae Reged O Heddiw (sorry, Google Translate couldn’t help much with that one), albeit minus the studio versions guest vocalist. Harpist Davies excels on the radiant Love Time Feel, his deft finger work generating sprays of kitsch languor, as the whole band find the harmonies buried within the substrate of electronic dissonance. The lyric from Problem Child where Dawson observes “On the blinking horizon I see / Wales, Wales / The hands of my wristwatch / A long time ago” encapsulates their desire to honour the mystical heritage of this sceptred Isle as well as look forward to our transcendental futures.
His youthful falsetto on the song’s chorus showing the apparent joy he’s found working with this unit. That voice will trick us and surprise all evening, refracting through vocoders and other effects to conjure mischievous sprites and depressed automatons.ĭawson informs us that the brilliant Problem Child stems from playing too many video games, the lyrics referencing graphics, machines and brainwaves and neon. The song’s Krautrock performed by forest goblins aesthetic showcases perfectly captures Dawson’s intensely rocking bass skills as well as Sally Pilkington’s pure vocals. They open with the chugging synth heavy Dyma Fy Robot (it means “This is my Robot” in Welsh, thank you Google Translate) from their recent third album. We oblige and Dawson blushes and thanks us for venturing into this somewhat baroque cave, instead of going out into the sudden sunshine that floods the capital. It’s Richard Dawson’s birthday, we won’t ask which one, and so his Hen Ogledd harpist bandmate Rhodri Davies asks the spartan attendees of tonight’s show to begin the proceedings with a rousing sing song.
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