Amongst a digital mountain range littered with accomplished folk-ish bands and singer- songwriters, it’s a rare miracle to come across a cave so rich in jewels as the one beneath Ida Wenøe’s ribcage.
While she has an obvious appreciation of Americana, her sound is laced with more English undertones: the kind of sound Edward Woodward might have heard downstairs in the local inn had the Wicker Man been filmed in a remote Danish village, while Sarah Lund scoured for clues in her jumper. Like the best of the Nordic Noir leaving the Danish mainland, the recordings are at once both sonically pure and grimy; there’s a shared loneliness that makes you feel that you’re not at all; and all the while there is an honesty to the song-writing that tugs at your sleeve.
… a childlike fragility that makes the songs sound like whimsical folk for fairy tales witha sinister undertow. Her voice – weary but cute, with the power to cut through – is perfect;she sounds like the young narrator of her own magical-malevolent fantasies…The Guardian
Bewitching acid folk with a deeply personal edge.Clash Magazine
… the sort of voice that could punch through a cloud of custard and pierce thick air… sheSongwriting Magazine
delicately rips through… with eyes full of hope…