Haley Fohr’s voice - an arresting, earthy croon that can darken from honey to molasses to tar in the course of a drawn-out syllable - soars and moans with a steady strength that recalls Scott Walker, Diamanda Galás and Nico. Around it all she hangs layers of spindly lost-highway guitar, a faint haze of synths and fuzzed strings that are both soothing and predatory.
Circuit des Yeux has evolved from heavily distorted early recordings into a delicately balanced force of nature, flitting between mythic avant-folk, late-night hymnals, and digitally-filtered backroom country. Her 2016 album Jackie Lynn, and the mysterious persona Fohr created for it, feels like David Lynch ghostwriting a Bruce Springsteen song. This is cinematic folk with a steely heart - outlaw psych steeped in a stillness that demands your full attention.
