“Seeds grow in the darkness / Our love glows in the darkness,” sings, on the title song from her latest offering, ‘The Dark’. “In a world that feels so heartless / The light returns.”

Surrounded by gusts of wind and waves, a humming acoustic guitar and steady drums that cascade into the frightening yet euphoric world of ‘The Dark’, Wolfe guides us into the current state of her mind. Known for her captivating aura, defined with her sonic weavings of goth, metal, industrial and folk, and for her keen aesthetic eye, Wolfe continues to symbolise a self-assured strength in her songwriting and presence. 

Now, with her ninth album ‘The Dark’, Wolfe reemerges as we know her to be: unafraid of the dark, but more introspective than ever before. The resulting melodies across her album are slower, yes, but intentionally so, as though savouring every moment of grief and pain seeped into its songs as a reminder of life and the promise of happiness. 

The album’s opener, ‘Cold,’ immediately places us into Wolfe’s gothic-folk realm, which has expanded from her already-established mythos of her past albums: the piano notes that linger, the thump of every drum, the ghostly high notes that echo outward. With a slight pop tinge to its sound, ‘Cold’ immerses us in the sensory world of ‘The Dark’, one shrouded in mystery. This is carried on ‘Seethe,’ a bass-driven song that builds into grand melodies fit for a fantasy film, and Wolfe’s choruses of, “Let it run,” that soar. 

The tangible sensation of ‘The Dark’ builds with each song, as we journey deeper into the unknown alongside Wolfe, who sings as she gathers her bearings and reflects on what has transpired. Intriguingly, her vocals remain smooth, throughout, often so light that they sound as though they’re floating away. Even when matched with an opposite energy, like on ‘Humours’ which hears the Icelandic trio Kælan Mikla’s harrowing screams, Wolfe’s relative calm contrasts the heaviness that seeps into ‘The Dark’s aura. On ‘Swallower,’ for instance, a song featuring guitars from Queens of the Stone Age’s Troy Van Leeuwen, Wolfe returns to her familiar, doom metal-driven sound, balanced with vocals that traverse between breathy and hoarse, mournful cries. 

‘Turn The Key’ highlights a similar mood: with a gorgeous doom-laden riff to open the song, matched with drums that tumble forward into a deluge of anguish, Wolfe begs for someone to reveal their true self, while mourning her own isolation. “Is it just the same as before?” she sings, a shake in her voice. “You were lost, and I opened the door.”

‘Death Is Not the End’ brings the contrast of gentle heaviness to a height: Wolfe’s voice echoes her own, light as a feather, until a jolt of sludge-infused guitars reverberate, rattling our bones awake. As her melodies glide along, they become ghost-like, in tune with the album’s haunting presence. ‘Halo’ adopts the same tone, with Wolfe’s voice in a near whisper: “What does loving even mean when there’s no air to breathe in?”, she asks, as shaky, heavy gasps persist behind her. The choppiness of the acoustic guitar, met with Wolfe’s harmonies as light balances with dark, circles back to Wolfe’s signature gothic-folk that is elevated across ‘The Dark’. 

Ghosts linger across ‘The Dark’, and indeed, Wolfe herself has described an overarching image of the album as a séance. What makes each of its songs so enchanting is that very achievement of channeling moments between life and death, through sonic softness balanced with guitar-driven melodies that build into something transcendent, and lyrics that display a deep, moving introspection from Wolfe.

8/10