Kim Carnie – A’ Chailleach: Album Review

By Seuras Og on 19th September 2025 • ( Leave a comment )

Simply stunning, Carnie’s gauntlet may be unassailable.

Release Date : 19th September 2025

Label : Càrn Records

Format : CD / Vinyl / Digital

SHAPE SHIFTING PARADOX

Kim Carnie can be a paradox, sometimes seemingly shape-shifting as she presents differing versions of herself to different audiences. She is best known, I guess, as front person for Mànran, those staunch defendants of the Gaelic rock flag of neo-trad, first unfurled by Runrig. In the 6 years she has held that spot, handling lead vocals, she has gradually steered the band into a more commercial operation, largely through her own songwriting, and that shared with the other “newbie” in the band, Aidan Moodie. This was manifest in their most recent release, To The Wind, seeing a distinct change in overall direction, if still faithful to the traditions that begat the band.

But, simultaneously, she has also taken the same position in the rather more jazz-trad inflections of Staran, a more ad-hoc enterprise, with one release behind them, 2021’s self-titled Staran, but with another on the way, next month. Between the two bands she clearly has lashings of down-time, and so has built up also a solo career, of which this is the second borne fruit. Her debut, And So We Gather, we liked, if noting a possible diva tendency around her delivery and the production. More of the same?

NOT MORE OF THE SAME

Well, probably not. Firstly, the songs are all her own, as are the tunes, all but two, that are employed. Yes, there is basis for those songs in old Gaelic texts and this is the language used throughout, confounding any critic suggesting she was leading Mànran away from that tongue, given their recent greater use of English in their repertoire. So, is this an album seeped in and reeking of her home country? To an extent, yes, but guests of the calibre of Jerry Douglas, dobro man in Alison Krauss’s band and a lynchpin from Transatlantic Sessions, together with Seckou Keita, the kora maestro from, originally, Senegal, and now based in the U.K., keep the genrification fluid.

AN AUSPICIOUS INCANTATION

Ulc A Dhèan Mo Lochd is an auspicious opener, barely over a minute of doomwashed synthesiser drone, over which Carnie begins to sing, first alone, but, as orchestrated choral “ums” hover, she breaks into multi-tracked warmth, a piano then scattering notes over the debris. The sleeve notes describe it an incantation rather than a song, and are not wrong. We’ll maybe get to meanings later. That is all the build needed to usher in the new age neo-trad of Òran na Bèiste Maoile, which steams in, with a steady rhythmic pulse and a backwash of tinkling strings. These strings are the kora of Keita, who then adds also his vocals, their rawness a striking counterpoint to the smoothness of Carnie. It is unmistakeably of a Gaelic origin, yet with a twist of other worldliness that is entirely convincing and utterly beguiling.

Only as the intro to Eolas Gradhaich starts up, is attention drawn from the more primary colours thus far, the voices. Piano and double bass glisten into being, coming from Carnie’s bandmates in Staran, John Lowrie and the incomparable James Lindsay (also in Breabach), with the discreet pad of Mànran’s Mark Scobbie on percussion. The core band throughout, once alerted, their presence is the gilt on Carnie’s lily. This is a song that could so easily form part of Van Morrison’s period of Celtic enlightenment, in the 80’s, not least as Megan Henderson adds some slow and sinuous fiddle, akin to Morrison’s trademark breathy sax textures. All the while, album producer Innes White is maintaining the supporting structures with discreet guitar. A word also for the backing vocals, from White and Henderson and, for this track, Ailis Sutherland.

A SLOW DELICATE MOAN

Cronan is then a slow delicate moan, Carnie’s voice keening over more piano, slow and stately, from Lowrie, with a shimmer of fiddle strings bathing both. A contrasting voice then joins, that of Julie Fowlis. If Carnie is the cream, then Fowlis provides the berry fruit, a peerless pairing. This album is suddenly fast jumping rank, in the stirrings of an end of year favourite. It builds, layer on layer, ahead a drop to just voices, and piano, and then silence. I am cursing the clash at Shrewsbury, so recently, that had me choose Skerryvore over Carnie.

Luchd Na Beurla leaps in, piano and fiddle combining in a celebratory tumble; riff sounds too heavy-handed. Carnie’s voice seems somehow purer and almost childlike for this song, with the instrumentation providing the memorable “chorus”. Scobbie’s percussion is sound and solid, without being overbearing, and the group harmony vocals that seal the end are nigh perfect. Another highlight in an album of many. But Clo Nan Gillean is up to that challenge, a sombre waulking song with a driven backbeat. And what are those twangs that seek to change the direction and origin of the melody? This is where the dobro of Jerry Douglas gifts the song with an Appalachian transplantation, it easy to imagine it having travelled there, a link with and from the clearances.

WITH MORE MUSCLE

The tempo of the waulk then escalates dramatically for Horo Bhodachain, with chukka chukka electric guitar from White, whilst Scobbie finds parts of his kit unused this far. Henderson’s fiddle then pairs up with Innes, the two playing in strict unison tempo. I am reminded of a Capercaillie, if with more muscle. Ceus-Chrann Nam Buadh is a gentler affair, a lilting ballad, the richness of Henderson’s fiddle a key part of the mellifluous whole, with her adding a silky vocal background, along with the boys in the band.

The final track is entirely different, and seems to turn a further page in Carnie’s development. Còmhradh Ris a’ Bhàs has just her voice and piano. Gallingly plangent, her voice sears across the notes, the strongest expression yet of her vocal strength and character. The piano part drips with gravitas, this time coming from the careful measured fingers of Donald Shaw, as if prompted by the Capercaillie reference above. The achingly atmospheric sadness is immersive and this very good album has become simply stunning.

THE DIVINE CRONE

That might be the place to end, but I can’t, as there needs also due credit for the design, content and backstory of the project. I’ve not even mentioned this is a concept album, which I must. A’ Chailleach corresponds to the Cailleach, the Creator Godess, the divine crone. And each of the songs are to highlight the voices and stories of women across generations, each also paired with a tarot card The liner notes provide a striking visual aesthetic, created in collaboration with photographer, Elly Lucas, and stylist, Kate Elliot Muir.

Thinking myself well-versed enough in Gaelic song as to not worry about my inability to navigate the language, Carnie cuts through such conceit by adding a full explanation and translation of each of the compositions. Drawn often from old and ancient texts, to which, mostly, she has added melodies of her own, the impact is added to enormously, by that comprehension. So, as an example, the closing number translates as Conversation With Death, and is derived from the work of poet, Sìleas na Ceapaich, 1660-1729, that adding no small frisson of foreboding to the exercise.

A MASTERPIECE

Have you got the gist? This is an outstanding release. What we now need is a a word gender appropriate for the masterpiece this certainly is.

Here’s a band studio version of Òran na Bèiste Maoile, a song which references our old friend, the selkie. Even without the kora and vocals of Keita, it is still pretty damn astonishing: