Review: Sera and Eve Goodman’s spellbinding new album, ‘Natur’

Stephen Price

‘Obsessive’ is one way to describe my consumption of music. Merely ‘listening’ isn’t for me – some of my best memories spent with liner notes from my obscure finds, in the pre-internet-everywhere days of having to order in CDs from a local music shop now, naturally, closed.

There was something much deeper about a love of music then – I’m the middle aged music fan side-eyeing modern music fanship, unimpressed by anyone who doesn’t know who produced what, who took the album photos, and what the b-sides are.

The older I get, sadly, the less modern music I find that hits. Oversaturation and lost focus, and a shift towards streaming, has either resulted in a lack of sparkle among the sludge, or I’ve simply had my day in the sun, and the vast majority of modern music just isn’t for me now I’m in possession of more silver hairs than I’d like to admit.

When something does make my ears prick however, when I find some treasure, I’m the same nerdy teen listening and listening again. Immersing myself in musical highs that, don’t test me on this, could rival those of some of the most potent drugs on the market.

Sadly though, where I’d find countless albums to devour in decades gone by, these days I’m left to either mine the past, or once in a blood moon, I’m gifted with something special.

This, dear readers, is my long-winded way of saying that I’ve found something special.

Delicate

My introduction to Eve Goodman and Sera’s album Natur came upon the release of the devastatingly beautiful Cwlwm Cariad – others more fortunate will have had much longer to enjoy their work together, with versions of some of the album’s tracks taking shape over the past five years or more.

A listen or two of Cwlwm Cariad while plotting a news item on its release into the back end of Nation Cymru’s website ready for publication later sowed the seed.

The following morning, I woke with its words – its tale of a moth flying too close to the sun – and delicate piano accompaniment taking shape in my head.

An encapsulation of the entire album for me, the interplay of Sera and Eve’s voices is something spellbinding. Soft to be strong, this is music only women could make.

As I type in real time, my skin is prickling as the song reaches its close, and I have no hesitation in placing it among my favourite songs released in Wales this year.

A haunting and mesmerising track that feels summoned by these two most talented performers.

Eve Goodman and Sera (Sarah Zyborska) began working together when they were both selected as BBC Horizons Artists in 2019. Both women, with rising solo careers, grew up in Caernarfon, Gwynedd.

After just one writing session they found common ground in their connection to and curiosity around nature. Surrounded by the beautiful landscape that is such an important part of their lives, they began to explore the Welsh names for birds, trees, flowers and the more-than-human world.

The song tendrils soon grew to touch upon the cyclical element of both nature and women. Soon enough a body of work was growing, each song a celebration of both. Natur was born.

“We both loved the Spell Songs project (ft. Julie Fowlis, Karine Polwart et al) and the way the songs serve as a call to reawaken our love of the wild. We approached our songwriting with this call in mind in the language of our land, Welsh. As one of the lines in our song Anian says ‘I cofio ein natur, edrychwn ar natur’ (to remember our nature, we look to nature). It’s about accepting our wild nature in an increasingly complex and digitalised landscape.”

Skipping back a few tracks to the album opener, the aptly named Bendith (Blessing) provides the perfect opening. The duo’s reverence for nature, for perhaps something greater, their call to action for nature, laid bare through mesmerising harmonies, these two rich voices in perfect union, set against the one rich note of a Welsh-made shruti box.

Anian, at least in my mind, continues a feel of Welsh tribal, neo-pagan done proper, with visions of camp fires deep in nature, bodies dancing in free-flow, all ages together, in blissful union.

Llinyn Glas, again, continues the feeling of fellowship through folk music – Eve and Sera’s verses following, then combining, for a song at first simple, but revelatory and extraordinary on repeated listen.

Following Cwlwm Cariad on the album is Tangfenedd – a more upbeat piece of music that brings the listener back to earth, melancholy a forgotten theme for now.

Dod yn ôl at fy nghoed

Tymhorau’s wistful ‘Llais y Gwanwyn’ is another highlight for me, with its almost country-twangs, its encapsulation of the return of spring’s hope, and its newness and loss. The mood then tempered by the gorgeousness of follow-up Rhwng y Coed.

The project, its embrace of the simplicity of nature, feels like a call from two singers to return to the trees, to heal, to reject the bottomless pit of the screen and doom scroll.

Still young, but stepping into a new stage in their lives, Eve and Sera seem ready to heed the call of nature – perhaps forgotten since childhood – a calling that becomes important once again, a nurturing place for a new generation perhaps, or a place to connect with loved-ones passed.

The aptly named Gaeafgwsg (hibernation), reflecting yet again the changing seasons, is as soothing as any winter lullaby could be – with its icy top notes of piano, falling like snow against the warmth of acoustic guitar.

Wead y We, the perfect album closer, leaves nature on a positive note – or at least one understood and reconciled with. This is smile-inducing stuff, nature’s cyclical loss, gain, the spider of time weaving its web, something to accept, to submit to, to enjoy.

Almanac

This is music befitting of ritual, be it a return to nature with Airpods (or old-school-string-bound headphones in my case), or a return to simpler, more focused listening endeavours like those of my teens – a CD on rotation, and a booklet in hand, this album deserves a dedicated listen.

What makes it all the more potent is its accessibility, its musicianship and respect for listenability and melody.

Making the case for pop music many decades ago, Bjork called avant-garde music too ‘easy’ to make, while the challenge lies in making music to connect, to endure. Sera and Eve, in Natur, have pieced together a potion of touching poetry, musicianship and production that begs, indeed needs, to be heard. Magic, if such a thing exists – a Trojan Horse with seeds to sow.

And for booklet and beechwood-worms like me, what an accompanying booklet it is – 12 pages of art and lyrics featuring designs and creations by Welsh artist Bernadette Siân.

Bernadette Siân’s overlaid photography and botanical drawings in vivid pinks, greens and purples bring to life the feeling of connection and symbiosis with nature the two singers feel, and compel the listener to feel too, if not through first person, through second and third.

The butterfly up front – another sign of the duo’s metamorphosis, their persistence in the face of change, their recognition of beauty in the breakdown.

2025 has gifted me with an album that will stand tall with some of the best among my collection. One I have, and will continue to play, to enjoy, to discover more from, repeatedly.

A work of passion, depth, wonder, and like its accompanying visuals, a true work of beauty.

Nature encapsulated – essential and divine.

Buy Natur on Bandcamp or listen on all streaming services.