Angela Winter is a composer, instrumentalist, and singer who enchants people into other worlds. Though she has sung at Carnegie Hall and opened for John Cale (The Velvet Underground), you’ve likely never heard of her.
Like the Little Mermaid of fairytale lore, she once gave up her voice and crawled onto human shores, where she landed a job in magazine publishing. This turned into a dream job, and she was very happy there for a time. But eventually she had to let go of camaraderie, comfort, and security to follow the siren call of her heart.
After years of literally climbing mountains in the dark and transforming nearly everything about herself, Winter has emerged with songs like you might hear at a Renaissance fair during the apocalypse. Minimalist, lute-like ukulele meets otherworldly vocals, drones, overtones, and witchery.
Winter’s debut album, Hollow, explores themes of beauty and death, mysticism and myth, loss and letting go—and the space that opens after a release, which allows something new to be born. Her lodestar during the writing process was a line from the poem “Sunday Morning” by Wallace Stevens: “Death is the mother of beauty; hence from her, alone, shall come fulfilment to our dreams and our desires.”