| Format: | LP |
| Label: | Sloe Flower |
| Release date: | 15/01/27 |
| Availability: | PRE-ORDER |
While on paper Aleister marks the second full-length release from Lancashire songwriter Toria Wooff, in many ways it feels like the record she’s been trying to make all along. Written in a brief window of time between finishing 2025’s self-titled debut and its subsequent release, Aleister captures Wooff moving with greater confidence, learning to trust the instinctive nature of her craft.
The result is eleven brooding, occasionally dense folk songs that lean into a darker, more lo-fi sound, reminiscent of the skewed folk records that drifted through the outskirts of the 1960s and 70s. Through this foggy, enigmatic sound, Wooff pulls back the layers of grief that were wound so tightly around her previous work and holds them up to a new light, exploring various forms of grief, some directly, others in more metaphorical ways.
Such was the nature of that initial writing flourish, there was never a concept waiting at the finish line of Aleister. The whole album was written alone in Wooff’s flat, the shape of the songs coming in isolated flourishes, before gradually revealing their connecting threads over time. Those threads are subtle but unmistakable. Folk tradition collides with gothic literature, northern landscapes brush against the occult. Deeply personal experiences sit comfortably beside ancient mythology, Wooff’s stories feeling both intimate but also timeless.
A proud Boltonian who grew up on the edge of the West Pennine Moors, Wooff continues to draw inspiration from the places of her home. That surrounding landscape permeates Aleister, winding its
way through the songs, providing windswept imagery, and also, more existentially, in the quiet resilience of songs like 'Wintering' and 'House On The Hill'. Alongside her songwriting, Wooff is also a surrealist painter and the shared themes between her writing and painting overlap throughout the album; peculiar shapes and colours are conjured and burst into life.
Sonically, Aleister deliberately steps away from the more sparse palette of its predecessor. Produced by long-time collaborator James Wyatt, the record replaces the pedal steel which helped define her debut with tape saturation, drones, vintage keyboards, orchestral flourishes and richly textured acoustic instrumentation. The album’s production embraces and accentuates atmosphere, pulling vivid inspiration from British and Irish folk recordings of the late sixties and seventies without ever leaning into nostalgia.
Before entering the studio, Wooff and Wyatt disappeared into a tiny Welsh cottage called Popty, carrying little more than a guitar and a handful of microphones. Snow, silence, and stone walls became collaborators of-sorts, and it was in that flush of seasonal isolations that the record's emotional temperature revealed itself—not through dramatic reinvention, but through subtle shifts in texture, restraint and space.
“The setting encapsulated everything we wanted the new album to be and certainly influenced those early stages of the production process,” Toria says of that time. “We left Wales with a really strong idea of how we wanted the album to sound and took that vibe straight into the studio.”
Across the finished record, Wyatt’s nuanced production is complemented by a close-knit ensemble of musicians whose contributions have become integral to Wooff’s sound. Dave Ormsby, Danny Miller, Ross Munro and Polly Virr bring understated musicianship that consistently serves the songs rather than overpowering them, a philosophy mirrored throughout the album. Additionally, the Victorian pump organ that drifts beautifully throughout the record was captured in Wooff’s own home, where every song had initially been written.
Lyrically, Aleister is quietly fearless, exploring themes of grief, obsessive compulsive disorder, infertility and recovery, with remarkable sensitivity. Lead single 'The Morrigan’ makes for a striking introduction to the new chapter. With its lyrical roots in Celtic folklore, the song bristles with dark energy, Wooff’s stirring voice joined by sharp, strange sounds that bend and break in the surrounding shadows. “The inspiration from this song came from the theory that for centuries voices heard in the woods, which people would believe to be ghosts, deities, Gods could actually all be down to crows repeating human voices,” Wooff explains.
Elsewhere, 'Noiselessly' is more musically restrained, presenting a tender reflection on the loss of her friend Alicia – and the enveloping, often bitter nature of grief – with lyrics borrowed from the eulogy Toria wrote at the time of her passing. “Without you with me now, I feel a fool,” Wooff sings with a palpable weight. “There’s a part of me that died when you did too.” The musical references are equally broad, with folk contemporaries like Vashti Bunyan, Sibylle Baier and Jake Xerxes Fussell sitting comfortably alongside Blue Öyster Cult and the folkier side of Led Zeppelin. Those touchstones are audible without ever dominating. Instead, Wooff has developed a voice that feels wholly individual: rooted in traditional folk music, coloured by classic rock, and drawn irresistibly towards something dark and mysterious.
Aleister draws to a close with the fleeting ‘Wintering’, one of the album’s barest songs, and a
suitably seasonal finale. It’s hard not to hear the album’s roots right there in the song, its echoes of
people and place, its gentle references to home, but also the darkness that hangs around the edges;
reflecting the sparse countryside which helped bring these songs so captivatingly to life.
If her debut acted as an introduction to Toria Wooff the artist, Aleister deepens and augments that picture. It is darker but warmer, stranger but more assured. A lofi, and often deeply personal record
full of careful restraint, quiet confidence, and a peculiar but hugely evocative atmosphere.
It’s a collection of songs that rewards patience, and lingers long after the final note fades to black.