Stories on the Wind
How it began
Stories on the Wind began as a promise.
At the start, it was just a set of pieces I cared about deeply, a band I believed in, and the hope that I could find a way to record the music properly. After plans with a label fell away, I suddenly found myself holding an album that felt incredibly close to my heart, but without the support I had thought would be there.
So I decided to keep going.
The band, the studio and the engineer were already booked, and I asked people to help me make the record happen. That support changed everything. It turned the album from a private hope into something real, and it reminded me how much independent music depends on trust, generosity and community.
This album exists because people believed in it before they had heard a note.
The recording
We recorded Stories on the Wind live at Red Kite Studio in the Welsh hills, with Martin Levan capturing the band together in the room.
The quartet was Sam Leak on piano and organ, Rob Statham on electric bass, Steve Taylor on drums and percussion, and me on tenor and baritone saxophones.
The aim was to capture the band together in the room, listening and responding in real time. I wanted the music to have space, honesty and a sense of trust, rather than feeling over polished or built in layers.
Being away in the hills changed the feeling of the whole record. There was quiet around us, weather moving through, and time to let the music settle. It became as much about the spaces between the notes as the notes themselves.
Liner Notes
These are the notes I wrote for the album. I wanted to share a little of what sits behind the music, the place it came from, and the stories inside each piece.
A Message from me
Stories on the Wind is a deeply personal collection of music, a snapshot of where I am now, both as a person and as an artist. Each piece began as a feeling, a moment, or a story: memories of childhood, love, loss, hope, and the quiet strength that comes from finding your own path. Recording this album at Red Kite Studio in the Welsh hills was magical. We lived, breathed and created together for a week surrounded by wild landscapes, laughter, good food, and the sound of music taking shape. I wanted the recording to feel natural and honest, capturing the space between the notes as much as the notes themselves. This album is also about connection….to the people who’ve inspired and supported me, to those we’ve lost but still feel close to, and to everyone who listens. Music, to me, is storytelling through sound, and I hope these pieces speak to you in some way – maybe as a whisper, maybe as a gust of wind – carrying a story of your own. Thank you for being part of my journey.
Hannah x
The stories behind the music
Each piece on Stories on the Wind began with a feeling, a memory or a moment I wanted to hold onto.
1. Out of the Shadows
That deep-down feeling when life isn’t going to plan, yet something inside begins to stir, a quiet sense that change is coming. Throughout the track you can feel the hazy uncertainty of the shadows, but also the stronger, driving groove of the bridge which is that glimmer of hope whispering, it’s going to be alright.
2. Chasing Daisies
This tune was inspired by an old photo my mother found from my childhood: I’m about four years old, sitting in the garden sunshine in a red-and-white striped bikini, our Yorkshire terrier Jumble at my side, smiling and making daisy chains. The melody has that same innocence – simple, lyrical, a touch of folk and nursery rhyme the ends as a round, like children’s voices echoing each other on a summer’s day.
3. Peace Speak
I wrote Peace Speak out of frustration at how unkind people can sometimes be. We all carry our own battles, and no one truly knows what another person is going through. This piece is a call for compassion, a wish for more care, patience, and empathy in the world.
4. Whisper
A lyrical ballad sung by the baritone sax, dedicated to my partner Nick, who has supported and encouraged me more than anyone ever has. We met the Christmas before Covid hit, just as my father was losing his battle with cancer. At first, Nick was a welcome distraction from that painful time, but during lockdown he moved in, and we’ve been together ever since. Whisper is my thank you to him, for everything.
5. Only The Wind Knows
Driving along winding Suffolk lanes one golden evening on the way to a gig, I saw a cloud of dandelion seeds suspended in sunlight. As I passed through, scattering them, I thought: only the wind knows where they’ll land. From there my imagination took flight…the wind carries our thoughts, our secrets, our unspoken hopes. It keeps them safe. Only the wind knows.
6. Your Rite
As a teenage bassoonist, I was mesmerised by the opening of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring. Its raw energy and rebellious spirit inspired this piece, which explores those same instincts through the baritone sax using alternative fingerings, effects, and a bold, percussive groove. The solo cadenza evokes the maiden chosen to dance herself to death, but here the story changes: it becomes about freedom, the right to choose your own path in life.
7. The Fortune Teller
Written as a thank you to all the incredible people who supported this album. I’m endlessly grateful for your generosity, encouragement, and belief in what I do. I took this tune to the studio in Wales as a work in progress, and it blossomed into something truly joyful. Every time I hear it, it makes me smile, and think of you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
8. Alone
This piece reflects some of the solitude that comes with being an independent artist — bandleader, booker, promoter, administrator (and everything in between). It can be lonely at times, but the dreamy, floating ending expresses the peace I reach for when it all feels overwhelming, that gentle sense of release and letting go.
9. Remembering Mr Gone
I wrote this when I heard the sad news of Wayne Shorter’s passing. “Mr Gone” was one of his nicknames. I’ve always associated him with the sound of Major 7 chords, which shape this piece. We recorded a full quartet version, but one morning in the studio I woke up with the urge to try a stripped-back take — just baritone sax and piano, no rehearsal, no headphones, 9:30am. When we finished, I was in tears, and so was everyone in the control room. It became not just a farewell to Wayne, but a remembrance of my dad too. I hope he would have liked it.