Fine Day opens like a gut punch. Dark, cinematic, and thick with tension, Hannah White reels off her list of questions about environmental destruction and ongoing genocides starting each line with the same simple question. The melody on Good Questions could be a century old, the lyrics from last week’s headlines, in a timeless reassertion of folk’s original power, and a reminder that sometimes a song is the only way to hold such levels of despair.

What follows is a journey through different corners of the folk tradition, including Southern Americana, English pastoral, and the Irish diaspora, all rendered with tenderness and care, each song feeling like it’s already been sung for decades around fires and pianos. Hyla Karula carries an unmistakably English lilt, whilst Glory Overcome by contrast feels like the kind of tune that might echo through a Boston pub full of homesick Irish souls finding unity in song. The musicianship is warm, understated and communal throughout, with brushed drums, soft bass, accordions and banjos, sounding like a group of players gathered close together, facing one another and feeling every note.

White’s vocal strength lies in intimacy rather than relying on grandeur or theatrics to make her point. Her voice can soar, but she uses gentleness where others might strain, and never belts as a display of ego in search of spectacle, but rather as a release of empathy. The production feels like a warm pub with a dim fireplace and the glow of shared company, with light, groovy drums and golden warm bass carrying the songs forward. The album begins with its heaviest statement, but then opens up into something softer and much more welcoming, acknowledging that the world is burning but we still have beauty.

Even when Hannah White is addressing the vast subjects of war, climate collapse and human cruelty every song feels personal. The record’s emotional architecture feels like an embrace, with grief and comfort occupying the same space. Fine Day’s instrumentation carries an intimacy that feels safe and human, with softly humming Hammond organs and light banjo touches, and the album feels built on a trust between musicians who understand one another completely.

Each song lands like a standard, and there’s something profound about how familiar these melodies feel, as though you’ve heard them sung by generations across centuries. Fine Day draws on an ancient and enduring quiet magic that reminds you exactly how music should be used to make people feel connected. These songs could just as easily have been played in a pub 100 years ago and the effect would be the same, and this timeless craftsmanship makes the record stand out from the endless churn of synthetic modern digital gloss.

Hannah White’s songwriting is proof that folk doesn’t need reinvention, it just needs to be played with conviction. This music hasn’t gone away and it never will, and Fine Day proves that songs don’t have to sound futuristic to matter.