Niamh
The Cry · voice & guitar
The youngest. A raw nerve — her voice breaks on purpose, and she writes the words the others bleed into.
BANASHEE — heard before the loss
Latest single
Seven Names
from the debut album · Heard Before the Loss
A slow, aching meditation on identity — the self as a procession of names, running through signals it can no longer read.
Lead single
I Must Know You
from the debut album · Heard Before the Loss
A devotion sung straight into the storm — tender words strapped to a violent noise. This is what Banashee is: the prayer and the wreck of it, at once.
Third single
Drift
from the debut album · Heard Before the Loss
A wintry standoff — a whispered folk confession that breaks into a wall of noise. Tender words wearing armor; the defiance is a lie, and the song knows it.
Fourth single
Get On With It
from the debut album · Heard Before the Loss
A slowcore Americana portrait — small-town names, a Rolling Stone wound — that shatters in the chorus into a wall of unbroken noise. Observation becoming refusal becoming release.
Fifth single
Somebody Calls
from the debut album · Heard Before the Loss
A slowcore piano-ballad in a too-bright kitchen the morning after — until the chorus shatters into a wall of unbroken noise. Identity rupture, defiant non-collapse. Two textures only, no blend.
Sixth single
Less Sober
from the debut album · Heard Before the Loss
A devotional slowcore meditation on the moment the numbing wears off and what was never gone steps back into the room — minimalist banjo and acoustic ensemble, dry organic strings, the ache held small instead of released.
Seventh single
What About the Boy
from the debut album · Heard Before the Loss
The range piece. Rock-opera scale, chamber-rock band — institutional cold in the verses, violent noise-rock eruption in the choruses, a fragile bridge that reveals what the institution missed. Tender words strapped to a violent noise.
Eighth single
Horse Face
A bubblegum daydream of being the prettiest girl alive, sung by the one they called the opposite — 90s-revival pop-punk grinning through its teeth, the wish to be plastic and perfect curdling into a doll of gold who never grows old. Isn't that great?
The Band
Banashee is the old word for the wail that warns — the keen that comes in threes. Out of a fog-bound town on the coast of Maine, three women answer it: one cry, one hum, one keen, braided into a single voice that mourns and overpowers in the same breath.
Their sound refuses to sit still — folk to noise, hymn to industrial — but the center never moves: tenderness held against violence, devotion against ruin. Three faces of one voice.
Members
Maren
The Hum · bass, harmony & synth
The warm, grounded anchor. She arranges the noise into something that can hold a body upright.
Vesper
The Keen · drums & texture
Severe, ageless, the architect. Drums, bowed strings and field recordings — she builds the storm.
Connect
Stay close to the keen.
New songs, new dates, first looks. No noise but ours.
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