Objectively, Anna Van Riel possesses one of the finest voices currently moving through the veins of Aotearoa’s country blues landscape. There is something timeless in it. Something that feels carved from mahogany and moonlight. Wooden Leg is not just a collection of songs but a fully realised sonic world, stitched together with fiddle strings, harmonica sighs and chord progressions that feel both nostalgic and quietly rebellious.
From the opening moments of 14 Years, the instrumentation alone announces intention. Real wood, real strings, real breath. The fiddle sings with cinematic clarity, evoking the wide-eyed innocence of a storybook heroine, somewhere between a Disney princess and a young Cher standing barefoot in dust. When she sings “send me on my way” the harmony slips into that deliciously unstable space, those uncertain, slightly diminished, crunchy chords that create anticipation like a held breath before confession. Lyrically, the imagery is abstract yet loaded. “And the moon casts a light on me / and the radio, radio is playin’ out in the street” lingers like a half remembered dream. It feels political without being didactic. Personal without being obvious. It leaves space for the listener to wander. Exceptional storytelling that makes you question how you ever let her exist outside your rotation.
Betty, featuring Ryan Fisherman, leans into a distinctly Dire Straits energy with a subtle Johnny Cash grit woven through Fisherman’s tone. His voice carries a textured masculinity that balances Anna’s warmth beautifully. The lead guitar sits confidently at the front of the mix, almost brazenly so, but it contributes to that vintage swagger the track clearly nods to. There are moments in the songwriting that echo a Lana Del Rey style romantic fatalism, a kind of Americana noir filtered through a southern lens. It feels lived in.
House Up On the Hill opens with that immediate chord progression hit, again featuring those crunchy harmonic choices that Anna clearly delights in. In a musical climate obsessed with maximalist production, this album prioritises melody and it is wildly refreshing. The melodic lines are so strong that by the first pass you already feel them etched into memory. “Someone had to strike a match” lands on a beautifully suspended chord that creates a subtle tension and release, mirroring the lyric’s emotional charge. And then the harmonica solo. I say this with full sincerity; it redefined the instrument for me. There is something unexpectedly sensual about the way it weaves through the arrangement, not as novelty but as necessity. Her vocal delivery throughout is stunningly honest. You can hear the aspirated breaths, the small human textures. When she sings “the wind is howling madly” it feels less like performance and more like lived experience.
Letter to Myself arrives like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. “I wrote a letter to myself / It said Oooooooooh baby I love you” feels like a radical act of softness after the darker emotional terrain we have travelled. The placement within the tracklist is impeccable. It is radio friendly without sacrificing integrity. By the one minute mark you are already singing along, not because it is predictable but because the melodic construction is that strong. Writing this accessible without diluting artistry is a rare skill.
True Colours carries the brave weight of its title without collapsing into cliché. It is no small feat to write a song with that name and avoid the obvious comparisons, yet Anna makes it wholly her own. The chord progressions once again shimmer with richness. The playful “fee-fi-fo-fum” scratches the brain in the most satisfying way, childlike yet sharp. The mix feels organic and the lack of obvious tuning polish on her vocals only amplifies the authenticity. There is a signature forming here, a recognisable Anna Van Riel stamp in her melodic phrasing and guitar led builds. For me, the track exists in hues of yellow and gold. Wheat fields stretching beyond an old farmhouse, the quiet determination of someone chasing a dream in the middle of nowhere, knowing that self-belief is the first and hardest harvest.
The Moon Made A Mess Outta Me pivots into theatrical territory. “And as the planets twirl around the world” and “blame my disdain on the man in the moon” carry a sly wit beneath the melancholy. The rhythm hints at tango, whether that represents an internal dance between conflicting emotions or a literal dance with a lover is deliciously ambiguous. Anna sings like a storyteller around a fire, confiding in you directly. It feels intimate and comforting even in its sadness.
Fitting In leans more overtly into folk influence, grounding the album in its roots. There is a sense of community in its texture, of shared stories and collective longing.
November Wind may well be a standout. The gentle bossa-nova sway wraps around Anna’s sweet delivery like tide around shoreline. It feels coastal. Salty. Romantic in a way that is more about connection to the elements than to a singular person. Sea, heartbreak, wind in your hair. The rhythmic lilt gives the album a moment of soft movement, like dancing alone in a kitchen at dusk.
My Darling Take Me Back carries a dizzying quality, like stepping off a merry go round slightly unsteady and laughing through the nausea. The surf guitar textures add a retro shimmer. You can feel the album beginning to close its circle here.
I’m Messy is a vocal masterclass. The twang, the tone, the controlled melisma, the way the melodic writing showcases her range without ever feeling self-indulgent. There is a classical discipline underpinning her technique, whether formally trained or instinctively refined. It is precise but never sterile. It breathes.
Finally, Wooden Leg. The title track opens with layered vocal harmonies that revisit those crunchy chord choices that have quietly defined the album’s harmonic identity. One by one the instruments gather, building toward an epic yet grounded finale. It feels intentional, cohesive. Thematically and sonically she ties her threads together with the confidence of a seasoned songwriter. This is not accidental artistry. It is crafted.
Five out of five stars. One of the strongest records of the NZ/AUS Summer season without question. Wooden Leg exists in full colour, full feeling, and dares you not to be moved.
