EP Review: Through The Page

There is something quietly radical about Rachel Hird’s songwriting. At a time when so much contemporary folk turns inward, Through The Page looks back – not through nostalgia, but through curiosity. These five songs excavate family stories, diaries, remembered conversations, and places that have shaped generations, transforming personal history into something remarkably universal. The result is an EP that feels as much like oral history as it does a collection of songs.

Produced with Phil Riley, the arrangements are understated, allowing Hird’s thoughtful writing to remain the focal point. Piano, acoustic textures, and subtle instrumentation create an unmistakably New Zealand sense of place without ever becoming overly sentimental. Each song is rooted in a location – Karamea, Canterbury, Christchurch – yet the landscapes serve the stories rather than the other way around.

Hird’s Bandcamp notes frame the project as a kind of family archive in motion: songs drawn from letters, diaries, and lived memory, spanning the twentieth century and moving across generations. That framing deepens the listening experience – these aren’t imagined narratives, but recovered fragments of real lives, reshaped into song.

The standout track for me is Shy Girl, inspired by Hird’s mother’s diaries from the 1940’s. It’s a beautiful meditation on the secret inner lives of our parents, reminding us that before they became mothers and fathers they were young people navigating uncertainty, hope, and first love. The refrain “Will you catch the rose, will you take a chance, and see it grow” is simple but deeply affecting, carrying both encouragement and regret. It’s a song that invites listeners to reflect on the versions of their own parents they never really knew.

Quake captures memory through vivid imagery rather than historical detail. The line “I hear the chatter of vagabond stones” is one of the EP’s most striking moments, evoking both the physical violence of the 1929 Murchison earthquake and the way memory itself echoes across generations. In the detailed Bandcamp notes, Hird adds another layer: a part played on her father’s old Professor violin by Jo Moir enters partway through the track, a subtle but deeply fitting tribute that turns the song into something like a family heirloom made audible.

Across Ellie Dean, Umere, and Harper Road, Hird demonstrates a gift for finding emotional weight in everyday family history. These aren’t songs about famous events or larger-than-life characters; they’re about ordinary people whose lives become extraordinary simply because they’re remembered. In Hird’s hands, family archives become fertile ground for songwriting.

What makes this EP particularly compelling is its restraint. Hird doesn’t overstate or lean on dramatic arrangements to amplify the stories. Instead, she trusts the songs, and the listener, to discover meaning in the details. That confidence gives Through The Page a quiet power that asks for – and rewards – repeated, deeper listening.

This is a thoughtful, deeply personal release that reminds us songwriting can preserve history just as effectively as photographs or journals. Rachel Hird has crafted an EP that honours family, place, and memory while inviting listeners to revisit their own stories. In doing so, she’s created something both distinctly Kiwi and quietly timeless.