The New Eves make the kind of music that feels like it’s been unearthed rather than composed — raw, glowing, and touched with a kind of folkloric strangeness. Their songs move with an uncanny logic, full of knotty guitars, sudden harmonies and rhythms that seem to pulse up from the ground itself. It’s folk, yes, but filtered through art-rock edges and a wonderfully skewed imagination.

What’s so striking is how unselfconscious it all is. They sound like a group completely absorbed in the world they’re building together — part communal chant, part whispered confession, part dream you can’t quite shake when you wake up. There’s grit and tenderness in equal measure, and an inventiveness that keeps everything just slightly unpredictable.

Put them on a festival stage and something shifts in the air. People drift closer. Heads tilt. Before long you’ve got an audience held in that heady mix of mystery and momentum. Expect something vivid, spectral and quietly spellbinding.