Haunt The Woods - Ubiquity (2LP) - Red Vinyl Vinyl

Haunt The Woods have always loved the long fuse and the big payoff, and Ubiquity takes that instinct and sculpts it into something widescreen and deeply inviting. The Cornwall-rooted group made a strong first impression with Opaque in 2020, but this follow-up, released in 2023 through Spinefarm, feels like the moment their panoramic folk-rock finally clicks into sharp focus. The songs still bloom from piano and acoustic guitar, still lean on stacked harmonies and those sudden lifts into falsetto, but there is more patience here, and more confidence in the quiet.

What hits first is how carefully the dynamics are drawn. Verses arrive like low tide, gentle and glassy, then the band lets the current drag you out before a swell of strings, toms, and tremolo guitars pulls the horizon closer. It does not feel like a trick. It feels earned, song after song, because they keep the details human. A brushed snare tucked under a hovering vocal line. A cello phrase that circles back at the final chorus like a memory you had tried to ignore. The touchstones are familiar, sure, but Haunt The Woods never treat them like costumes. You might hear a bit of Jeff Buckley in the tender upper register or some Muse-style drama in the crescendos, but the writing stays rooted in folk grace rather than stadium bombast.

The production is rich without smothering the band’s natural air. Piano is a real spine on Ubiquity, often setting the pulse before the guitars color around it. When the full band comes in, the rhythm section moves with an almost cinematic patience, letting notes hang just long enough to make the next chord land heavier. It is the kind of record that rewards front-to-back listening. You hear how themes recur, how the pacing of the middle stretch sets up a final run that feels both cathartic and thoughtful. That arc is hard to pull off, and it is part of why Ubiquity plays so well as a complete album rather than a playlist of moments.

Lyrically, they remain storytellers. These songs sit with doubt, with longing, with the hard work of holding on to someone and the equally hard work of letting go. There is little interest in clever posturing. Lines arrive in plain English, then double back with an image that lingers. A road at dusk. A flicker of gold on dark water. If you have spent time on the Cornish coast, the record lines up with that scenery in your head, a mix of soft skies and sudden cliffs.

Spin this on a decent setup and you will hear why the format matters. The low-end bloom on the toms. The breath of the lead vocal. Tiny room cues that get lost on rushed streams. If you are hunting for Haunt The Woods vinyl, Ubiquity is the one to file right next to Opaque. The pressing does justice to those swells and whispers, and it is the kind of LP that makes you slow down, flip the side, and sit with the sequencing. If you like to buy Haunt The Woods records online, you will also find bundles that pair Ubiquity vinyl with earlier material, a nice way to hear how far their arranging chops have come. And for anyone crate-digging abroad, I have even spotted copies tucked into indie bins alongside other British art-folk in a couple of vinyl records Australia shops, the sort of serendipity that makes a Melbourne record store afternoon go long.

Ubiquity has landed well with the corners of the rock press that still champion ambitious songwriting, and you can hear why. The band aims for big feeling, then builds the architecture to support it. No one is rushing to the chorus. Melodies are allowed to breathe. When the climaxes come, they feel less like fireworks and more like a sky finally clearing. In a year crowded with loud, fast releases, this is an album you live with. Dim the lights, put it on, and let the room change shape.

If you are already in the fold, this will feel like a confident step forward. If you are new to the group, Ubiquity is an easy entry point, the kind of record that plants a flag for Haunt The Woods albums on vinyl collections and a reminder that scale and subtlety can live in the same song.