Hannah Frances: Falling From and Further

Good day, audiophiles. I hope you’re finding the earth beautiful today, however it shows up for you. It’s another phenomenal day to be alive.
And as always: if you stumble on new—or new-to-you—music anywhere in the world, share it with me.

Today, of course, I’m bringing you another story of music discovery. A beautiful accident—though this time, it’s really two stories in one.

See, Falling From and Further is a new release by Hannah Frances. But Hannah herself? She isn’t new to me.
So how did I get here? How did this song land in my life?

Like most discoveries worth keeping, it started as a small moment: part intention, part accident, part quiet fate.

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I LOVE YOU WASHINGTON STATE

In the chilly hours and minutes of an uncertain November in 2022, I sat staring blankly at the computer screen of my 8–5 at the time. Uninspired, bleak, and all too easily taking for granted the season-less nature of SoCal’s autumn.

I needed something. A place to run to. A song to sweep me off my feet—anything to free me from the rolling-chair rhythm and blues. It was a soulless place: “quiet zone” signs scattered through dusty halls, and you couldn’t even use the bathroom without someone watching the time.

I remember scanning the web for new job opportunities, new local spots to book the band… all while trying to hide the only unblocked music site on the company computer: Pandora. Among everything else, at least it was never silent—not in my headset, anyway.

What was I listening to? I’m glad you asked.

Damien Jurado is like the Pacific Northwest’s voice, carrying a reel-to-reel recorder, a worn notebook, and something that feels like a half-whispered prayer.

Seattle-born, he’s a singer-songwriter whose songs feel less like compositions and more like overheard confessions — dispatches from motel rooms, ghost towns, and rainy city corners.

As much as I want to make this a blog about Damien and Hannah, she deserves her own space—and I think he’d agree. So, I’ll skip the full Damien details for now. Just know: it’s vital to the timeline.

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I’m listening to The Last Great Washington State, from Jurado’s album The Horizon Just Laughed. His voice slides gently into my ears:

“I love you, Washington State.”

And suddenly, I have an epiphany:
I gotta go to Seattle.

I’m clicking around to see where to stay, somewhere walkable—and I’m elated that I can catch my dream spots in a single day: KEXP and Sub Pop Records. The universe was sending me love that day, my friends.

Then I look at what shows are playing that weekend… and there it is; Damien Jurado: Live at St. Mark’s Cathedral. And who’s opening? Hannah Frances.

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I could give you a minute-by-minute recap of the trip, but I’ll keep it short.
Here’s what you need to know:
– I went with my younger brother Jeremy, and we had an amazing time
– We stayed at the Mediterranean Inn, across the street from Dick’s Burgers, which we ate at 3 times.
– We rode Bird scooters and walked everywhere, it was ridiculously fun in the freezing cold.
– The trees were every shade you can imagine. I am so grateful for this Earth.
– It was the middle of November in Seattle—and we didn’t see a single drop of rain all weekend. No rain. In Seattle.

It was a magical two and a half days. I’d do it all over again.

We touched down in Seattle on Friday night, taxied to the hotel, dropped our bags, and rode straight up to St. Mark’s. We made it fifteen minutes before the show started. Serendipity.

Normally, before seeing a new-to-me artist, I’d do a little research—listening and more listening—but this time, I wanted to be surprised. I had no idea that a transcendent evening was waiting for me.

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Hannah’s Haunted Cathedral

Hannah took the stage that evening with a friend on cello, while she sang and played guitar. And as I sit here now, trying to name what I felt, all I can really start with is this:

I wish you were there.

Her voice was made for a cathedral. The timbre of her vowels sifted through the old organ pipes and curled into the arches, ringing out the duality of living: pain and joy, gratitude and confusion, holding on and letting go.

Hannah is a profound feeler. Her lyrics carry the weight of spiritual work — the kind of poetry that comes from a place of deep self-reflection and healing. It’s the honest reckoning with joy and pain, light and shadow, all tangled up in the messy business of becoming your highest self. Writing from that place takes courage — a willingness to be vulnerable, to hold both hope and heartbreak in one hand, and still keep reaching for the truth.

From the moment I heard her at St. Mark’s, I knew I was witnessing something rare. She sang as though we could see her bones, as though the light and dark of her heart pulsed just beneath her skin.

And though I’m not sure I’m qualified to speak on her guitar playing, I’ll try: she’s a kind of wizard. A self-taught plunky-plunker and pitter-patter conjurer, playing like raindrops on a tin roof — steady, surprising, achingly alive.

I felt lucky — deeply, quietly lucky — to be there. And I think she felt it too, that something in the room was different that night. At least, I hope she did.

She looked as though her soul’s light was shining through every note — beaming, bending, dancing in the joy of what is so clearly her purpose: to heal the listener, even as she heals herself by singing.

It felt less like a show and more like a shared exhale — an unspoken agreement between artist and audience to let the tenderness be seen. I've seen her three times now, and each time it feels the same: a healing ritual disguised as a performance.

Since then, Hannah’s released more music, more videos, toured across the US and EU — doing the damn thing, and doing it with heart.

If you’ve never heard Hannah, I’d recommend… everything. But let’s start with the latest.

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The Art of Falling Further

This song is so warm. Like sitting in the sun on a grassy hill, staring out at the ocean. Then the summer wind kicks up, whipping your hair into your eyes and mouth — but you can’t be bothered.

Who could look away?

Falling From and Further feels like that: a quiet warmth shot through with sudden gusts of memory, regret, tenderness. You don’t fight it; you let it pass over you. And when it does, you feel a little more alive, a little more honest, a little closer to whatever it is that matters most.

There are so many reasons to love Hannah’s music. We could spend the whole afternoon tracing the complex time signatures, the way the melodies twist and unfurl like smoke — and those are beautiful reasons, worthy ones.

But if I’m honest, what keeps me coming back are her words. The quiet power of the lyrics themselves, and the way her voice carries them: gentle, raw, almost hesitant at times, as though she’s letting us eavesdrop on something deeply private.

It’s that combination — the language and the living human breath behind it — that makes each song feel less like a performance and more like a conversation you’re lucky to overhear. Not to mention the inclusion of her band, which I have not seen live. What an incredible group. 

I trust these lyrics to speak for themselves. I don't want to psycho analyze every word simply because music carries the meaning of the listener, so I will just leave this here:

I lose track of thе life I've lived
Rеcalled through sudden losses
It's all there and gone the same
Lessons in forgetting
More than this, I wish for time back
More than this, I wish for time
More than this, I wish to
Feel it all

Hannah’s career is still taking shape, unfolding quietly and with intention. Each new song, each live show, is another step into a world she’s building for herself — one that invites listeners to slow down, lean in, and feel what so much of the world rushes past.

There’s something rare and beautiful in that kind of music: the kind that doesn’t need to shout to be heard, that trusts honesty and vulnerability to carry the weight.

I’m grateful to witness this moment — to watch an artist growing into her own voice, unfolding in real time. And I can’t wait to see where the music takes her next.

If you listen closely, you might find a little piece of yourself in the quiet spaces she leaves behind.

Thanks for sharing this discovery with me. Stay Tuned In, friends.  —Berly D

Watch the FALLING FROM AND FURTHER music video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ih52jKBpJsI

Hannah's Website: https://hannahfrancesmusic.com/

If you dug this post, feel free to tip the scribbler: Venmo https://venmo.com/u/berlyd

Bonus photos from the trip: