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by Angela Winter

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

    Includes PDF sleeve-note booklet with poems (lyrics), woodcut illustrations, photographs, digital art, story, thanks, and credits.
    Purchasable with gift card

      $8 USD  or more


  • Record/Vinyl + Digital Album

    Lathe-cut blue vinyl cut by Corey Bauer/Cryptic Carousel featuring two tracks from Frost: "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" and "The Onset." Art includes woodcut illustrations by J.J. Lankes and design by Kent Swecker.

    Includes unlimited streaming of Frost via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.
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    edition of 20  9 remaining

      $11 USD


  • Full Digital Discography

    Get all 5 Angela Winter releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Frost, Unfamiliar Language, Sonic Essences, lightness, and Hollow. , and , .

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      $29.60 USD or more (20% OFF)


Dust of Snow 02:44
The way a crow Shook down on me The dust of snow From a hemlock tree Has given my heart A change of mood And saved some part Of a day I had rued.
Nature’s first green is gold, Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf’s a flower; But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank to grief, So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay.
The Onset 03:37
Before man came to blow it right The wind once blew itself untaught, And did its loudest day and night In any rough place where it caught. Man came to tell it what was wrong: It hadn’t found the place to blow; It blew too hard — the aim was song. And listen — how it ought to go! He took a little in his mouth, And held it long enough for north To be converted into south, And then by measure blew it forth. By measure. It was word and note, The wind the wind had meant to be — A little through the lips and throat. The aim was song — the wind could see.
The west was getting out of gold, The breath of air had died of cold, When shoeing home across the white, I thought I saw a bird alight. In summer when I passed the place I had to stop and lift my face; A bird with an angelic gift Was singing in it sweet and swift. No bird was singing in it now. A single leaf was on a bough, And that was all there was to see In going twice around the tree. From my advantage on a hill I judged that such a crystal chill Was only adding frost to snow As gilt to gold that wouldn’t show. A brush had left a crooked stroke Of what was either cloud or smoke From north to south across the blue; A piercing little star was through.
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow. My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind and downy flake. The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep, And miles to go And miles to go And miles to go before I sleep.
Two Witches 02:30
Fire and Ice 05:41
Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I’ve tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.
It was long I lay Awake that night Wishing the tower Would name the hour And tell me whether To call it day (Though not yet light) And give up sleep. The snow fell deep With the hiss of spray; Two winds would meet, One down one street, One down another, And fight in a smother Of dust and feather. I could not say, But feared the cold Had checked the pace Of the tower clock By tying together Its hands of gold Before its face. Then came one knock! A note unruffled Of earthly weather, Though strange and muffled. The tower said, “One!” And then a steeple. They spoke to themselves And such few people As winds might rouse From sleeping warm (But not unhouse). They left the storm That struck en masse My window glass Like a beaded fur. In that grave One They spoke of the sun And moon and stars, Saturn and Mars And Jupiter. Still more unfettered, They left the named And spoke of the lettered, The sigmas and taus Of constellations. They filled their throats With the furthest bodies To which man sends his Speculation, Beyond which God is; The cosmic motes Of yawning lenses. Their solemn peals Were not their own: They spoke for the clock With whose vast wheels Theirs interlock. In that grave word Uttered alone The utmost star Trembled and stirred, Though set so far Its whirling frenzies Appear like standing In one self station. It has not ranged, And save for the wonder Of once expanding To be a nova, It has not changed To the eye of man On planets over Around and under It in creation Since man began To drag down man And nation nation.



“My poems . . . are all set to trip the reader head foremost into the boundless. Ever since infancy I have had the habit of leaving my blocks carts chairs and such like ordinaries where people would be pretty sure to fall forward over them in the dark. Forward, you understand, and in the dark.”
—Robert Frost

I conceived Frost in early 2019, when I took up piano and music-theory lessons with musician and producer Tim Carless, who’d just produced my debut album, Hollow. As part of our explorations of diatonic harmony, Pythagorean tuning, and modal music, Tim asked me to write songs based on exercises he assigned me. In composing my songs, I wanted to focus on learning music theory versus writing words (which takes me forever), so I looked for poetry that I could easily repurpose into song lyrics. That’s when I learned that Robert Frost’s Pulitzer Prize–winning book New Hampshire had just entered the public domain.

I knew little about Frost’s poetry, save for a glancing familiarity with “The Road Not Taken,” “Fire and Ice,” and “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.” My sense was that his poems, though brilliantly written, probably weren’t for me. To my ears, Frost’s lines sounded too plainspoken, too filled with stories about his New England neighbors, too specifically American. But my desire for poetic lyrics led me to check out an original 1923 edition of his book New Hampshire from the library, just to see whether any of its poems would suit.

I was pleased to find “Fire and Ice” and “Stopping by Woods” in the book, alongside a few stark and wintry poems that intrigued me. I was especially taken with “Dust of Snow,” which told of a transformative moment its narrator experienced under a hemlock tree. I decided to try the poem’s brief lines as lyrics for my first modal composition, which at that point I was calling “Pythagoras for Mice” because whenever I played it on the piano, mice in the attic would get excited and start scurrying around overhead. My singing of Frost’s words did not seem to dampen their enthusiasm for the song.

In all, I set six poems from New Hampshire to music. As I sang each song and committed them to memory, I began to perceive deeper shades of meaning in their lines. They took root inside my mind and heart and began to grow, and I realized that Frost was not as straightforward as he initially seemed.

I intended to record the songs as an EP that year, but life had other ideas. My estranged father died, and when I got home from his memorial service, I discovered that my main source of consulting income was gone, which meant no money for recording, or for much else. My life basically fell apart, and I shelved the recording project by necessity. Then the pandemic arrived. This ushered in a new, DIY way of working—also by necessity—which helped lead to an experimental foray into ambient and noise music. During lockdown, I learned how to record, mix, and produce my own music as I moved away from lyrics-based compositions toward wordless, textural sonic explorations that seemed to better fit the nebulosity of the time.

For all these reasons, the Frost songs wound up sitting on a shelf for several years, and I almost didn’t record them. I couldn’t seem to find a way to align them with where my music was headed; but neither would they seem to let me go. A few people, especially my husband, asked if I would record them and hoped aloud that I would. I wondered if there was a way to reinvigorate the music, or at least my own enthusiasm for it, by creating new, additional tracks for the album that were inspired by other poems in the book. Was it possible to set ambient music and noise improvisations next to more traditional-sounding piano and voice compositions? Could music from the past live beside sonics that suggest the future? I began to hope that looking at the present from these two directions at once would make the album’s shape become clearer.

As I considered how to make Frost, I read more deeply in New Hampshire, along with some of Frost’s letters and lectures on writing. I read about Frost himself: about how his witty and charismatic social disposition differed greatly from his more reserved, starchy writer persona; about the many mental illnesses and deaths in his immediate family; about his self-confidence and his sorrow. I read about how most people misread “The Road Not Taken.” The more I read, the more I felt as though I was falling forward in the dark.

In the dark, I found graveyards, apple orchards, and steeple bells. I found two witches and an attic full of bones. I found a man who set his farmhouse on fire for the insurance money, which he used to buy a telescope to “satisfy a life-long curiosity / about our place among the infinities.” He named the telescope “the Star-splitter.” I found Saturn and Mars and Jupiter. I found cosmic wonder juxtaposed with all-too-human society. I fell forward into what this album became, stumbling in the dark all the way.


my patrons—for your generous direct support of my art, which makes living as a musician more sustainable—thank you, thank you, thank you, dear friends!

Jack Chuter—for your brilliant audio mastering, big ears, and thoughtful company—I learned so much as we worked together, and I delighted in our musical conversations along the way

Wes Naman—for sweating it out with me in a ballet studio on a 100-degree summer day to create wintry, beautiful images for this album—your art is dreamy gorgeous, and I loved hanging out with you

Kent Swecker—for your quick, keen designs, your humor, and your generosity—I loved working with you, as always

Corey Bauer—for your sweet, sweet vinyl cuts and awesome service

the audio angels on freesound.org—for sharing your field recordings for remixing via the creative commons—many thanks for your contributions to this album

readers of Auspices, community on Bandcamp, show attendees, and listeners across the globe—for your company and fellowship, which lifts my wings and energizes my creativity

my music mates, friends, family, and goddesses—for your kindness, love, and presence—I’m deeply grateful for you

Ted Johnson and John Shannon—for lessons in ones and zeros, mAs and dBs, signal paths, effects pedals, and sonic spacewalking

Tim Carless—for encouraging me to record and produce my own music and for endless piano assignments (“Good. Now arrange your song in two more keys.”)—miss you, mate

Lynn A. Robinson—for my first piano lessons as a child, for your gift of a beautiful keyboard, and for supporting me through all my years with presence, encouragement, and love

Robert Frost—for your “lover’s quarrel with the world,” which has utterly changed me

Brent Winter—for making my heart sing and this album possible


released November 4, 2022


PRODUCTION—Produced, recorded, and mixed by Angela Winter; mastered by Jack Chuter, www.attnmagazine.co.uk/mastering

PUBLISHING—Music written and published by Angela Winter (ASCAP); lyrics by Robert Frost

PERFORMANCES—Piano, vocals, synths, and field recordings by Angela Winter; additional field recordings by freesound.org contributors: Christopher C. Courter (The Star-Splitter); lwdickens (Dust of Snow); Barry Gusey, Fractal Studios, and T.E.C. Studios (Fire and Ice); and Florian Reichelt (The Onset, I Will Sing You One-O)

VINYL—Lathe cut by Corey Bauer, Cryptic Carousel, Remy, NY

DESIGN—Woodcut illustrations by J. J. Lankes; cover art and vinyl package design by Kent Swecker, A New Machine, Raleigh, NC

PHOTOGRAPHY—Photographs and digital art by Wes Naman, wesnamanphotography.com, Durham, NC

SLEEVE NOTES—Lyrics, art, and more album materials are available at www.angelawinter.com/frost-sleeve-notes

Send warmth, greeting cards, and icicles to: Winter Creative Studio, 304 W. Weaver St., Suite 230, Carrboro, NC 27510, USA

dedicated to Brent Winter, my heart-home and singing strength

©℗ 2022 Angela Winter, All Rights Reserved


all rights reserved



Angela Winter Carrboro, North Carolina

Angela Winter creates music like you might hear at a Renaissance fair during the apocalypse—minimalist synths and strings meet otherworldly vocals, shimmering drones, and overtones. Her work has been featured on radio from Asheville to Australia. She has performed at Carnegie Hall, and in addition to her own shows and festival performances, she has opened for John Cale (The Velvet Underground). ... more

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