When Emma Hill sings with her never-ending smile, “I’ll never be the keeper, I’m a temporary heart pleaser, I’m temporary” she pulls at the sweet impermanence of love, or rather, the sugary taste of infatuation that rises and falls whether

She seems like a native of Bellwoods, but she’s actually from Portland, by way of Alaska. The folk songs themselves are sung with a certain craftsmanship that can appreciate and take from these natural elements, like a modern day Joan