If there were a collective appreciation of dramatic album intros of the year, then Babylon, the latest offering from The Huntress and the Holder of Hands, would definitely be a big part of the conversation. Like a film where the opening shot is a post-apocalyptic barren landscape, smoke from a recently grounded fighter jet still billows, fragments of civilisation lie broken and motionless, nature fights back amid scattered rubble, and, above, a clear blue sky appears impossibly tranquil and unattainable. Then heaving into view comes a solitary human frame, still very much alive but lost, lonely and desperate among the overwhelming destruction that surrounds. That very place, or at least a personalised assimilation of it, is where this album drops us with…

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