Shrouded by secrecy, little is known of Tara Goldenhour. Her art is for herself and lives far afield, deep in the cedar woods. The faint cry of a flute. The tender strum of a banjo. The ringing bell of her voice.

Tara’s music evokes time passed by and the relationship of humanity with the divine nature of it all. She sings of love and beauty and of rift and darkness.