Lina_ and Jules Maxwell have made something truly surprising with “Terra Mãe,” whose English translation is “Mother Earth”
The Portuguese fado singer and the Irish songwriter found something they had in common that no one would have thought possible: a word that appears in both languages but has different meanings in different cultures.
The album opens with a revelation that feels almost accidental in its brilliance. “Fado” in Portuguese describes those melancholic folk songs that capture the soul of a nation.
“Fadó” in Irish Gaelic means “long ago” – the traditional opening for stories, much like “once upon a time.”
This linguistic coincidence became the foundation for nine tracks that feel less like fusion and more like recognition of something that was always there.
Lina_’s voice carries the weight of centuries. Her melismatic vocals on tracks like “Arde Sem Se Ver” (Follow The Dove) demonstrate why she’s collected multiple awards across Portugal and beyond.
She builds each line in a way that is almost architectural, creating emotional structures that do not seem to follow gravity.
Sometimes, when she sings Amélia Muge‘s arrangements, like on “A Flor Da Romã” (Cherry Blossom), her version feels both traditional and new.
Jules Maxwell brings his Dead Can Dance style to the mix, but this is not just dreamy background music.
His music for “Terra Mãe” is very restrained, with computer sounds that work well with Lina_’s singing instead of competing with them.
The title track emerged from improvisation sessions, and you can hear that organic quality in how the elements breathe together.
To think about, Maxwell’s piano playing is like the 12th-century Malmesbury Abbey, where some of the ideas for this record came from.
James Chapman’s production deserves particular mention. His multi-layered electronica never overwhelms the intimate moments, yet provides enough sonic architecture to support the album’s grander ambitions.
Chapman understands that sometimes the most powerful electronic music is the kind that doesn’t announce itself.
The cultural exchange here runs deeper than surface-level collaboration. Both Ireland and Portugal occupy similar positions.
This geographical poetry manifests in songs like “Requiem” and the closing track “When Are You Coming,” co-written by both artists. These pieces capture something universal about distance and desire.
What strikes most about “Terra Mãe” is its refusal to exoticize either tradition. Lina_ doesn’t perform Irish music, nor does Maxwell attempt fado.
Instead, they’ve created a third language – one that honours both sources while belonging entirely to neither.
The album suggests that cultural boundaries might be more porous than we imagine, that artistic kinship can transcend geography and language.
“Terra Mãe” comes from a realisation that music, like the earth, belongs to everyone and no one at the same time. It goes beyond the careers of either artist.
