The Newcastle songwriter recorded this one at home, trading studio polish for the more honest acoustics of domestic life — you can hear it in the grain of the thing, a warmth that feels lived-in rather than manufactured. Co-writer Jordie Cooke, a neighbour and fellow new parent, worked alongside her during stolen pockets of nap-time, and that collaborative intimacy seeps into every bar. This isn't a song assembled by committee in a glass box; it's one traded back and forth across a garden fence, and the record is better for wearing its seams.

Hill's lyricism has always leaned toward the confessional, but here she finds a sharper, funnier vocabulary for inadequacy — comparing herself unfavourably to great novelists, great lovers, unable to summon the words or the nerve, retreating into herself like something small and shelled. It's a lovely piece of self-deprecation that never curdles into self-pity, because the song keeps pulling itself back toward hope. The recurring image of feet weighed down with granite — heavy, geological, immovable — sits against a chorus that insists, gently but repeatedly, that the waiting has not been in vain. That tension between stone and lightness is where the song lives.

Production-wise, this is folk music that trusts silence. Nothing is over-egged. The arrangement breathes, leaving room for the small imperfections — a floorboard creak, the hum of a house with children somewhere nearby — that most producers would scrub out and that here become the point. Cerys Matthews clearly heard something worth championing in Hill's earlier work, and this single suggests her instincts were sound; if anything, Hill has grown more interesting since, trading volume for nuance.

The wolf-at-bay refrain that closes out the song is a small stroke of brilliance — a childhood fear repurposed as a grown woman's private incantation against everything that might pull her back into the underneath she's spent the whole song trying to climb out of. It's the sort of lyrical choice that rewards a second and third listen, the kind of detail that separates a good single from a merely pleasant one.

Granite Feet doesn't announce itself as a comeback or a reinvention. It simply gets on with being tender, specific, and quietly assured — a homecoming song that sounds like one, unhurried and unafraid of its own softness. If this is the first taste of Hill's second album, the shift toward something more elemental and spacious looks like exactly the right direction. Newcastle's had a fine export to Radio 6 before; on this evidence, it's about to have another one worth staying with.

Catch her on the upcoming UK dates — Edinburgh, London, Glasgow, and home turf in Newcastle — where songs built this intimately tend to land hardest.