HAARA’s “Path” Feels Like a Ritual, Not a Release, And That's The Point

Swiss psyche-folk band HAARA aren’t chasing playlists with “Path.” They’re building a fire and asking you to sit down.

Out February 18 via Rattler Records, “Path” doesn’t explode out of the gate. It creeps in. The opening is cinematic but stripped of ego, soft percussive movement, tiny bell chimes that feel like footsteps in the dark. It’s less “intro” and more initiation. You don’t just hear it. You enter it. Then the voices arrive.

Not polished pop harmonies. Not indie-cute layering. A chorus that feels ancient and communal, like something passed down rather than written last year. The vocals don’t compete; they merge. The effect is subtle but heavy. What starts as one person walking becomes a procession. A ritual. A reminder that survival has always been collective.

Lyrically, “Path” goes big, humanity big. Migration. Faith. Mortality. Freedom. The stuff most artists are scared to touch because it can easily slip into preachy territory. HAARA avoids that trap by grounding everything in imagery instead of ideology. You see deserts. You feel mountains. You sense the exhaustion of long roads carved by generations before us.

There’s no glossy optimism here. No hollow “everything will be fine” chorus. The resilience in “Path” acknowledges danger, fatigue, and death. That honesty is what makes it resonate. It doesn’t romanticize the journey; it honors it.

Sonically, HAARA sits in that beautiful space between folk tradition and psychedelic atmosphere. It’s meditative but not sleepy. Spiritual without being performative. If anything, it feels like a 21st-century protest chant disguised as a campfire hymn.

As the first glimpse into their upcoming album A Dance of Life and Death, “Path” sets the tone: this is music about collective destiny, not individual branding.

In an era obsessed with self, HAARA are singing about us. And honestly? That hits different.