West Hill Hall, Brighton, September 2006 and Leopard Leg, the expansive group Rowan Forestier-Walker was then part of, arrive in two heavily loaded vehicles for a set as part of a line-up with myself and Pamelia Kurstin. They fill the hall with multiple drum kits, guitars, violins, accordions, microphones and a mass of cables, effects and other objects. Later, the audience would squeezed in around them, but the experience for me through the day of watching the intricacies of the group dynamics as instruments and ideas were set up, taken apart, repaired and rebuilt as they worked on their individual and collective sound during, provided the full arc.

Writing this, some 15 years of knowing Rowan later, in this still raw context after her passing, perhaps needs some objectivity. However, such an approach wouldn’t fully reflect how connected her creative output was to other areas of her life. She was, in that sense, folkloric – not merely looking backwards or artificially maintaining the past, but persistently finding and forming connections to the newer heritage of tape music, electronics, literature and sonic ritual-making. Rowan was part of a constant churning of cross-cultural exchange on a line from Derbyshire, Oram, Oliveros, Radigue, Pade, Brouk et al, through to the assimilation or questioning of traditions, always digging into the forms, into the flexibility of sound.

You could find yourself in conversation with her about shepherd whistling languages, Eastern European music and film, the broken English tradition, free jazz or inhabitation in other art forms, counterculture commune clothing, Hilma af Klint, Leonora Carrington… she was a ravenous enquirer, not just a musician but a print maker, textile designer (who invented her own patented weave design), film maker, a researcher of resonant metals and writer of case studies on the properties of sound healing.

Leopard Leg formed in 2005, fluctuating from eight to 15 musicians. Speaking to several of their members – Maureen Hallomas, Gayle Gold, Sebastian Blue Pin, Victoria Homewood, Robyn Minogue – they still question how it worked given the logistics involved. But it did, with the group touring, and building a discography including one live CD-R (in fabric covers made by Rowan, who was also in charge of producing bags for the merch stall), a split double LP The Seven Sistered Sea-Secret Of Shh Shh Shh and a split cassette. Having built a reputation for intense, mind altering performances, using improvisation and set pieces drawing on events in the lives of historical figures, the commodification of women and the vagaries of oceanic research, in 2007 they decided to split. An offer to perform at Frieze Festival, to be filmed in the US and screened on Channel 4 TV in the UK, brought things to a head. “It felt like we were being set up. It was veering off into sensationalism,” says Maureen Hallomas. “And we deserved so much more respect than that. I talked to Rowan a lot about it, she was very understanding”.

“She brought the new element of recorded sound loops to our collective noise, and was the gentle and shrewd mediator within a group of distinctly assorted personalities,” explains Sebastian Blue Pin. “Her work conveys a profound sense of who she is – such boldness and delicacy – a diaphanous quality that allows the listener to pass through a fleeting prism of exquisite sonic mystery.”

In Brighton Rowan could be found working or running stalls in shops such as Yellow Submarine and Snoopers Paradise, DJing, designing and screen-printing posters for gigs and Catacomb Carousel events. Her own music continued under the name The Sunshine Variety, briefly, and then as Embla Quickbeam, combining the Norse name for the first women, created from a tree, and the common name of the Rowan tree. After years living in East Sussex, and time spent in Wales, Rowan and partner, Andrew Jarvis (Jarv) moved to West Yorkshire in 2016 where she became a key part of the burgeoning music scene around Todmorden/Hebden Bridge. Sophie Cooper, also an ex-member of LL, and Ed Sanders, who moved north around the same time, explain how the move was intended to allow her and Jarv more time to work on music, and Rowan worked on important new solo pieces and performances, film soundtracks, and a collaboration as Lapis with Jarv and as a trio with the addition of Holly Jarvis. That trio, along with Chris Hladowski of Nalle and The Family Elan, opened The Magic City shop, selling music, instruments, clothing, books and holding concerts.

Wherever Rowan was a gravity built around her. My daughter, the artist Pheobe riley Law, sent Rowan one of her first graphic scores, Score For Nissei Theatre. Her response was to record two carefully mesmeric solo versions for the album of the same name. “I remember my dad talking about Rowan, playing me some of her work. We went to watch her at a concert in Leeds… the performance was fantastic, inspiring… and she was wearing a great jumper.”

Rowan worked extensively with tape as a vehicle for tones and recordings, her innately crafted pieces employing structure and improvisation, and using other sources including gongs, bowls, voice and objects found in the landscape. With her field recordings, there was a sense of connection to place and the process of accepting a role in the collection and diffusion of its sound. That fragile touch is rarer than one might think. Recalling the recording of Leopard Leg’s album, in a forest, during an interview in The Wire 270 Rowan (allocated the role of “inspiration point”) commented: “I chose to think about the state of things today, and abuse of nature… just really listen to what was around us, just being still within. We started off the recording in silence, simply listening.” Her use of various methods of sound acquisition, such as portable reel-to-reel recorders, four-tracks, loop pedals and other devices, retained a sense of their imprinted transparency. When I curated an edition of Below The Radar for The Wire reflecting the diversity of contemporary field recording practice, it was obvious that the understated necessity in her work with the form had to be included.

I was lucky enough to watch her perform on a number of occasions, either as audience, on the same bill or in collaboration, including for the series I ran in East Yorkshire, Seeds & Bridges. Everyone who got to work with or alongside her will hold their memories of those times even more tightly now, not only for the music, where each performance shifted between fragility and an almost hallucinatory, powerful clarity, but for her openness and lack of affectation. Duncan Harrison, Brighton based musician and organiser, comments, “I remember Rowan seemed almost intimidatingly cool and interesting, which is funny because the minute you actually get to know her you couldn’t ask to meet someone as understanding and supportive.”

The areas of music she connected with are often characterised by frenzied activity, but Rowan never over-played, and her sense of ‘when’ was always spot-on. She drew as much pleasure from working with Jarv or other friends in private as she did in public, but every live performance or release she was involved (on releases via labels such as Chocolate Monk, FolkLore Tapes, Front & Follow, Fractal Meat Cuts, verdure engraved, Splitting The Atom, etc) bristles with her unhurried musicality.

“She certainly preferred to work on material as methodically and meaningfully as possible, allowing it to grow organically rather than being forced,” Jarv tells me. “She found the DIY music scene liberating as it gave her the space to work freely, at her own pace.”

Dylan Nyoukis of Chocolate Monks says, “Rowan had a golden ear, an obvious ability to listen, again both in her music and in her social interactions. Stones That Move & Grow was one of my favourite releases of 2019. It’s one that keeps on revealing more of itself, just like Rowan.” Natalie Beyliss reflects that, “It was uplifting to spend time within the realm of her cool, calm presence. While we were playing, I felt swept away by the gentle mastery that Rowan had over the sounds she was creating. There was something otherworldly about the sonic spaces she created.”

Rowan usually collaborated in person, either live or in the same space. But speaking about their joint album, Inside Memory’s Head, constructed via post, Graham Dunning recalls, “We used the same four-track cassettes and recorded a track each to build up the pieces – it was always really exciting to see what Rowan had recorded. Her parts were considered and careful, leaving space for me to work, but also free flowing – an exploration of the possibilities of the sounds she was using.”

Her work represents a rich creative heritage. It will continue to be sought out by those looking for an authenticity that finds expression through constant searching. Most recently she was studying remotely for a masters in Digital Music and Sound Arts. Her research centred around sound, ritual and nature, looking at themes of ecology and the non-human. In late 2020 she and Jarv moved to Cornwall. Every now and then a photo would come up on social media which spoke of why she was drawn to the county. A few days ago, Jarv posted again. This time, he spoke of restoring somewhere for them to live, playing music together, getting married, and her bravery: “Connection to the landscape was always part of Rowan’s inspiration in sound making and life, and is evident in her use of field recordings and the physical use of ‘natural’ material to produce sound. We were happily getting acquainted with our new surroundings and making musical plans. Rowan had been (field)/recording as usual, working on new ideas. We were playing as a duo again, largely as a percussive ensemble, with drums, gongs and bowls, and began initial recording sessions in abandoned quarries.

“It's been deeply upsetting that our time here in Cornwall got cut short, but we’re glad we got chance to have the time we did. Rowan's courage and positivity during her final months, her desire to carry on creating was strong and she was playing right up until it wasn't possible any more. The positioning of the cabin we were living in allowed us to fully immerse in the sounds of nature, something that brought great comfort to us both at the end.”

Rowan’s early passing has come as a massive blow to everyone who knew her. The outpouring of memories will, when the time is right, hopefully bring some comfort to those closest to her. We were all lucky to have spent time caught in that gravity with her. Rest easy Rowan.

Subscribers to The Wire can read Mia Clarke's feature on Leopard Leg via our online archive