The Haunted Generation is also a regular column in Fortean Times magazine, rounding up new releases and forthcoming events. From Issue 469, dated April 2026…

THE HAUNTED GENERATION

Bob Fischer rounds up the latest news from the parallel worlds of popular hauntology

“I met Nigel Fenwick several years ago,” says Richard Daniels. “It was at a conference in Carlisle on Industrial Estate Liminality and Altered State Geomancy. We got on really well, and eventually he suggested I reboot the paranormal project he had begun with his friend Roland Clark back in the 1970s. Before I knew it, I was the custodian of The Occultaria of Albion…”

Since 2020, Richard has been producing a zine of that very title, continuing the legacy of these curiously undocumented paranormalists. Now, he is the writer of a sumptuous new spin-off book, The Occultaria Majesteria. Beautifully illustrated by Melody Phelan-Clark, it’s a hilarious compendium of tongue-in-cheek Forteana with a delightfully vintage feel. From the Parnwell Poltergeist to the Magpie Man of Wittley Holt, the whole project is clearly infused with Richard’s own lingering memories of 1970s disquiet.

“I think the supernatural felt unsettling because we often just stumbled upon it by accident,” he recalls. “Coming across the Usborne Book of Ghosts in the library or staying over at your grandparents and seeing the opening titles to Tales of the Unexpected. It was as if the paranormal was reaching out and grabbing us unawares”. Richard is attempting to exorcise his trauma by wearing a succession of beige polo necks, and you can attempt to join his “Guild of the Unwitchers” at www.occultariaofalbion.co.uk.

Similarly traversing the weirdy hotspots of the British Isles is musician Foster Neville, whose excellent new album Through Lands of Ghosts is an electro-folk travelogue of places reputedly haunted by “whisperings of things”. From the neolithic ghosts of West Kennet Long Barrow to the time-travelling Pictish warriors that supposedly surprised a Scottish partygoer in January 1950, it’s a beautifully haunting journey. Drift along the Old Straight Track to subexoticrecords.bandcamp.com. And if your wanderlust remains unsated, maybe float over the Irish Sea and check out the debut album from Dubliner Aoibhín Redmond. Recording as NIMF, she has crafted a beautiful collection of Celtic-influenced ambience with more than a soupçon of love for The Wicker Man. It’s called Sirenoscape, and it’s currently manifesting at camelliasinensisrecords.bandcamp.com.

And who’s that, rashly returning to a fizzling Catherine Wheel despite the warnings on the box? Why, it’s everyone’s favourite Southsea eccentric Keith Seatman, whose new album Counting to Ten Then Back Again is – he claims – largely inspired by the lurid packaging of 1970s firework sets. Keith is a genuinely singular talent, virtually unparalleled in his ability to evoke the sheer weirdness of the mid-20th century childhood, and his latest collection is a riot of fairground psychedelia: the perfect soundtrack for farty sparklers and milk bottle-based rocket launches alike. Light the blue touch paper and retreat safely to castlesinspace.bandcamp.com.

Similarly illuminating the skies on these murky nights? I’ve very much enjoyed the Bagpuss-esque folk trappings of The Veil Between the Worlds, a new album by Mexico-based producer Nilson, and I’ve also been revelling in Snailbeach Mines Trust, Eric Loveland Heath’s sound collage tribute to Shrewsbury’s most historic lead mine. Sleeve notes for the latter are written by Ben “The Balloonist” Holton, the founder of Wayside and Woodland Records, whose soothing new EP Wulfrun is a similarly heartfelt homage to Wolverhampton’s futuristic 1960s shopping space. And I’m also waving a wistful farewell to my old favourite Jim Noir, who is – he claims – retiring his twenty-year pop persona for good. His final album Programmes For Cools sounds like 1980s Fleetwood Mac bunking up with the BBC Radiophonic Workshop, and it’s available from jimnoirmusic.bandcamp.com.

Meanwhile, something sinister is crackling through the ether. Written by Tom Oyston, atmospheric audio drama The Orphan Frequency is a compelling spin-off from fever dream podcast Listen Through the Brown Window. When their teacher Mr Trevithick discovers an antiquated transistor radio in the classroom, youngsters Lucy and Tim are swept into the static between sinister “Number Station” broadcasts, becoming trapped in a nightmarish world of fizzling frequencies. 

“I was obsessed with the radio as a child,” explains Tom. “Between stations there were often strange beeps, dissonant voices and ghostly fragments, and I was convinced they were aliens. Radio seemed porous, like the world was leaking through it. The Orphan Frequency grew directly from those feelings – that something strange was going on just below the static”.

Guided through the audio netherworld by the mysterious “orphan” of the title, Lucy and Tim find themselves drifting amidst a surreal haze of fragmented broadcasts: from cheesy 1970s disc jockeys spinning bizarre adverts for ‘Hat Cat’ fashions, to the impossible questions of “Frequency, the quiz where you tune in or fade out”. Tom cites the eerie feel of vintage children’s TV shows as a major influence – in particular, The Moon Stallion and Chocky – while also acknowledging a debt to the more outré output of the Children’s Film Foundation. With stars including Youtube beardo weirdo Sean Reynard and actual Doctor Who actor Will Barton, it’s charming evocation of a golden age of vintage strangeness. Just head to Spotify and twiddle the knobs while keeping one hand firmly clamped around the aerial. 

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