You know that feeling when a song starts and the air just feels... heavier? Like the temperature dropped five degrees? That’s the power of the archetype. We have been obsessed with songs of witches since way before Stevie Nicks donned her first piece of black chiffon. It is a primal thing.
Music and magic are basically the same stuff anyway. Both involve using vibration to change how people feel or act. Honestly, if you look at the history of folk music, the "witch" isn't just a Halloween costume. She’s a protest. She’s a warning. She’s the person who knows the herbs that can heal you or stop your heart.
Think about it.
The Folk Roots of Witches in Song
Long before Spotify, the "witch" appeared in traditional Child Ballads. These weren't exactly radio hits. They were oral histories. Take "The Twa Corbies" or "Alison Gross." In "Alison Gross," written down in the 18th century but much older, we see the witch as a figure of thwarted desire. She tries to bribe a man with silver and gold, and when he says no, she turns him into a "worm" (a dragon or snake) for seven years.
It's gritty. It's weird.
But it shows how songs of witches were used to explain the inexplicable or the unfair. If a crop failed or a man went mad, there was a song to explain why. These tunes used minor keys and repetitive, droning structures to mimic the feeling of a spell. We still see this today in "Dark Folk" or "Neo-Pagan" music. Bands like Wardruna or Heilung aren't technically singing about "witches" in the Disney sense, but they are tapping into that same ritualistic, earth-bound energy that defines the genre.
Most people think witchy music started with the 1960s occult revival. It didn't. It just got louder then.
The 70s Shift: From Scary to Sexy
Then came the 1970s. This is where the songs of witches really took over the mainstream. You can't talk about this without mentioning "Rhiannon" by Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nicks basically created the modern "White Witch" aesthetic on stage.
She didn't just sing a song; she lived it.
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During live performances in 1976, Nicks would go into a literal trance during the climax of the song. It was theatrical, sure, but it felt dangerous to audiences used to bubblegum pop. She claimed she found the name Rhiannon in a novel (by Mary Leader), only to find out later that Rhiannon was a Welsh goddess. That kind of synchronicity is exactly what keeps people digging into these lyrics decades later.
Then you’ve got Donovan’s "Season of the Witch."
It’s iconic. It’s been covered by everyone from Lana Del Rey to Joan Jett. Why? Because it captures the paranoia of the late 60s. It’s not about bubbling cauldrons. It’s about a world that is changing too fast, where you can’t trust what you see. The "witch" here is a metaphor for the counter-culture—the people who see the truth that the "straights" are missing.
Why Do We Keep Listening?
It’s the agency. Historically, women were called witches when they had too much power or didn't fit into the box. When a female artist leans into witchy vibes, she’s claiming that power.
Look at Kate Bush.
"Waking the Witch" from Hounds of Love is terrifying. It uses sampled voices—judges, accusers—to recreate the feeling of a witch trial. It’s avant-garde. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s also a masterpiece of sound design. Bush uses the "witch" to explore the psyche, the parts of ourselves we try to drown or burn away because they're "too much."
Musicologists often point out that songs of witches frequently utilize the "Devil's Interval" (the tritone). It's a dissonant sound that was supposedly banned by the Church in the Middle Ages (though that's mostly a myth, it makes for a great story). Whether the ban was real or not, that specific tension—the $4^{th}$ augmented or $5^{th}$ diminished—is the literal DNA of spooky music.
The Modern Occult: Pop’s New Coven
If you think witchy music died with the 70s, you haven't been paying attention to the charts lately. We are in a full-blown "Witch-Pop" era.
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Florence + The Machine is the obvious successor to Stevie Nicks. Florence Welch often talks about her obsession with the Renaissance and the occult. Songs like "Which Witch" (an unreleased gem from How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful) are raw and ritualistic.
Then there’s the darker side.
Chelsea Wolfe and Emma Ruth Rundle. This is "Doom Folk." It’s heavy, it’s atmospheric, and it treats the witch as a figure of grief and survival. It’s not about "Double, double toil and trouble." It’s about the darkness of the woods and the secrets we keep.
- Lana Del Rey: Famously asked her fans to participate in a "binding spell" against a certain political figure. Her music often blends 1950s Americana with a hazy, incantatory quality.
- The Eagles: "Witchy Woman" might be a bit of a cliché now, but in 1972, it was a massive hit that solidified the "femme fatale as witch" trope in the male rock imagination.
- Azealia Banks: She’s been very open about her practice of Brujería, which brings an entirely different cultural perspective to the concept of songs of witches, moving away from Eurocentric "Hocus Pocus" into something more ancestral and intense.
The Sub-Genres You Probably Missed
The rabbit hole goes deeper than just the radio.
There is a massive underground scene of "Dungeon Synth" and "Dark Ambient" music that functions as a soundtrack for modern practitioners. These aren't songs with catchy choruses. They are soundscapes.
One of the most fascinating corners of this world is "Satanic Blues." Think Twin Temple. They sound like 1950s doo-wop, but the lyrics are strictly about Satanism and feminism. It’s a jarring contrast. It’s funny, but they are also dead serious about the message. It highlights how the "witch" in music is almost always a symbol of rebellion against patriarchal structures.
If you want to understand the cultural impact, look at how many people still flock to "Witchstock" festivals or buy vinyl specifically because of the "occult rock" label. It’s a branding powerhouse.
Does the Music Actually "Work"?
This is where it gets subjective. Many artists, like Björk or FKA Twigs, describe their songwriting process as a form of channeling.
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Is it magic?
Maybe not in the "turning a prince into a frog" way. But if a song can change the heart rate of 50,000 people in a stadium at the same time, it’s doing something pretty close to it. The repetitive beats in techno or the low-frequency drones in Sunn O))) are designed to induce altered states of consciousness. That is exactly what historical "witches" were accused of doing with their chants.
Actionable Steps for the Aspiring Listener
If you’re tired of the same three songs on your Halloween playlist and want to actually dive into the real songs of witches, here is how to curate a collection that has some actual teeth.
First, stop looking for "spooky" music and start looking for "ritual" music. Search for "Ethno-Ambient" or "Nordic Folk." These genres use instruments like the taglharpa or bone flutes that give the music a visceral, ancient quality that modern synthesizers can't quite mimic.
Second, pay attention to the lyrics of the 90s "Lilith Fair" era. Artists like Tori Amos (especially on Boys for Pele) weren't just singing about breakups. They were using goddess imagery and occult metaphors to process trauma. "Professional Widow" is a prime example of a witchy track that doesn't need a single mention of a broomstick to feel supernatural.
Third, check out the "Psych-Folk" movement of the early 2000s. Bands like Espers or Comus (if you want something truly disturbing from the 70s) offer a more authentic, "old-world" version of the witch archetype. Comus’s First Utterance is basically the soundtrack to a forest ritual gone wrong. It's not for the faint of heart.
Finally, support the artists who are actually doing the research. Artists like Maria Franz (Heilung) spend years studying archeological finds and runic inscriptions to make their music. That level of dedication is what separates a gimmick from a genuine piece of art.
The "witch" in music isn't going anywhere. As long as there are people who feel like outsiders, there will be songs written for the ones who dance in the dark.
Next Steps for Your Playlist:
Go beyond the hits. Start with "The Herald" by Comus for a taste of the 70s underground, then jump to "The Cuckoo" by Cosmo Sheldrake for a whimsical, modern folk take. For something truly heavy, listen to "Vulkana" by GGGOLDDD. Each represents a different facet of how we've turned the "witch" into a melody. Don't just listen—pay attention to the layers. The magic is usually hidden in the production, not just the lyrics.