Thomas Blake

Alex Dupree’s “Talking to the Dog” is outsider-folk made with a completely unique eye for lyrical detail. Dupree moves between country twang, cosmic psychedelia and soulful confession with the ease of a picaresque poet-jester-troubadour. You could pick any couplet and it would stand against the best lyric writing of the last sixty years. Let’s hope he finally gets the credit he deserves.

Elanor Moss’s debut “The Knife, The Needle” balances a quiet, subtle mode of expression with a searing intensity of feeling. Arrangements create an all-enveloping sound in which the little lyrical razor blades are skilfully hidden. There is nothing loose or mild about her artistry. She is in full control of every moment, exposing the soft tissue of human emotion with unerring accuracy.

Mama’s Broke’s Amy Lou Keeler and Lisa Maria discuss “Reunion,” their latest album, one of stark emotion and stunning but subtle playing. Born from Nova Scotian roots, Appalachian tradition and Eastern European influences, their deliciously dark folk resists easy labels. The pair talk origins, co-writing, folk as political expression, and the collective feeling that keeps their collaboration fresh after a decade on the road.

Rowena Wise’s “Bad Things Feel Good*” expands on her impressive debut with quiet sincerity and intimacy as calling cards. She moves between swooping maximalism and spine-tingling closeness, juggling contradictory elements. The mess has been transmuted into something beautiful, with a skillfully directed emotional sting—the bigger picture without losing sight of small details—the perfect soundtrack to contemporary emotional life.

Nora Stanley’s “Glass” is a quietly gorgeous debut. Previously known as an instrumentalist, Brooklyn-based Stanley has found her feet as a songwriter with remarkable speed and apparent ease, her primary muse the poet Anne Carson. As the album progresses, personal and political themes twine inseparably around each other. Perfectly timed and executed with a grace and lightness extraordinary for a debut.

Blake Hornsby’s “Brugmansia” leans heavily into British acid folk, styling its creator as a pointedly anachronistic lysergic troubadour. Songs stretch out as if baking in the sun, existing somewhere between traditional song, avant-garde composition and ancient rite. A strange and beguiling songwriter’s album, “Brugmansia” is a living record defined by real musical ingenuity.

On “Reunion”, Mama’s Broke’s third album, Amy Lou Keeler and Lisa Maria touch the darkest aspects of human life with openness and admirable musical originality. The Nova Scotia duo weave Appalachian and Eastern European traditions into songs that touch on economic inequality, violence against women, and stunningly beautiful, lyrically enigmatic ballads in the spirit of Time (The Revelator)-era Gillian Welch. They find something worth saving in the dark.

Creekbed Carter Hogan’s “Peasants Revolt” acknowledges the possibility of an imminent apocalypse but is steeped in medieval uprisings, the Haitian Revolution, twenty-first-century trans activism and Americana. The songs are exuberant in their difference, and it’s the sudden shifts to or from the personal that make it such a unique album. A detailed American pastoral, beautiful and powerful.

Nick Granata’s debut solo album, “My Heart is Running Backwards! A Martial Artist! With a Closed Fist! Woof!”, is an ambitious album of astonishing breadth and endless personality. A member of the Shovel Dance Collective, Granata largely plays down the wackiness of that title in favour of genuine sonic experimentation and a joyously queer heart.

Cinder Well’s “A Blooming Body” is the closest we’ve been to witnessing Amelia Baker’s unique vision in full — her first time handling the processes behind making an album, and the greater creative control shows. Her talents have never been in doubt, but here they are more evident and more varied than ever: raw, richly detailed, full of hidden musical depths.

“Dream Me a Dream” was Tucker Zimmerman’s final recording, and while his MO was dusty, lo-fi outsider folk, his range was much bigger than those labels imply. This is an album that opens out at every turn. What shines most brightly is Zimmerman’s generosity of spirit — a fitting tribute to this most unconventional and quietly gifted of songwriters.

Félicia Atkinson’s “Sans Visage” reimagines the score to Georges Franju’s 1960 horror “Les Yeux Sans Visage” — a perfect assignment for a master of creepy-beautiful soundscapes. Built around piano and studio electronics and dedicated to Gisèle Pelicot, it’s a perfect example of how experimental music can bridge the gaps presented by time, genre and gender… Its spectral beauty is lingering and at times uncomfortable, but never less than enthralling.