Opener Gnomes exhibits Baenziger's infantile coo over wily Americana particularly evocative of wearied Canadian darlings Land Of Talk were they employed to soundtrack Spike Jonze's Where The Wild Things Are, and it hadn't turned out to be the disappointment of the decade. Wizbot meanwhile instantaneously establishes Baenziger as a songsmith of both spectral and spellbinding capability, perhaps along the lines of a female counterpart to Micah P. Hinson rooting through an abandoned treasure chest of tarnished memories as acoustics smeared in top-end treble take backstage drums by the hand, leading them through metamorphosing time signature. Without wanting conscientiously to ramble our way through all ten Songs For The Ravens pieces, it is a record so impeccably constructed that every last second ought to be laboured over extensively, Fyre reminiscent of Polly Jean Harvey had John Parish been reared on distinctly unEdgy guitar lines doused in reverb in place of The Brilliant Corners' vaguely debonair, distinctly over-enthusiastic indie pop. Marmalade meanwhile sees Baenziger cut loose, as a searing chorus Stevie Nicks would probably trade Go Your Own Way for soars atop layers of wail and wallow. Willis, conversely, sees lyrics of amorous irrelevance conjoined with a glitchy trip-hop backing track, equal parts Siriusmo and Sigur Rós, its understated magnificence perhaps suggesting how invigorating Amiina would be were they a touch more intelligible. Swivelling the gleaming spotlight back onto Baenziger as she so righteously warrants, Won't Be Long is heartbreak set to C#m whilst Strikefoot quivers and shivers like a gibbering saw yowling at a violin bow. Whilst The Gold treads on the toes of car ad accompaniment and Sidepain is a bit KT Tunstall, the enigmatic orchestral manoeuvres of closer Blind rectify any lingering hesitations to stick your paws into a pot of altogether delectable artistry.
