Not all singer-songwriters are created equal. Agnes Obel’s music invites endless superlatives like “ethereal” and “effervescent” but, to be fair, they’re entirely justified. She deserves the hyperbole, as her music occupies a unique territory, neo-classical but with folk influences that lean into European traditions. Yet, there’s also the use of modern tech that will appeal to fans of Vespertine-era Björk and the more delicate side of Nils Frahm, rooting her in the here and now. Her new album is typically exquisite, inspired by the birth of her daughter. No track outstays its welcome.

So it’s pretty much business as usual here, six years after her last album, Myopia. ‘Faustian Deal’ positively swoons, with her lovely voice soaring over a waltz tempo. ‘Tangerine’ has little saxophone arpeggios trickling in and out the wave of sound. ‘Never Been’ has soulful yearning vocals sharpening its music box sweetness.

‘Laymelli’ is possibly the most ambitious track though, with little clicks and creaks for percussion and Obel’s voice at an eerie, low, possibly pitch-shifted register. The title track ebbs and flows with double tracked vocals, a minimalist rhythm emulating a human pulse.

It’s always slightly elusive, existing in the liminal space between light and darkness, dream state and wide awake consciousness. This seems apposite for capturing the sensory overwhelm of motherhood. It’s rare, maybe impossible, for Obel to put a foot wrong. To paraphrase Björk: “How Scandinavian of her”.