Joanne Robertson’s latest continues to explore the murky underbelly of lo-fi songwriting. The title itself – Blurrr – fits neatly with the way her music seems to ride a wave of static and reverb, never settling into a steady groove. The extra letters add to the slightly uncanny effect that is achieved despite the use of seemingly commonplace and straightforward tools like voice and guitar.

This album rarely shocks; songs like ‘Peaceful’ and ‘Ghost’ evoke the exact textures and feelings you would expect from the frequent Dean Blunt collaborator. But the true skill is experienced by the way Blurrr draws the listener in. The sonic palette may not be wide, but it is deep. A lingering echo effect on the vocals here, a slightly mistimed pluck there, subtle melodic beauty throughout. The full impact is reminiscent of experiencing a familiar place that wouldn’t usually warrant a second glance, but under the influence of nocturnal shadow or an unexpected noise, a new and welcome aspect that had gone previously unnoticed comes to the surface.

The whispered vocals invite close listening and creates an effortless intimacy in much the same way that the music of Liz Harris does. Blurrr might not be sunny and upbeat, but it is bewitching. Oliver Coates appears on three songs and his cello provides some grandeur to an otherwise hazy affair; his plaintive notes have an illuminating effect like a flickering candle slowly bringing light to a long-shuttered room.

As the album progresses, Robertson’s voice builds in confidence. Coates’ cello helps with this gradual unearthing, but by ‘Last Hay’ there seems to be a greater feeling of hopefulness, a brighter and more strident delivery against the sombre musings of ‘Why Me’ and ‘Friendly.’ This could be illusory, in much the same way that eyes will eventually get accustomed to darkness after prolonged exposure, but whether imagined or not it feels true of Blurrr and Robertson’s continued ability to find the sweet spot between beauty, gloom and the unknown.