, the Danish singer/songwriter operating the gears behind the curtain of Copenhagen's , has a voice that perfectly (and sonorously) evokes the Old English word uhtceare, which means to "lie awake before dawn worrying." It's both a balm and a tinderbox, delivering bad news soulfully and slivers of hope with great caution, and when paired with equally austere instrumentation, which consists largely of piano, electric guitar, and the occasional courtly/processional thrum of a single drum, it carries with it the weight of the world. 's debut, the warm, weary, and largely funereal , will be of no use to listeners with whom artists like , , and do not resonate. 's tales of woe manage to transcend the usual trappings of traditional singer/songwriter confessionalism by adopting a universal miasma, leaning more toward the dark English folk side of the chamber pop spectrum, invoking names like , and fellow frosty, mood-casting Dane . Opener "The Aching" sets the tone and locks it in, offering up a four-minute lament/tribute to that ephemeral, hard to reach spot "Somewhere in between what you wanted and you didn't want" that resides within us all. It's a notion that she explores throughout the album's ten specter-like tracks, with highlights arriving via the folksy "Glimpse of a Time," the lovely and lovelorn "Sun Has Gone," and the quietly triumphant closer "No Darkness," the latter of which carries in its shaky hands, like a rehabilitated songbird, the faintest glimmer of hope. ~ James Christopher Monger