Julianna Barwick – Nepenthe

Nepenthe was an antiquated potion of forgetfulness (literally, “anti-sorrow”), and this second album from ethereal songstress Julianna Barwick is similarly intoxicating. Awash with swells of warm synths and vocals so layered they often lose their human shape, the record is at times so homogenously fluid it almost feels like one singular journey.

Finding herself in unfamiliar Iceland for Nepenthe’s production, Barwick communicates the beguiling landscapes in her arrangements, such as the frosty majesty of Crystal Lake, or the surging beauty of Forever. And the ubiquitous layered vocals (Labyrinthine or One Half being prominent examples) ensure a consistent undercurrent, and allow her sparse lyrics to float up like shimmering whirls in a stream. These sounds are so enchanting, so intricately observed (she’s enlisted a teenage choir and a string ensemble), and so drawn from genuine grief and hopefulness, that bathing in this album – succumbing to this heady medicine – is a balm.