Gentle chanteuse delivers quiet perfection... There are only two people in the room when you're listening to this album: Lucie Thorne and you.
There is a band (of which, more later) and co-producer Thorne does not put herself any more forward than necessary but extraneous noises, other people in the house, floating voices on the wind, all drift away as you listen.
There is such an intensity of feeling here that you feel guilty even lifting your attention away briefly, like inadvertently yawning from the tension while a friend is telling you a compelling secret.
However, what is particularly striking about this effect is that there is no sense of claustrophobia, none of that overwhelming sucking-up of all the space that some one-on-one albums can manifest.
Thorne isn't insisting on your attention; she just gives you little reason to want to leave or lose focus. Which is why at the end you don't feel wrung out but rather, enlivened.
In mood and approach the closest comparison I can make is with Emmylou Harris's Wrecking Ball album.
There is a similar thickened atmosphere, a similar collection of stories that speaks small but resonates much bigger and a similar build-up of moody folk, country noir and the spookily atmospheric hints of Kate Bush.
Then there is the way Thorne occupies the centre, singing just above a whisper, conversationally you might say, but landing deceptively solid blows.
She marks out her space with some fabulous sensuality, never more so than in When The Lights Go Down, which says everything without having to say much at all.
Drummer Hamish Stuart and bass player David Symes (who both co-produced) will probably mostly go unheralded as this album becomes better known but their fluidity, a feather-light jazz touch, is absolutely crucial to the success of the songs.
In the quietest moments, they never impose, never seem to be pulling you in any direction but guide you with deft rhythmic paths that keep an undercurrent of movement.
There is something of the subtle rhythms Van Morrison had at his disposal in Astral Weeks. And when Thorne opens the throttle a little, Stuart and Symes can add a bit of blues heft just as easily without feeling the need to compete.
Build your album around this kind of intuitive skill and you're well on the way to something pretty special.
Thorne has done just that.