Kathrine Shepard – the Sylvaine of the title, like you didn’t know – is a singular artiste. So singular, in fact, that she was able to secrete herself away in Oslo’s Kampen Kirke completely on her own to record this spectral, beguiling twenty eight minute slice of aural nirvana.

Haunting pieces like Eg Veit I Himmelrik Ei Borg (I Know a Castle In Heaven) don’t take long to worm their way into the listener’s affections, not because they are chorus-propelled Euro rock bangers, but because they possess a pure, unadulterated soulfulness that taps in to who we are at an almost molecular level. This may be music that recalls Sylvaine’s Nordic forbears, but it’s also music for all of us, wherever we hail from, tugging at primal memories we can’t fully comprehend or remember yet which possess the power to move on a grand scale.

No matter how sparse the arrangement, this is music that is at once somehow massive, and fulsome at the same time; Livets Dans (The Dance of Life) feels warm, welcoming and comforting all at once, the voices ebbing and flowing with a muted organ as Shepherd weaves a tapestry of wonder front and centre.

Tussmørke (Twilight) develops on a theme not too far away from Mike Oldfield‘s Tubular Bells but is reliant on the power of the voice more than bearded prog power, Shephard’s singular voice dying quietly like an ember as the track fades to nothing, before closing piece Eg Er Framand (I Am A Foreigner) closes things out in similarly fragile, poignant fashion, leaving the listener wanting more than just the six tracks on offer.

This is truly moving music, music that won’t fail to touch you should you give it the chance to do so. I sincerely hope that you do.

Eg Er Framand releases on March 22nd.