Something in the Room She Moves, Julia Holter’s 6th record, thematically revolves around life and death. Written after the birth of her daughter and dedicated to the memory of her young nephew who recently passed away, it sonically incorporates these paradoxical forces seamlessly. There’s an almost unbearable lightness to her best work and Something in the Room She Moves has that in spades.

Often Holter’s musical codas have a weightlessness to them, and when multiplied or warped they become something beguiling. The largely acapella ‘Meyou’ swirls and flutters, both solemn and relieving. Think of it like a musical murmuration. Its choral chants are a familiar part of Holter’s distinct sonic palette, but this is the first time she’s entirely dedicated a track to them. It sounds wonderful and works even better with the records sequencing; positioned at the mid-point, ‘Meyou’ provides shade that compliments the dappled technicolour of the following ‘Spinning’. Aptly named, that song bursts into giddy euphoria, rising upwards and overwhelming like the headrush of a dizzy spell.

Negotiating the line between maximalism and restraint, Something in The Room She Moves streamlines the sprawl of 2018’s Aviary and in so doing makes for a more accessible record. ‘Evening Mood’ pads into life with new age gurgles; both carefree and bucolic, it’s a fitting soundtrack to a pending Spring.  Elsewhere the LA native’s avant-pop tendencies are beautifully realised on album opener ‘Sun Girl’, a mesmerising psychedelic swirl with laconic vocals that help anchor the ascending and pulsating woodwind. Halfway through, the track descends under water before a dreamy outro extends outwards. It’s structurally complex, utterly mesmeric and is the distinct work of an unparalleled songwriting experimentalist.