Since the release of her previous album Have One on Me, fans of Newsom’s work have had to wait five years for a new release. This was largely due to marriage and acting roles, both of which seem to have had a large influence on her newest release, Divers. The wait was undoubtedly worthwhile, and the depth of her album shows that she certainly did not spend those years idly. Her captivating lyricism flourishes throughout, and her vocal delivery is flawless. Her manipulation of pace and intensity is as effective as ever, and the fact that only one track exceeds seven minutes is a testament to her matured clarity.

The first track ‘Anecdotes’ opens with the distorted call of a mourning dove, initiating Newsom’s concern with mortality that pervades the album. Floating harp lightens any moroseness in her war poetry, but her assertion that “we’ve borrowed bones” is unsettling, and clings to the mind.

‘Sapokanikan’ is perhaps the strongest track technically, even amongst ten others of astounding conception and production. She acrobatically shows her skill for varying vocal inflection, creating multiple climaxes, the last of which fades with an effortless delicacy. Newsom transitions from melodic richness to incessant galloping in ‘Leaving the City’, with deep synths adding strong authority to her voice.

Only Newsom could pair baroque harpsichord with country guitar and make them feel an utterly natural fit. In ‘Goose Eggs’ she talks of struggling to find a place amongst others, and hints at deep childhood naivety: “you cannot learn that you burn when you touch the heat, so we touch the heat”. The track presents her anxiety about fleeting time in relationships - as explained to Uncut, marriage is “inviting death into your life... the idea of death stops being abstract”.

‘Waltz of the 101st Lightborne’ is a futuristic war poem, in which war is fought not geographically but temporally, with one’s own past and future selves. This “war between us and our ghosts” is an internal conflict, concerned with past mistakes and future expectations. In ‘The Things I Say’ Joanna seems decidedly alone, her sole voice with a sole piano. Yet her voice echoes and reverses itself at the end of the track, talking of “somewhere far away”. It is darkly isolated – she only has herself to talk to. The title track ‘Divers’ is most akin to what we expect from her; the blend of harp, piano and undulating vocals is mesmerising. The musical arrangement is the most intricately layered, and in its complexity it is satisfying to the ear.

The final track, ‘Time, as a Symptom’ ends the album as it begins, with the mourning dove call. While it is distorted and distanced in the opening, here it is much more prominent, calling hauntingly throughout. It began as an embodiment of her dawning realisations on love and death, now is a time beyond that dawn. She seems sure in her assertion now: “Love is not a symptom of time. Time is just a symptom of love”. The increasing pace and swelling orchestration are testament to Newsom’s frustration at this truth.

I was lucky enough to be able to see her live in Manchester Albert Hall last Saturday, a fitting chance to mull over her cryptic lyricism and enjoy the unique, intricate layering of vocals and instrumentals. This chance presents itself now in the form of Divers, an album that leaves no doubt about Newsom’s wondrous talent, and haunting insight.