More like a tried-and-trusted security blanket, this new album is a crossbreed genius that strums away on your heartstrings until you’re crying over something long forgotten.

From the very outset, its orchestral opening bleeds through the speakers like an audio drama. There is a light up in its lofty heights of airy guitars and wavering vocal backing, but this warm feel in the music is filtered with a sadness unfathomable, choking any notion that The Letting Go could be an easy and predictable ride. It might be painfully close to his previous selections, but standing on its own, the album is a territory worthy of exploring.

There are conspicuous themes within the songs. Take ‘Strange Form of Life’, as it drags its heels through the dirt and desolation, treading on down through a descent of melancholy emotion, with angelic female backing as your only form of company. The clicking of a block remains constant in the background and an overall sense of degradation and loss looms; and the lyrics stamp this feeing down even further as the tale of love and longing haunts the music. Sung with a sometimes croaked voice, Bonnie Prince Billy always rips his heart out and lays it on the feasting table.

Later, ‘Cold and Wet’ is one of the more bluesy numbers that again holds no drumming accompaniment and is the one to put on when you’ve hit your head on the bedposts, got up and missed the bowl, torn a new hole in your old favourite trousers, put the shoes on the wrong feet and then woken up again in bed, two hours late for your dead-end job in town. Not the strongest track on the album but one, like folk-filled ‘Then the Letting Go’ and third track ‘Wai’, which will lodge itself in your consciousness nonetheless.

If you want instant favourites, this would be the broken-speaker machine anthem (check the drumming and you’ll understand) of ‘Lay and Love’. The permanent female harmony, the slow build and interesting guitar-picked parts simmer over the scratched electro percussion — it’s enough to make you trance out. And as you are becoming accustomed to the lo-key ramble, ‘Seedling’ then shakes the calm down from its roots with louder, higher ranged vocals, mystical wordings, powerful orchestral use and — shock and surprise — a full drum kit.

Throughout, there is a true ambience to the album, a natural beauty. With an almost Celtic feel for folk and a homing device permanently set onto a blues of sorts, Nick Drake could also be included somewhere in this man’s exquisite equation. The combination isn’t too jolly but it attracts the listener with something to express and with an ear that begs for misuse.

If your heart hurts, soothe it.