The former JJ72 bassist returns with her finest work to date. Out on the 31st October on Sacred Bones Records.

Hilary Wood’s has been ploughing a solo furrow for over a decade now. Her more recent releases, including Acts of Light and Feral Hymns, were without any vocals. In approach they had the eeriness of a horror movie soundtrack. This contrasted to her earlier solo work where her voice was an integral part of the project. The vocals are very much back on this new album, though it isn’t a total retreat from her recent experimentation. CRIÚ translates as crew from Irish, so this album is about the Night Crew.

The album starts off with mournful strings. Wood’s vocals join in after a long intro, slow and steady and then an equally slow drum beat joins in. Another bowed instrument starts to see-saw in and out and eventually a children’s choir materialises to complete the haunting opener that is ‘Voce’. What has been a fine start is turned into an almost magical one. The choir return later on ‘Taper.’ ‘Faults’ starts like a slowed-down heart beat. This is quiet, contemplative music to lose yourself in.

Of the seven tracks on the album two were released in the build-up. ‘Endgames’ is utterly spellbinding, again mostly slow drumming, strings and Wood’s voice at its most mesmerising. It casts a spell that stay long in the mind. ‘Taper’ threatens to turn into a Morricone-esque Spagghetti Western soundtrack. It is interesting that Woods cites early Czech and Italian cinema as a big influence on this album as that is of course the world that Morricone grew up on. You can visualise the rugged hero on his horse out in the middle of nowhere, sweeping vistas all around. Again, when the children’s choir and the Hangleton Brass Band do their thing it is soul stirring stuff.

‘Offerings’ has an almost church-like quality to it. It is rough and unrefined, like we are listening into a practise for an event from just outside the doorway. ‘Shelter’ maintains that just outside the door feeling to begin, birdsong in the outdoors. There is more fragile beauty here.

At about thirty minutes this is pushing the line between EP and album. Most of the tracks are roomy, over four minutes long on average. The slow nature creates a state to be explored and investigated. For some, the persistent slow pace will be off-putting. More are likely to find subtle magic in this album, an enjoyable and haunting mood that lingers long after the album stops playing. It seems bizarre that Woods most powerful weapon here, her voice, was the instrument that she denied herself access to on much of her recent output.