Her Mercury Music Prize nomination may have made Kathryn Williams famous, but it doesn't seem to have done a huge amount for her self-confidence. The third album from the Liverpudlian folk musician finds her in as melancholy a mood as ever, gloomily dissecting the entrails of failed relationships from the safe distance of a practiced observer who never wants to get too close to people for fear of being disappointed. It may sound depressing and dreary, and in truth Williams's music is occasionally guilty of both these things. But for the most part it successfully maintains an aura of quiet beauty by blending delicate acoustic guitars with deceptively innocent lyrics, the drop of poison carefully concealed behind a prevailing air of wistfulness. And while comparisons with Nick Drake still seem a shade premature, Williams's melodic evocations of understated desperation are executed with such grace and skill that it's hard not to imagine them striking a chord in lonely bedsits everywhere. Gentle, insightful, and ever so slightly chilling, this is one of the most unusual albums of the year - and one of the most memorable too.

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