Carmody spins a sophisticated web of grief and yearning on Imperfect Constellations

Imperfect Constellations takes a remarkably ambitious approach, allowing unrequited romance to live alongside intergenerational trauma and familial grief. Its spiritual scope includes the alternative therapy techniques she incorporated in the wake of the loss of her father – the poetic astronomy of late scientist Rebecca Elson, her father’s Judaism, and her mother’s Roman Catholicism – and yet it never feels strained or pretentious, proving a testament to Carmody’s subtle, earnest approach and her undeniable knack for melody.

The searching, exploratory tone Carmody adopts both lyrically and musically gives Imperfect Constellations its rewarding depth. Each song unspools carefully, with ornate arrangements and precise production. Carmody manages to tap into grand existential inquiry – cosmic fate, mourning, religious assimilation – with restraint and touching simplicity (“Oh forgotten telepathy / ancient tongue you won’t speak with me,” she hums on "Yosef"). The subtlety of her technique disguises a deceptively complexe palette: “Moon” is, improbably, built around what appears to be a sample of Steve Reich’s “Clapping Music”; the broken-mirrors of “Replace” warp and glitch upright piano to near abstraction. Elsewhere, “Still” drops in a crisp, nimble trip-hop beat and the acoustic drums on the aforementioned “Memory” even imitate a Headie One grime pattern.

Carmody’s voice can often sound like a more somber Nilüfer Yanya; other media outlets cite Lianne La Havas, and all three share a tendency towards cerebral, subdued guitar beneath featherlight melodies. But Carmody’s unique mysticism sets her apart, into less familiar territories. The cautious optimism and search for transcendence she practices on Imperfect Constellations pays off: it’s a truly beautiful record that illuminates a promising path forward.