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Born in Italy but based in London, folk troubadour Emma Tricca's journey to this point in 2014 has been almost ripped from the silver screen. Encouraged to pursue her life dreams by both Odetta (Bob Dylan's reticent muse) and John Renbourn, her eclectic scientist/poet family, a fascination with '60s Greenwich Village folk, an international childhood and a chance set at Green Man, it's a life that could've been penned by Wes Anderson. Spurred on continuously to achieve excellence, Tricca's debut in 2009, titled Minor White, was met with the applause that her career had been building to. A fairytale ending for the 'Giallo Princess'.

Now, half a decade later, we've got the second instalment of her fantastical life. Relic sees Tricca dabble in new territories: percussion, collaboration and a wider instrumental repertoire. 'Sunday Reverie' boasts lullaby chimes; it's invariably twee, but not saccharine. There's a gentle caress, a parental warmth, that Tricca cultivates, making it a remarkably comforting track. 'Distant Screen' boasts jazzy synths and sparse brass flourishes. 'The Painter' utilises synths too, though perhaps more frugally. Though the advancements are subtle, there's definitely a Tricca two (sorry) up her sleeve on Relic.

The reasons we initially fell in love with Tricca remain, of course. She's still a modern-day reincarnation of the white-hot '60s NYC folk that's become the benchmark of all acoustic folk, pop, and rock since. Delicacy and texture are vital weapons in her holsters – and it's not a collection of filo-layered noises, it's a clear lack of that. Silence and less-is-more are Tricca's calling cards; it's what impressed us on Minor White, and it's what we still love in Relic. The best thing, however, is that she's spruced up some of those skeletal ditties with muscle and flesh, injecting fresh slants on her style for us to sink our teeth into.

Tracks like 'Golden Chimes (Intro)' shimmer. There's a sense of isolation - apparently not a bad thing, but a welcomed peace - in Tricca's composition. The guitar motif slinks in the background while gusts of synth flutter further behind; the vocals are the focal point here, and Tricca's more than capable of carrying the track on that aspect alone. 'All The Pretty Flowers' is a warmer slice of the folk-cake. There are hummingbird strings vibrating amongst bucolic six-stringer strums and Tricca's slightly Newsome-esque delivery. It's still indebted to space and silence, but her Anna Calvi-grit when the electric guitar comes a-ringin' shows that she can even replenish her traditional approach with new parts.

Emma Tricca's forced us to wait a while for this record, but it's easy to tell from the off that it's a record she's spent a long time polishing, editing and figuring out. The experimental passages (not particularly experimental in the wider scope, but for Tricca it is) are carefully measured, never overshadowing her signature flavours, but even when she retreads ground, she does so in a different way. The differences are subtle, and calculated steps as opposed to humongous leaps, but they achieve bright results - it's like the relationship between butterflies and hurricanes.

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