Rising popera empress, Charlotte Church dropped one of the biggest wow-bombs of the year back in March, with the second instalment of her five EP series, TWO. Previously written off by many after tabloid shenanigans and bubblegum glitz - despite a flourishing career in opera in her early teens, appearances before the Pope/Queen and platinum classical LPs - she proved herself worthy of universal adoration with 'Glitterbombed', a furious bout of bolshy Zola Jesus-y poptronica that ignited a thousand spinal shivers. It's with the same glee as Augustus Gloop at the gates of Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory that we receive THREE.

Delving into a bona fide cache of noises - including synthpop, electronica, goth, classical, opera, baroque-pop, indie, new wave, prog and the avante-garde - she floors us with a healthy dollop of seven songs. There are links to be drawn between Church's fresh offerings and dramatic overlords like Florence Welch, or the rococo finery of Valtarí-era Sigur Rós - not to mention the obvious Björk undertones. In her current guise, Church seems to be an amalgam of both everything and nothing - she seems so familiar yet so new; it's a strange predicament she presents, by showing us a plethora of brain-melting cuts and a cosy, recognisable sheen. While you're stuck with trying to untangle the web, she toys with your mind, and just when you think you've figured her out, she wallops a curveball straight at your temple.

'Sparrow' is essentially a podium from which Church projects her voice. The sonic ephemera (organ, twinkling Disney synths, neo-folk strings and lashings of drum machine) wrap around the vocals like aural cotton wool. There are luscious harmonies and post-rock guitars, violent bursts of percussion and dainty bucolic passages; regardless of the rest of the song, Church's voice is still the focal point. It's ultimately flawless, with every note struck easily and lofty operatic soprano acting as the exclamation point on a sparkling showcase.

Lead single 'I Can Dream' ventures into trip-hop territory, borrowing from Massive Attack. The pace is ramped up, but mechanic ostinatos, once blended with the flighty vocal melodies and tranquil pads, create a distinctive timbre. It's a wild effort, fleshed out with raw-nerve emotion and Mars Volta-style axe eccentricity.

'Magician's Assistant' glimmers with the gloss of future R&B. Languid and thoughtful, Church's serenade is eventually called to action - the narrative develops with chamber-pop strings and off-kilter guitar chords. During the burlesque-esque denouement, there are all manner of chirruping synths, rickety beats and faltering brass tones - it's a sonic tableau, depicting a story that's all but indecipherable. You may not hear the plot, but you can glean the feelings.

Church's metamorphosis was unexpected. It's a brilliant, fascinating development we're glimpsing from her, and as we see it unfurl - we still have two more EPs - it gets more intricate and vital. It's a transfixing evolution, and while we may not know the end result, she does, and stridently pushes in her own direction. Though you can hear moments akin to other artists, or flecks of memorable genres, this is a niche that Church is hurtling towards all by herself, and one that demands attention. Whatever your previous opinion of her, cast it out and revel in this essential reincarnation.