Companion is the new project from Brooklynite Pepi Ginsberg, who has always found herself more at home making solo records than collaborating with others – she has been doing so since 2007 with records like Red and East Is East. She's built a fanbase based on her innovative deviations from the norm, weaving off-kilter noises with intelligent lyrics and flawless vocals. But as her current endeavour, Companion expands her arsenal to a full band set-up, allowing for rich harmonies to flood in and inflate the sounds. The cornstarch of the group, thickening the harmonies, is found in Anna Thorngate and Amy Carrigan, recruits from a local choir. Longtime session bassist Tim Lappin plus new additions Kirk Schoenherr and Justin Veloso complete the line-up. Ginsberg's solo style had been likened to Jesca Hoop, but this self-titled exploration into group work feels more like a 21st Century Kate Bush. It's mystical, fragile and dramatic.

'Only' slinks underfoot, and with a commanding hold, Ginsberg restrains her voice as melodic guitar sparkles. It's sparse, but there's a sense of movement created by erratic drums entwined with the odd spluttering of electric guitar, pushing the music onwards and allowing for the breathy beast inside Ginsberg to reveal itself. Percussion plays a big role here, keeping everything tight as the various elements try their darndest to soar into the ether. 'Homegirl' begins life as a pretty little ditty with twee-pop guitars and summery vocals, before rapidly cascading into darker territory with hulking synths and orchestral thwacks of drum. The tone continues to flick back and forth throughout, with verses often providing respite from the intense choruses.

While the intent is obviously for this to be viewed as a collaborative product, a piece of art worked over by many pairs of eyes, it doesn't quite feel that way. The overt power inside Ginsberg's voice is dominant, and although there are moments to shine for the other members of the band, they are fleeting. Carrigan and Thorngate play largely supporting parts – their voices are immense, and they do compliment the music astoundingly well (the triage of duelling vocals is often stunning), but they never really own the spotlight like Ginsberg does. Maybe it's her experience overshadowing the comparative fresh meat. The music is still wondrous, however, and that's what really matters in the end – not how the notes are divvied up.

'Out Of Control And Wasted On Youth' is distinctly '80s. Dreamy synth pads and fluttering hi-hats simmer together, with the reckless calm of three voices punctuating the chilled-out vibe. It feels a tad like Haim, if they were to stray into a nostalgic electronica haze. 'Blue Movie' could be torn from the lips of Kele Okereke, it's a swirling cut, enveloped in dark pop-noir guitars and rampaging drums. 'No Kid/Blast' is almost Oriental, almost 50s rock'n'roll. It's an airy track for the most part, with solitary axe strums and a metronomic kick drum pounding in the background; towards the end, the ripchord is yanked and a billowing indie-rock charmer appears.

Ginsberg does tend to reign supreme over the music, which is perhaps unfortunate for other members of the band, but the collective dynamic will undoubtedly sort itself out in time for the next time they release something together. Where the record excels is in the menage a trois of vocals, fading in and out of focus, rising and sinking within the mix. Companion, as a sextet, have a strong sense of melody, and the LP is sodden with fragile hooks. There's intricate subtleties – and although it does sound an awful lot like Kate Bush mark two at times, that's no bad thing. Companion treads softly, lurking behind torrents of layered voices, but there are times it pounces, unleashing enormous bouts of music that fills your ears.