Writing from a cottage somewhere in the rainy Cotswolds, I am surrounded by a feeling of solitude - an appropriate feeling, perhaps, since the new album from Nancy Elizabeth exquisitely complements my surrounding sense of isolation. Her soft, country-folk songs are pervaded by a poetic mourning, sharpened by the direct yet simultaneously airy instrumental arrangements. Dancing, her third album, nevertheless builds upon her characteristic embracing of one's own company by multiplying her voice into a choir-like harmony, which adds a sense of depth and plurality throughout the record.

'The Last Battle' opens the album with a haunting, minor-keyed vocal that echoes a theatrical operetta. As these ghostly opening bars subside, a regular guitar refrain melodically shapes the foundation of a song that, through its undulating intensity, is tenderly reminiscent of tragic Russian plays. Following this feeling of theatrical passion, 'Heart' is intricately underpinned by barely perceptible percussion, jittering, snapping and twinkling as a choral harmony adds a lyrical intensity. In a soprano-esque voice, Elizabeth laments, "I'm so alone… don't remember his name or his voice… I never let love grow." 'Indelible Day' is a piano-driven narrative filled with dark, echoing depths. A poetic tale-telling of uncertain beginnings, vague encounters and change inspired by the clichéd - but too easily forgotten - "money can't buy love," its subtle sensitivity is nevertheless audible and moving.

'Simon Says Dance' unites a staccato melancholy with an underlying echo, an echo that rises in turn as the chorus harmonizes, "if you say dance." The tentatively executed despondent piano refrain on 'Death in a Sunny Room' ebbs and flows in washes of delicate bewilderment, whirling beneath Elizabeth's vocals that spiral into a melodic lamentation. Meanwhile, 'Shimmering Song' is a short-lived delight, doing exactly what you expect it to – shimmering piano lines and gleaming vocals sway together, disjointedly, beside each other, while percussive instruments clatter in unison.

Further along in the record sits 'All Mouth'; layered with sighs and throbbing exhalations, it stands alone as a 'breathing only', lyric-less song - a sharp contrast with the subsequent 'Raven City'. For some, Elizabeth's opening descant may prove grating - there is no doubt that her voice appears to extend above and below indefinitely, but the high notes begin to sound like a warm up scale by the chorus. 'Desire' settles in a far more comfortable range, relying on the lyrical vulnerability and portrayal of emotion to affect a listener - powerfully. Closing the album is 'Early Sleep', a gradual continuum of layered 'ahhs', 'oohs' and muffled conversations, bringing together the bustled confusion of life - and love - with the tranquil emotiveness of folk.

Elizabeth's extraordinary vocals carry each song through various octaves, methodically approaching the lyrical aspect with a descriptive, highly emotive sensitivity. This is an album of songs that describe a heart both brave and vulnerable, a love both ideal and tragic, a life filled with dreams and difficulties. The level of intimacy can be overwhelming at times, and while you may not flail your limbs to a raucous beat and your body won't be doing much 'dancing', your heart certainly will. Solitude, ironically, has never sounded so collective.