Julien Baker belongs to that select Übermensch – also counting Mitski and Frank Ocean – who have the inscrutable talent of transforming the most prosaic vernacular into ringing poetry. Where a lesser lyricist would punctuate detail with verbosity or explanation, she modulates with instructive silence; a residual solicitude canters along the translucent echo of her guitar, and plies the quaver of her plaintive croon. Toeing the wire between tender particulars and affording self-reflexiveness on the agency of the listener is exceptionally rare, but effortlessness is the only appropriate cliché with which to ascribe Baker’s songwriting. It washes over you.

Delving too loquaciously into specific mechanics or denotational criticism would be artifice. If ever there’s an album which demands to be intuitively felt rather than deconstructed, it’s this one, but it’s necessary to discuss why it’s resurfaced after two years. Sprained Ankle’s reissue is accompanied by the release of a 7” single – her first on new label Matador – the forlorn ‘Funeral Pyre’, and its abstruse, preternatural B-Side ‘Distant Solar Systems’. The production of the reissue is largely unchanged, registering a greater harmony between vocals and composition, and a crisper clarity of sound; but ultimately its purpose is recirculating a record which began small, but over two years has accrued a zealous cult of affection. Now the climate is proper for Baker to blow up to the level her talent decrees, introducing her to thousands for the first time. Bloody hell, do I envy them.

Despite her whirlwind success, Baker has no desire to leave her Tennessee home for pastures glitzier. In a Pitchfork feature from last year she was asked why; because it’s “redeemable.” There’s no word in the English language more pregnant with hope than “redeemable.” More than perfectly incarnating that aptitude for modest poesy, it suggests the seed of redemption sown regardless of its futility, a crumb of light in a chasm of absence is still light. And there is, achingly, a chasm of absence here; it’s just that the crumb hazed at the periphery is what lingers. What’s applicable for the troubled American South – with its alleged cultural anachronisms, and also with the romanticism of its natural world and the inherent geniality of its communities – can be applicable to us, the beautiful flawed. If you ever need yourself or this planet to feel redeemable; dim the lights, close your eyes, and spin Baker.

Sprained Ankle is our access point to one of the most gifted singer-songwriters of her generation, and one of the decade’s most emotive albums. Its reissue is as good a time as any for her to enter your life.