Johanna Warren has the voice of an angel: it'll stop you in your tracks at how pure and clear and sincere it is. But it's not enough just to call it "pretty" on an aesthetic level because it also possesses a level of intensity and emotional immediacy that is awe-inspiring, especially for how naturally it seems to come. Luckily, she also has the songwriting chops to back it up. Nūmūn is fairly straightforward, no-frills folk-pop music; in such an oversaturated genre, it can be difficult to stand out, so the fact that nearly every song on the album is as good as or better than the next is an impressive accomplishment, revealing not only Warren's raw talent but her ability to wrangle and mold that talent into something wholly controlled and meaningful.

It's mind-boggling that Nūmūn can sound so rich, full, and warm when it was solely produced and performed by Warren and her collaborator, Bella Blasko. Often, it sounds like there must be an entire ensemble of performers involved. While many of the songs draw solely on gentle acoustic guitar and sparse piano accompaniment, others contain woodwinds, percussion, and what sound like strings or synths. The atmosphere is also well-done, drawing on minor chords, countless layers of haunting harmonies, and bits of well-placed ambient noise and effects to create a sense of foreboding and mystery. Ultimately, though, all of this, no matter how effective, is just window-dressing to Warren's gorgeously-crafted melodies. Her compositions are very precise, clean, and simple, giving them an almost classical quality. The album has a timelessness running throughout it that makes it sound as much of the 1960s or 1970s as of the twenty-first century, which bodes well for its longevity.

Upon repeated listens, having gotten past the spectacle of Warren's voice and musicianship, it's the lyrics that have most fully captured my attention. I don't think Nūmūn is intended to be a concept album, but recurring themes and experiences crop up across many of the songs. Most intriguingly, there is an elusive and persistent "she" whose presence looms as large in the narrator's life as a mythological figure. "Follow" is the story of their meeting, detailing how immediately this mysterious woman wins the narrator's intense devotion: "She burned as bright and as unattainably as some distant star/And from within her fragile flesh, where I lay my head to rest/I could feel her heart hammering in her chest/Then and there I swore, by the blue light of her celestial glow/I would follow her where no one else dares to go." The seduction progresses in "True Colors" as the two become increasingly intimate with one another: "We spoke/I posed/She painted my reflection." However, things take a dark turn as the woman's power over the narrator grows, culminating in the threatening reminder that "God has his plans, but I've got mine" ("Noise"), a possessiveness that results in emotional abuse: "She kept the key to my dark room/She left and warped the weft of my loom" ("Pin Oaks"). The album concludes with a reclamation of agency as the narrator asks herself, "How much more are you willing to take?/Do you think you'll bend, or will you break?"

The fact that such clear connecting concepts appear, regardless of Warren's authorial intent, is a testament to the depth and complexity of her songwriting as a whole. Beyond pointing out specific lyrics, I've chosen not to focus on individual songs because literally any one of the album's eleven tracks (except, perhaps, the instrumental interlude, "Apogee") would serve as a brilliant introduction. This is also another example of an album that is ultimately so much greater than the sum of its parts. I already find myself wishing I had placed it about five positions higher on this list.