For as long as I can remember – back when I was not yet a teenager, listening to Joan Baez first as a way to learn guitar – voices and lyrics have been the elements that have drawn me in. It’s the timbre, the grain of the voice. A voice that is always unique, instantly recognisable. That owes nothing to techno-wizardry. A voice that is at least as good live as it is on audio.
 

Some albums announce themselves with a roar. Others arrive quietly, kind of casually strolling into your life when you weren’t looking. Returning to Myself did the latter. Brandi Carlile’s most recent record just appeared, like an old friend in the doorway with a bottle of wine and an understanding nod. It is my album of the year not because it is loud or revolutionary, but because it is steady, wise and exactly what I needed.