Produced by Araon Dressner (The National’s guitarist and established producer), this is Hannigan's third album following 2011’s ‘Passenger’ and the Mercury-nominated Sea Sew in 2008. It’s been five years in the making, and there seems to have been a period when she struggled to write, instead devoting her time to a new boyfriend, voiceover (for the Oscar-nominated animation Song of the Sea) and soundtrack work (for Fargo and Gravity), and dabbling a little in podcasting; she co-hosted the ’Soundings’ podcast, where Lisa would interview guests such as Harry Shearer, Sharon Horgan and David Arnold.

But in terms of her own music she seemed to be temporarily at a loss, and it wasn't until Dressner apparently emailed her out of the blue, that she sparked into writing mode, the result being her most mature and adult work to date. An album that again demonstrates her keen way with a melody, aided by that mesmerising voice that floats along seamlessly, sometimes holding a note for ages, a pure and unalloyed sound. In addition, Dressner and Hannigan put together a band that compliments the sentiments and the mood pretty much perfectly; Dressner's brilliant production always appropriate, simple and avoiding the curse of the overwrought. It's a great example of less is more, all recorded in an intense seven-day burst in a church in Hudson, New York, near where Dressner lives.

Where previously Hannigan would sometimes indulge in a playful musicality and sunny optimism – with what looked like quite a lot of fun doing so – on songs that littered her Sea Sew album, as well as from the ‘Passenger’ album (‘Knots’, ‘What'll I Do’ et al), here she's deadly serious in tackling those age old themes of love, isolation, and homesickness, an undercurrent of sadness prevalent throughout. It's epitomised by the quite simply beautiful ‘Prayer for the Dying’, possibly her finest moment yet. There's lots of reverb here, as Hannigan really gets her angelic voice out, all elongated notes, and subtly tremulous. The sound is akin to an old school doo-wop tune but without the harmonies, just her lamentful voice, inspired in this case by the passing of a friend's parent after an extended illness. Similarly, ‘Funeral Suit’ says it all in the title; pain and sadness expressed through those beautifully crafted and heartfelt notes. As does the simple yet mildly epic piano and guitar-based ‘We, The Drowned’, although there is a celebratory spirit within the darkness: "We know not the fire in which we burn / but we sing and we sing, and the flame goes higher / We read not the pages which we turn / but we sing, and we sing, and we sing," a distant trumpet sounding as trumpets somehow do, life affirming. And lead track ‘Fall’, a song co-written with her former producer Joe Henry, although full of arcane references, is fundamentally about struggle.

It's not all bleak, though. Musically speaking, there's a lightness of touch throughout the album, albeit still wrapped up in a comforting blanket of melancholy. Such as the gentle and hushed ‘Snow’, where Hannigan's voice recalls Rachel Sermanni (as it also does on ‘Fall’), a childlike quality that also serves well on the piano-based and ethereal ‘Ora’. A deeply sad sounding song, it unfortunately suffers from Hannigan's occasionally indecipherable singing style, such is the hushed fragility of some of her singing.

Inevitably, love and desire comes into At Swim, particularly on the warming glow and pulsing groove of ‘Undertow’, which also features some understated banjo on the chorus: "I want to swim in your garden… I want to float on every word you say… I want to be underneath your weather", she enticingly sings. And on the gorgeous ‘Tender’, the band get into minor French cabaret mode, as Hannigan swoops and swoons, mimicking the 'dancing moves' of any relationship.

And then there's ‘Anahorish’, a short, acapella-only version of fellow Irish native Seamus Heaney's poem of the same name, which is about 'a place of clear water', a place where he first went to school and was introduced to the world of education. With multiple harmonies, it's a tender and sympathetic reading of this masterful work.

There's a gently magisterial quality about At Swim that completely avoids bombast and the overplaying of emotions. Hannigan's essential playfulness may have been undermined in recent times, and there's a fragility and a deep melancholy spirit prevalent throughout but almost everything here rises through the bleak and gloomy mists, not as apparitions or shadows of her self, but as a life affirming, if somewhat tender, creature of flesh and blood.
Jeff Hemmings

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