For a native Icelander who once soundtracked Gollum's closing-credit sorrow, Emilíana Torrini can sound surprisingly sunny. The singer/songwriter's springy indie pop lilt glides seamlessly from drum-brushed rockabilly infatuation to bobbing guitar-skank serenade, sometimes evoking Regina Spektor's vocal whimsy. But Torrini is a gifted performer who is capable of conjuring melancholic wonder and grindingly vengeful isolation. She builds tension with slashes of Nordic sibilance, and even when she echoes Björk's isolation or PJ Harvey's gritted phrasing, her style is entirely—and gloriously—all her own.