The gothic folk musician’s pitch-dark compositions are typically electric guitar-forward and swathed in reverb. Her fifth solo album, instead, focuses on the piano, an instrument that serves as a portal to Rundle’s childhood, minus the cosy nostalgia: “Down at the methadone clinic we waited/Hoping to take home your cure,” she sings on the downcast “Blooms of Oblivion”, and elsewhere, on “Body”, she watches her grandmother’s corpse be wheeled away. Plumbing the depths of a lifetime of trauma makes for a devastating affair, haunting in its vulnerability; that the collection was recorded live and acoustically, without any added effects, only adds to its intensity.