For Robertson, that tradition is free jazz, a practice that has inspired both her painting and music. On the back half of the album, cellist Oliver Coates follows Robertson down into her solitude and draws out the immensity that the earlier songs had only shyly hinted at. The retentive tones Coates and Robertson form together are, in the strictest sense, heaven. Coates gives Robertson’s songs a larger wingspan, tracing fine lines around Robertson’s watercolor suggestions and flying them to their full, magisterial potential. By each track’s end, we don’t so much see Robertson any clearer than we do the latent ideas and feelings that animate her: tragedy, ecstasy, doom.