The ambient gloom, played off against urgent dance beats, melodic but eerie vocals and -most of all- layered strings and it emphasised her connection with another young achiever, rising star Lupa J. Mara has worked in Lupa’s backing band on tour and, just slightly younger than Lupa, hasn’t created quite the same splash, yet. Interestingly, her initial offerings were very much a chip off Lupa’s block, to the point where you might not be able to tell them apart in a blind test. Actually though, until recently I wasn’t even aware of  Mara’s existence and -you shouldn’t pick between your kids, but- if I had to say, Mara’s take on gloomy dance might just be that bit more audacious.

In a move that might resolve a lot of awkwardness then, Mara’s new album, Liquid, strikes out in its own stylistic directions. Beats make much rarer appearances here, allowing the ambient soundscapes to roll forth freely, like an enveloping fog. Indeed, this being my first contact with Mara, I assumed the very quiet swirl of opener Something, was some young person’s tentative encounter with constructing soundscapes and potentially no more interesting than any run-of-the-mill ambient artist.

That impression proved quickly to be quite deceptive, dispelled by following cut, Open Up My Eyes They Are Crying All The Time, in subtle but commanding style. The ambience remains, but is filigreed with samples of echoing footsteps and distant, mutated thunder. A mournful, layered vocal line dolefully repeats the title, mantra-like and the dirge is completed with wailing string chords like grief-stricken mourners at a funeral. There’s an argument to be made that Mara is stepping away from Lupa only to collide with the moody, experimental pop of Grouper. I’d say it’s a fair cop, but the impression is, once again, impressive and besides the record has a lot more in store.

Pool offers muted but syncopated dance beats against another cleverly layered facade of semi-conscious vocals. It puts me in mind of nothing so much as the left-field club efforts of Seekae and one of their more inspired ones at that. By now you’ve experienced most of the ingredients Mara employs, but she continues to subtly recombine them to surprising effect. Take the whisper-quiet Slept. It’s a little difficult to make it out behind all the layers of reverb, but I think that’s an acoustic guitar and this ghostly singer-songwriter fare is cut from the same cloth as the quietest neofolk moments of Chelsea Wolfe or Tiny Vipers.

As Liquid creeps onward, the ambient interludes become ever more prevalent, but not repetitive. Listen for example to Keep Your Balance which hits reverberantly melodic, chiming and slightly distorted notes that slowly dissolve into background creaking, scratching and chilling string chord stabs. A vocal, echoing in reverse, completes the horror movie soundtrack and then more chiming notes appear to duel luminously with the gruesome moaning of the strings. Liquid is quite cleverly nuanced from end to end and sometimes this record feels less like ambient music and more like aural storytelling.

Mara’s move away from dance and the orbit of Lupa J is noteworthy in a number of ways. Liquid is, courageously, that much less likely to pick up J play and utterly unlikely to generate the kind of warehouse packing success enjoyed by the likes of Alison Wonderland. It’s also evidence of a bold artistic spirit, one with the skill to move adroitly between genres. It’s a good time to be doing that too: Mara at eighteen years of age has the scope to make any number of artistic moves before considerations like career and marketability become pressing concerns. A critical darling often goes hand-in-hand with a box-office bust, but Mara seems like someone who’ll probably be able to go wherever she wants. I’m excited to hear where that will be.

- Chris Cobcroft.