Kathryn Williams is often dismissed as a stand-in Beth Orton, a vaguely hip modern folkie for the Mercury Prize Panel to patronise whenever Norwich's waifiest is on holiday. Her appearance on last year's superb Badmarsh & Shri album, however, lending her gorgeous vocals to their dreams of an Asian Underground Massive Attack, confirmed what romantic aficionados knew already here was a precious and mercurial talent capable of far more than mere comedown balladry.
Stunning voices are a given with 21st century folk, of course, but even in a field of breathy angels Williams has vocal chords to faint over. She has the rare ability to sound luxurious yet empty, pure but haunted somehow, fired by the wide-eyed glory of simple poetry yet stalked by melancholy all the same. She is at once everyday and higher than the sun, an earthbound goddess staring wistfully up at a host of golden clouds at the close of day.
Musically, there are many familiar reference points to these ears, Stina Nordenstern, The Field Mice and every Cooking Vinyl release ever are just the beginning. That goes with the territory as well, naturally. These are songs you turn to for comfort and empathy rather than the delirium of true innovation. What really count are the depths of emotion imbued into every stumbling, gliding melody and the diamonds of truth glittering in the margins.
Just stop your heart beating that little bit faster as she sighs out this kind of perfection: "Mirrorball, you lit every dull corner/made the air feel like it was dancing". You can almost hear the delight in her voice, see her pupils dilating as the world spins around her. The stark beauty of 'Tradition' is full of dust caught in streetlamps and the muted ache of love at a distance, while 'Daydream And Saunter' does exactly the opposite, finding drama and sharp edges in the aftermath.
Best of all, though, is the amazing 'No One Takes You Home', a lack of self-esteem anthem to rival Morrissey at his most precise. While a clock ticks calmly in the background, Kathryn does her best to make herself good enough for love - but all to no avail. And as her despair mounts, as the conviction that she's worthless in the glossy high street world gathers, the music rises with her, building to a 'Judy And The Dream Of Horses'-style climax. It's exhilarating.
Mercury Music Prize judges, stop the clock! Your search for the 2003 winner just drew to a surprise early close.
