Folktale Records’ write up for Roco Jet’s 7” reads like Kantian psych aesthetics: “idealized thought forms can cloud the creative valve and make the organic expression of art compromised.” This collaborative project between two California oddball folkies seeks to move beyond the constraining expectations of “the singer/songwriter” without forfeiting its directness. So gentle, ringing acoustic guitar and soft, echoing vocals abound – but song forms are stretched like dough, kneaded and pulled until you can see the light through them.

Both sides are expansive and texturally constant. It’s easy to feel adrift, but that’s exactly the point: without immediate formal markers to anticipate, your ear concentrates on the musical present that seemingly blooms and wilts with the whims of the soaring soprano vocal. Musical returns feel like shifting recollections instead of explicit repetitions. I have no idea what she’s saying most of the time, but damn is it devotional.

The songs come from some distant, peaceful place, as if from a tiny chapel in the far corner of a cathedral: sprite-like, space refracting notes into each other, intimate but offered up.