One would be hard-pressed to think of a more quintessential go-to artisan for serene avant-pop than Lisa Papineau. She has swung her hammer in experimental theatre, producing/narrating films as well as soundtrack work but will be most well known for her own mold-breaking voice – which Tori Amos once declared to have “…the power of Bon Scott and yet the lyricalness in the voice of a reed instrument…” Papineau can possess an unmistakably hushed yet still-beating heart-in-hand vocal style, pioneering a sound that has helped define a spectrum of streamlined sub-emotion to independent music, with vocal timbres and melodies that are haunted and unsettling as much as they are earnestly heartbreaking. One may even know her voice before they know her name, as we almost couldn’t keep track of her prolific collaborations with, among them, Air, M83, Jun Miyake, Anubian Lights, her appearances on the (Academy Award nominated) Pina, Watchman and Crow II soundtracks, as well as her own projects, early career Pet (signed to Tori Amos’ IGLOO imprint), Big Sir (her long running project with Mars Volta bassist Juan Alderete) and her self named group. On her third and newest solo record, Blood Noise, Papineau has woven a intricate and brittle tapestry of her illustrious career’s culmination, where the nine songs successfully create their own microscopic world that runs a vein through each song’s respective atmosphere, resulting in an escapist’s fantasy who’s duality would effortlessly make a bloodshot appearance on “Morning Becomes Eclectic” after being up all night partying in dance hall. From the praiseful hope of “Little Light” to the ceremonial dirge of “Rainmaker,” Papineau remains expansive and unpredictable on a record who’s churning moods and unorthodox methods prove she is more than a vocalist merely “singing” on a song – it is her whole presence that assumes the role of the instrument.