Anyone who's been following Railton's movements over the years will already know that she's carved out a unique space for herself as a player, collaborator and composer, but it's her open-minded approach to the cello that sits at the dead centre of her craft. If you've managed to witness her live performances, you'll know exactly what we're on about - her relationship with the instrument is rigorously studied, and free-er precisely due to that fact. Having rinsed the formality from the cello, she's able to enter into a far more intimate dialog, questioning its logic and savouring its textures and dizzying tonal fluctuations. We got an inkling of this on 2023's durational epic 'Does Spring Hide Its Joy', a collaboration with Kali Malone and Steven O'Malley, and on 'Blue Veil' Railton's idiosyncratic technique is thrust into the spotlight - no other instrumentation required. Railton's been experimenting with just intonation for so long that her harmonies just need to be implied to scrape the outerzone. Each composition follows the sonic contours of the cello itself, and Railton sounds as if she's tuned into the physical object, working in tandem with the instrument rather than trying to overpower it as she plays. We get to hear the strings moving and vibrating at their own speed; Railton applies pressure only when necessary, and it's the raw tones - the cello's buzzing, hypnotic resonances - that float to the surface.

Just tune into 'Phase I' - it introduces Railton's symbiotic process via sustained tones that deform and distort so covertly you almost don't notice as the sound shifts from crypto-electronic warbles to subtly romantic baroque strokes. Bassier resonances cling to rasping high-pitched scintillations and pick out the space around the instrument, coagulating the interaction between the body and the strings. Railton retains a balance between graceful rhythm and eldritch harmony as she arcs from track to track; each pause sounds like an inhalation before another aspect of the instrument is challenged. There's the beating tremolo patterns that melt into spectral, half-heard feedback drones on 'Phase III', or 'Phase V', where Railton's pronounced bowed motions nearly disappear completely, leaving pitchy insectoid whirrs. And the lengthy closer 'Phase VII' sails us back to dry land with wave-like strokes that gently wash cinematic grandeur with textural and temporal friction.

We've never heard a solo cello album quite like it before, music that's so engaging and immediate, but only reveals its deeper intricacies after a few listens. Give it the time it deserves, you won't regret it.