So, what does it sound like? The list of influences and touchstones should widen the eyes of any fan of brooding sonic textures and gentle noise: elements of composers Henryk Górecki and Erik Satie appear from time to time, as does the otherworldly ambience of Brian Eno. Then there's the occasional launch into crescendo-building intensity we've come to expect from Sigur Ros, for example, or perhaps even Explosions In The Sky -- albeit with considerably less guitar-punishing bombast, however. With its many strata of oscillating hums and whirls, a host of other moodmakers come to mind: My Bloody Valentine, Slowdive, Cocteau Twins, M83, Múm, Ulrich Schnauss. Plenty of moments here evoke that “classic 4AD Records sound” of the '80s and early '90s, thanks to the dazzling juxtapositions of darkness and light strewn throughout the disc. Remember those This Mortal Coil records, wherein everything sparkled and shimmered and tossed luminous spirals against the walls of the darkened fortress of your bedroom? Take away all of those guest vocalists, and the contents would probably resemble much of The Safety Of the North.

Things start off tentatively, carefully, hopefully. Disc opener “The City Failed” uses bell-tolling guitar strums against a slow-climbing build of atmospheric buzz to convincing effect, having simulated the heightened expectations of the traveling family as they begin their epic journey north. Eventually, the keyboards recede and a thunderstorm rolls in; a cold rain pours down, and low murmurs of electronics return to throw some warm light onto the puddles. “We'll be there soon, all of us, in the safety of the north,” a young girl recites calmly, assuredly. The line's delivered with such conviction that it's worth a shudder or two to contemplate what they be running from in the first place. The song immediately segues into “May Your Days Be Gold”, an achingly lovely ballad sung by guest vocalist Fabiola Sanchez of Familiar Trees. The combination of fragile acoustic guitar picking and Sanchez's sighing, almost-childlike voice brings to mind the work of Vashti Bunyan, or perhaps Shelleyan Orphan. It's a quietly forceful, impassioned plea to keep in mind “what lies ahead/ making real all the tales you've read.” Exquisite.

“New House” heralds the arrival of the relocated family with an alluringly clip-clop rhythm -- slightly off-kilter and imitating the putter and grind of an antiquated machine, maybe -- paired with a field recording of playing children. It's easy to envision the family settling in to their new rural home, feeling optimistic about what's to come. Or maybe they haven't settled yet, and this is merely a stopping point on the way? For all of its moments of comfort, there remains something tentative in the air. “Fracture,” as the title suggests, retracts much of that sunny attitude, with its chiming guitar tones and somber keys gradually snowballing into a tense rumble of thickly-layered harmonics and thumping brushed drums. Even without fully crossing over into rock-theatrics territory, the song swells with all of the bluster of an Explosions In The Sky composition. “Thoughts Of Alice” is truly mesmerizing -- the young girl recites a list of everything she expects to see in the Arctic, while a mist of keyboard patterns rise and fall.

The mist gives way to an eerie fog on “Run Home”, and its wistful piano opening is worthy of Sigur Ros comparisons. As the track rolls and pushes along, gentle squalls of treated guitar soar overhead--- very Slowdive, very Robin Guthrie (Cocteau Twins), and entirely rippled with strange luminescence. Having thus given a glowing display of the Northern Lights at their most awe-inspiring, the disc then moves into less overt pyrotechnics: the circular chimes and playful scampering rhythm of “Life Support” would probably evoke Múm, if it were not for the foreboding rumble of what sounds to these ears like a life-support system.

“Your Silence Is The Loudest Sound” is ravishingly icy, with Eno-like electronic murmurs and sputters forming a remarkable imitation of the frozen north. Further trials and pitfalls appear deeper into the disc, but The Safety Of The North ends with a particularly gorgeous -- and rather optimistic -- touch with “Onwards.” Opening with the gurgles of a rushing stream and the call-and-response of countless birds, the track carefully, incrementally adds layers of synth, xylophone, and guitars to a pulsing martial beat--- soon enough strings and horns (or, I'm guessing from the liner notes, an impressive electronic imitation thereof) join the crashing, cascading mix. Misty-eyed majesty, certainly, and a potent end-note for Richardson.