I’m hearing a cross between Trixie Whitley and Laura Marling. It’s so seldom anyone can carry a song with just guitar and a vocal, and with such an easy command of her singing range, the throaty moments burn with a sort of birdsong: it’s the earthy coo of a young poetess, singing herself back from the edge.
The universal theme of making a sacrifice for someone you love, coupled with a healthy dose of defensive rage, creates a deep bed of pathos, and eventually, salvation. Sometimes, the only deal you can make is with yourself.