Hard to believe that it was 13 years and five albums ago that Stina Nordenstam first emerged, blinking nervously, from the fringe of Stockholm's alternative jazz scene. Since then her fragile but distinctive brand of experimental pop-rock has achieved cult status - selling in tiny quantities to people who love it a lot - all over the world.

In Japan Nordenstam's shy-little-girl voice exerts a strange, and possibly sinister, fascination. Over here her work is treasured by a significant few, including Brett Anderson, formerly of Suede, who turned up on her last album.

The new one differs from her previous releases only in that the melodies are a shade more obvious and the arrangements prefer chamber strings to guitars and electronics. Otherwise it's business as usual in Stina's world.

For the uninitiated, this is a quiet, strangely fascinating place where failed relationships are described with dry-eyed clarity and half sung about in a voice that trembles slightly without giving way to emotion. If you've never been there, it's well worth a visit.