The craze for all things Danish and austere could well stretch to this crepuscular pianist. Agnes Obel's second album, named after one of Rome's seven hills, has something of PJ Harvey's White Chalk album about it – a mournful sternness, hinting at passions long buried. A little string-plucking, some groaning cello and the odd beat adorn Obel's tightly focused set of songs, which approximate the sound of snow falling on a disused chapel while a solitary candle burns inside – with a spider scuttling across the keys, as on Tokka. Occasionally – such as on Run Cried the Crawling – there's a hint, too, of the glide and serenity of Julee Cruise's Angelo Badalamenti productions.