Marissa Nadler

Marissa Nadler, at first, was a typecast: Emerging in the midst of the freak-folk or New Weird America movement that brought songwriters like Devendra Banhart and Joanna Newsom to the center of indie rock attention, Nadler was treated like just another ominous but intriguing peer. She wrote simple, elegant songs on acoustic guitar that came shrouded in darkness and packaged by some tiny label. Into 2007, then, her career was widely approved, if not altogether remarkable.

But Nadler signed to Kemando Records, an ambitious New York label full of hip, heavy bands like Dungen and The Sword, for her third LP, Songs III: Bird on the Water. Suddenly, Nadler’s oeuvre and aesthetic made perfect sense. As spooky and distant as they were spare and beautiful, the best tunes on Songs III portrayed Nadler as a lover who called sweetly from the grave, a tempest beguiling with beauty. A cover of Leonard Cohen’s “Famous Blue Raincoat” mesmerized, while “Silvia” beckoned toward the end. In many ways, though, Songs III remains only a preamble for 2009’s Little Hells, Nadler’s fourth and by far best album. Lit by warm keyboards, vintage soul drumming and guitar arcs and sweeps, Nadler’s songs became muted, slow-motion dioramas of “ghosts and lovers” and collapsing hopes. Never before had Nadler offered such vocal variety and control, either. Those old records now felt underwhelming, even.

Nadler continues to define expectations. This year, she’s not only contributed vocals to the mysterious black metal project Xasthur but, more recently, self-released a batch of folk, rock and country covers penned by writers as diverse as Bob Dylan and Radiohead. —Grayson Currin