In a media landscape driven by demand for quick, convenient, consumable categorizations, it’s a wonderful thing to run across music that genuinely transcends any such labels. On her self-titled, self-released debut EP, singer-songwriter Eleanor Jawurlngali does just that, putting journey above genre in the service of meaningful art. As her voice glides and soars over artfully scattered strings (of Mick Turner on guitar and Stephanie Arnold on cello), she calls to mind contemporary luminaries of folk, soul, even blues singing, but defies any real comparison.

Of Mudburra and Garrawa heritage, Jawurlngali has long been involved in performing music in Australia’s sparsely populated Northern Territory. With her father Raymond Dimakkari Dixon, she comprises half of the frontline of Rayella, a band dabbling in country rock, reggae, and hints of African American gospel. Like Rayella’s, Jawurlngali’s solo tracks draw deeply on a multi-faceted sense of Indigenous identity, her lyrics interweaving Mudburra and English languages and embracing traditional cosmological imagery. Her delivery is powerful and passionate, even at its most serene, the depth of her connection to her work palpable from track to track.

You don’t just listen to the tracks in question, you dwell in them. Each of the four songs that makes up Eleanor Jawurlngali clocks in at over six minutes. It’s space that gives each member of the trio ample time to shine. Opening track “Jinkiji” begins with Arnold and Turner in freeform splendor, swerving together into a brief frenzy that evaporates quickly into a to make room for Jawurlngali. She arrives with a commanding grace. The track expands in every direction, organic in its elegance, raw in its finesse.

The pace picks up on single “S.P.I.R.I.T.,” a track that feels like a continuation of “Jinkiji” but stands alone just as well. Arnold builds momentum early on with half a minute of bobbing and weaving tremolo over ephemeral synths; Turner sets the stage for a waltz with straight-ahead chords. As Arnold switches to more melodic legato lines, Jawurlngali tries to navigate a way out of worldly illusions, rising until at last she finds her way into a more open, more multidimensional musical-spiritual space that allows the trio to fully bloom.

After this sweeping opening pair of tracks, the group takes on spiritual jazz classic “Sinner Man.” Though not as captivating as the original songs preceding it, Jawurlngali’s rendition is worthwhile, her voice calm, steady, and yet still simmering with deeply felt energy. It’s an altogether sincere piece, if more predictable than the rest of the EP.

Closing the album is “Ngarna,” an entrancing grand finale almost eleven minutes long. Turner’s guitar twinkles, Arnold’s cello melts, and Jawurlngali floats. The combination is hypnotic, wide open under starlight, utterly unmappable. It is glorious.

What I can tell you here does not encompass the experience of sitting with Eleanor Jawurlngali from start to finish, of soaking in dreamy desert sounds. Instead, what I can tell you here is that you should stop looking for pithy summaries of music that is more than just its marrow. Instead, you should take the time to listen to this album in full, with as expansive a mind as you can muster.

9/10

About the author’s biases:
Adriane used to play cello in noise bands and even though she doesn’t wanna anymore, she appreciates a good noisy cello opener.