The Golden Record seems a strange name for a debut. Supposedly, it relates to a time capsule full of music and sounds, sent into space to represent earth, in case it was found millions of years from now by some form of life which we will never know. This in itself is a rather ambitious subject on which to base an album, but even without that knowledge, the name somehow suggests something very significant and concluding for Little Scream, aka Laurel Sprengelmeyer, as if this is The Golden record, and nothing more precious will come after it. Hopefully, though, this is not the case, as this record may not absolutely merit the ‘the’ of its title, but that’s not to say it isn’t a promising listen.

Opening track, ‘The Lamb’, floats in with celestial, choral voices, and continues to echo pleasingly around the ears with sweet harmonies creating far-away soundscapes, but somehow, it fails to grab the attention with all the power that maybe it could. Unfortunately this is a problem which affects a few of the tracks: listen hard to ‘Black Cloud’’s intricate finger picking or the melancholy vocals of ‘People is Place’ and it’s hard not to find it beautiful, but this doesn’t seem to stop the mind wandering.

‘Cannons’, however, does not suffer for this. Pounding percussion and much less delicate, fervent vocals, which are really the most enchanting part of the album, drive forward, grabbing the attention. The constantly changing texture, too, shifting from the powerful intro to near silence, broken only by offbeats of harsh guitar and vocals, makes for a much more engaging experience – probably the best of the album. ‘Guyegaros’ also stands out here, but this time for its stark, uncomfortably direct feel, making a strange contrast to the nostalgic, wistful spirit of the album’s second single, The Heron and the Fox, on which the very personal, almost confessional lyrics gliding over the single folky guitar, make for something much more understated, and in someways, much more listenable.

Essentially, there are no songs here which are in themselves uninteresting, but somehow the combination of them into the album’s forty-six minute runtime, fails to form anything that really feels like a whole, and periodically it all seems to lose focus. That’s not to say though, that the album is not an enjoyable listen, as something which does run throughout is a rare heartfelt intensity. It may take a little concentration, but there’s definitely potential here, and if this is your kind of thing and you listen hard enough, you may find something really special.