The opening seven seconds of Made The Harbor feature a brief guitar chord and the clearing of a throat (twice) – suggesting “settle down: we have something to share”. ‘Buffalo’ grows out of a simple guitar line, with the trio of Molly Erin Sarle, Alexandra Sauser-Monnig and Amelia Randall Meath building the first of their signature 3-part harmonies, joining the lyric “follow, follow, follow the buffalo” one-by-one. It’s so easy to forget the source of folk and blues music amidst the rattles and demands of the 21st Century existence, one of the numerous reasons why the simplicity of Mountain Man’s sound – three female voices, layered in a bluesy harmony, and an acoustic guitar – is so refreshing.

Made the Harbor is a tapestry of thirteen incredibly intimate songs, interweaving and concerning animals, nature, womanhood, and the turbulences of romance. The band’s creation occurred a small town in Vermont, when Amelia heard the sound of Molly playing ‘Dog Song’ in a shared house, demanding her to teach it to her. The version blessing this album is a quiet torrent of fear, love and anger (in that order) – worries of a lost dog and howling coyotes culminating in “hurry up baby / hurry up baby / or get out of my site”, taken from a whisper to a heart-torn declaration.

It’s a pursuit of joy that repeated surfaces through these songs – ‘Animal Tracks’ promises whispers in summer air, and seeking out “the bright baby eyes of a chickadee” in a harmony of delighted Americana. The divine vocal of ‘White Heron’, “draw me still”, halts the listener also; ‘Arabella’ is longing for strength in a desperate moment, dreaming for “lost mothers’ instruments”, trying to “keep your birthday and the car ride alive”; whilst “cool green Caroline” is observed delicately through the eyes of a lover on ‘Sewee Sewee’.

There are moments where folk is traded for something else, drawing differing moods into the record: the cover of The Mills Brothers’ 30s hit ‘How’m I Doin’’ is pure barbershop, ‘Babylon’ a melancholic psalm sung as a canon, retaining a baroque hint. The two changes of tone won’t necessarily win over the hearts of fans of quiet intimacies, but they don’t harm a record of this fine crafting, simplicity that rewards repeated listening – drawing one further and further in a hushed world of subtle tape hiss and away from digital age (or whatever it’s supposed to be). Mountain Man is a deservedly welcome addition to already-great Bella Union.