On her third solo album, Rose Elinor Dougall looks into the abyss – the millennial-burnout, Brexit-apocalypse abyss – and she sings, quietly and beautifully, with piano, with guitar, and with a gentle fuck-it attitude.

Louche and with a soft sass, she tells of the impossible disappointments of growing up in 21st-century Britain, about the life decisions we don’t realise we’re making, about shaking off old habits and navigating failed dreams.

With that essential instinct, Dougall is aligning herself with the tradition of Sandy Denny, Bridget St John, Anne Briggs – English women who sang with proud fragility. “There’s something essential and earthy about them,” says Dougall. “They’re not playing that fey, ethereal, angelic folky-girl – there’s something more bloody about the way they sing. I’m not interested in hippy stuff. More and more, I want to listen to women singing – not girls.

• Singer - songwriter