Monica Queen makes music for the long dark night of the soul. It’s the kind of music that makes you think of pain and misery, death and depression.

It’s hardly surprising to note, then, that this debut album suffers from an almost overwhelming melancholy, made more pronounced by the singer’s vocal delivery.

Queen’s voice is a reedy, trembling and plaintive instrument. Possessed of tremendous range, she can, and frequently does, shine. But for every moment of raw, unburnished beauty, there is another where Queen over-emotes, singing in a kind of dramatic affectation of pain. Truth be told, occasionally she sounds like a bag of cats. Or Neil Young.