Watermark is reminiscent of lots of things - yet it's like nothing you've ever heard before. Traces of classical, traditional and rock are easy to spot but Enya and crew haven't been content to drink only from established sources - rather they've managed to come up with a potion all of their own.

What we have here is a lifetime's worth of sights, sounds and experiences condescend into an orderly and lucid aural aquarium that is more beautiful than anything you've seen on 'The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau'. It's a panoramic dreamscape filled with blood red coral, glinting white pearls and grey-purple pellets of rock which are suspended above a seabed of real life, organic hundreds and thousands. However, all is not aesthetic brilliance for, as Enya's Donegal childhood must have taught her, the ocean can also be a vicious marauder and her album is tinged with strong undercurrents of desolation, loneliness and even anger. Make no mistake, there's nothing wet about Watermark.

Some tracks are as expansive as the Atlantic, ruthlessly tossing about all sort of flotsam and jetsam, while others are like dewdrops that change shape slowly, and eventually evaporate. 'Cursum Perficio' comes the nearest to full orchestration and is similar in style if not content to 'Carmina Burana' (for lowbrows, the music from the Old Spice ads). But equally effective are the simple lapping vocals and instrumentation of 'Storms in Africa' and 'The Longships' or the haunting (I know it's a cliche but there's not other word for it) 'Exiles'. Then there's the exquisite liqueous pop of 'Orinoco Flow' which should, if there's any justice, be a hit single.