If Leonard Cohen, on a European tour during 1970, had spent an evening with Nico, exchanging pleasantries, playing cards and sharing a drink or two, Lhasa could be the living embodiment of the virtual child they might have conceived, had they been so inclined. And if they were now to listen together to this consummate creation by the product of their imaginary consummation, they would surely be pleased and proud.

In fact, Lhasa’s real life parents are exotic enough, a Mexican father and American mother, who traveled throughout the United States as circus performers before finally settling in Montreal, where Lhasa still makes her base. Appropriately, life on the road is the unifying theme of this album’s songs, which are sung in French, English and Spanish. Helpfully, the sleeve presents most of the lyrics in all three languages, and it intrigues me to wonder what makes her decide which language to choose for each song.

There’s a tendency for deep voices, whether male or female, to sound solemn, and rather than deny it, Lhasa prefers to go with the mournful flow, using different instrumental textures as decoration. On some songs, muted trumpet plays a counter melody to the vocal; on others, violin, cello or flanged guitar explore the spaces between the words. The result is a very coherent suite of songs, among which three command particular attention.

For this English-speaking listener, ‘Anywhere on this Road’ is the pivot, showcasing the sublime trumpet of Ibrahim Maalouf and revealing a macabre sense of humour in the third verse: “I love a man who’s afraid of me, He believes if he doesn’t stand guard with a knife, I’ll make him my slave for the rest of his life.” ‘Con Toda Palabra’ (With All Words) is pushed along by what sounds like a banjo but, as no musician is credited with playing one, maybe it’s Rick Haworth playing ‘guitar plastique’. In any case, it’s distinctive and memorable and works well against the small string section that frames the song. Sung in French, ‘La Confession’ has more of that dry Cohenesque humour: ‘I’m not afraid to say that I betrayed you, out of pure laziness….between you and the devil, I chose the most comfortable.’ And there’s that trumpet again, not shrill but subtle, not shiny but matte.

If you have records by Tindersticks or Gillian Welch on your shelves, The Living Road will sit nicely alongside either or both of them and will take you to places they never dreamed of.