Crease is the first full-length album from Canadian producer and guitarist Kee Avil. And it’s certainly a stark, unease, and often tensely taut release, which brings together discordantly plucked ‘n’ strummed guitar, waving to unwell sing-song vocals, and low-key stumbling electronics’.

The release appears on Canada’s Constellation coming as either a vinyl edition, CD( which I’m reviewing) or as a digital download. The album cover features a decidedly unnerving photo of a woman (Ms Avil I’m guessing) with a warped and cricked photo face mask on.

The album runs at ten tracks, and I guess you’d say what we have here is constricted ‘n’ unwell singer-songwriter fare, which brings together elements of stark folk, discordant blues, and slurred electroacoustic emotionality. It moves from the drowsy running-into-each-other electro beats and wonky waltzing guitars of “Saf” which features lyrics about some sort of patristic life. Through to the forlorn strums and creaking-to-slicing electro texturing of “Melting Slow” which is finished with constricting hushed and wavering sing-song vocals.

We have the sinisterly tolling ‘n’ rolling piano keys and woozy-yet-fraughtly wavering vocalising of “Devil’s Sweet Tooth”- which is a prime unease example of wonky singer-songwriter fare. Or the tight pick ‘n’ twang guitars meets brooding scratching beat craft and light horn sneer of “HHHH”.

Crease is both an awkward and unsettling record, which feels akin to reading someone’s diary in a cold and paranoid sweat, sure you're going to be discovered by its writer at any moment. So certainly it's neither an easy or formally pleasing ride, but it’s kind of compelling in its damaged and nervy beauty.