Irish singer/songwriter Lisa Hannigan's second studio album, the lush yet hushed and evocative Passenger, firmly establishes the former Damien Rice accompanist as a formidable solo artist in her own right. Bolder than her 2009 Mercury Prize-nominated debut and cut with an effortless blend of defiance and sweetness, the ten-track collection stays true to Hannigan's folksy roots while establishing a more expansive pop sound. Throughout it all, it’s her mercurial voice that dominates, a croon that can go from the whispery, back-of-the-throat moan of Jesse Sykes and Vashti Bunyan to the crystal-clear, goosebump-inducing rallying cries of Florence + the Machine and Sandy Denny in a heartbeat. Hannigan marches through the gate triumphantly with “Home,” a soulful, heavily orchestrated anthem built on the notion that “Every falling flake of snow, it has to give in, oh but we spin, and we spin and we spin.” If anything, it’s that fine line between grace and futility that propels Passenger's finest moments, like the honest, post-breakup nostalgia of “Little Bird” and “Paper House” and the sinister north-country stomp of “Knots,” the latter of which skillfully entwines the woodsy defiance of Gillian Welch with the bluesy windswept angst of Fiona Apple. Solid yet understated, it's Hannigan's obvious gift for melody, tasteful arrangements, and remarkably emotive elocution (when her voice breaks, the heart follows suit) that keeps Passenger afloat, while the world schemes and churns beneath.