Vera Polozkova — "High Resolution"

It still unsettles me that in this new arrangement you're as good as dead because a thermal scanner at the door reads something slightly off. And there are days when it seems there's no way out of it at all — you're walled into this small world regardless. And you have to go on living in it somehow.

Plenty of things help; Vera Polozkova's new record helps more than most. Calling it a record feels wrong. These are poems that find more breath in the music each time round, and end up better listening than most songs.

I should probably explain. We're not short of poets, thankfully, and Polozkova is one of the brighter, better-known ones. If you've somehow missed her: three collections out already, and more to come, I hope. She tours a lot and plays St. Petersburg every year.

Her energy carries so much that you're better off falling for Polozkova live — though the record is worth your time too. Complicated, and too simple. Clear, and in need of unpacking. Unsettling, and it makes you think.

It feels wrong to say everyone has to hear it. I can't do without it; someone else will find it overwrought.

Nobody will be entirely right or shamelessly wrong — it'll find its listeners without help. It'll get you in and let you understand it without the words. What matters is the breathing, and whether it happens to match yours.