Joanna Newsom

She plays the harp and sings with the squeak of a mythical faerie, just two of the reasons why Joanna Newsom’s second full-length album, Ys (pronounced “ees”), is curious and beautiful enough to stand among the greatest of our time. Following up her excellent 2004 effort, The Milk-Eyed Mender, the singer-songwriter dives headlong into the role of a medieval troubadour, affirming the deepest of emotions via once-upon-a-time fables and nature metaphors. Spanning five tracks and 55 minutes, Ys almost completely shuns the rock idiom, along with the digital-industrial ennui of the moment. Newsom favors riversides, seashores and meadows, usually focusing on a single person (“Emily”) or a couple of animals (“Monkey & Bear”) at a time. Contrary to 20th-century folkies who summed up the human condition in a line or two, Newsom stretches a simple concept such as infatuation over the course of a nine-minute epic.

She writes music to match the weight of her words, sustained with inconspicuous orchestral arrangements by Brian Wilson’s compadre Van Dyke Parks. The CD’s centerpiece, “Sawdust & Diamonds,” bubbles with the momentum of a recitative and then slips into the curve of a cascading melodic pattern familiar enough not to alienate casual listeners. If the world can learn to embrace Newsom’s quirky pipes as it has those of, say, Tom Waits and Bob Dylan, she’ll be recognized for suggesting a musical future that’s maybe a little gentler—and more magnificent—than we’ve yet imagined. — Cristina Black

Joanna Newsom plays Webster Hall Mon 13.