Seventies Laurel Canyon sounds beautifully captured

Billie Marten's 'Dog Eared' finds a nostalgic Helen Brown slipping into the warm embrace of the Yorkshire-born singer

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A cat, sitting in the shade. A dog, resting its chin on the windowsill. Love, soft as a rabbit's ear. The velvet comforts of domestic animals drift, in casual snapshots, through the jazz-folk daydream of Billie Marten's fifth album, Dog Eared.

The title speaks to the literary singer-songwriter’s sense of being a little worn, but loved, looking back at marked moments. It feeds into a sense of nostalgia that emanates from a record whose warm, fuzzy sound nods back to late-1970s Laurel Canyon. The splashes of electric piano like old Kodak snaps of swimming pools; the guitars sepia-toned; wonky notes a little out of focus; and Marten’s rich melodies making direct eye contact with the present, as if from another time.