There are images of peeling back skin, notions of self-prescribed silence and calmness in the face of extreme duress all over the latest from BIG|BRAVE. Their approach this time around seems laser-focused on the idea of stripping things back to the basics in order to reveal some kind of truth, even if it is remarkably painful.

With drummer Tony Hudson currently on a break from the band, Robin Wattie, Mat Ball and Liam Andrews might not have a prescribed beat to work with, but have instead created a dangerously undulating soundscape that fits into the band’s canon perfectly. Masters of drone and nuance, BIG|BRAVE’s instinct to reduce things further is all-enveloping and at times quite a daunting place to inhabit, depending on where you find yourself in life right now.

The only sense of rhythm comes from Andrews’ bass, and he provides a pulse that pushes these songs along just when it feels as if the swirls of feedback are about to suffocate the life out of Wattie’s vocals. Opening track what may be the kindest way to leave finds Wattie at a crossroads. Her vocal is both resigned and tuneful as she circles thoughts of escape from pain. Whether the relief be spiritual, chemical or “other”, the repetition of the word “ease” suggests a central figure in need of peace from the chaos that surrounds them.

Verdure begins as a relentless electrical pulse of noise before introducing screes of industrial cacophony and guitar carnage. At the centre of all this frantic noise — which sounds like the final three minutes aboard a fatally damaged H.R. Giger-designed starship — Wattie seems to be considering a dissolved relationship and whether she should let the other half live. She does. For now. Despite every noise around her telling her otherwise.

On an uttering of antipathy, against a wall of beautifully swelling guitar tones, Wattie explores internalised guilt and blame. That her vocals have been manipulated is almost significant, implying that this self-flagellation has been engineered to some degree. With ideas of external condemnation and judgement from God and what is presumably an estranged lover, she eventually turns the blame on herself. It sounds like a resigned lament in an abandoned church, both beautiful and utterly haunted.

There are glimmers of light, however. The understated moment of reflection encapsulated by the instrumental ambience of holding tongue offers some respite from the turmoil surrounding it. The album closes with the title track, which asks, “when does one feel the most / is it in grief or is it in hope?”, suggesting that both are essential to what makes us feel. The emotions may be wildly different, but they’re both fundamental to life; you can’t have one without the other. Here, Wattie may be in a state of confusion when she suggests “for the life of me, it’s all I have”, but, she says, “I could try again.” Which, despite all the slings and arrows surrounding her, suggests a positive, if tentative, way forward.

What BIG|BRAVE have created is an album that operates almost entirely in opposites: grief against hope, noise versus melody, internal and external, life and death. At the album’s heart, however, is a constant call to persevere, with moments of ugliness fighting against beauty and almost always coming off second best. This is by no means an easy listen, but it is one of the strangest and most honest helping hands you’re likely to encounter.