Birds fly upwards, whirling into the ether, nature is on fire, this country's identity is flayed, examined, restored, adored by one of our finest songwriters. And that's just the cover art....

Polly Jean returns, as she always does, bringing something new and exciting to the musical table. On this occasion she has done more, exceeded expectations, become a seer, telling the curious listener about the troubles with this country, at home and abroad.

Polly Jean has always challenged the listener, made us think out loud, made us take a step back and explore deep, rich, intense emotions. When she started out in the early 1990's, she was a fearsome soul, full of anger, vitriol and a raging heart, attacking her own psyche with volleys of feedback, sparse arrangements and, on Rid of Me , engaging the raw, terrifying talent of one Steve Albini to explore new extremes....

As the years go by, she has mellowed a little, setting her devastating songs to a less frantic, frenetic instrumental heartbeat. She has increasingly collaborated. Her regulars John Parish and Mick Harvey join her again on this new opus. The welcome addition of Jean - Marc Butty completes the circle.

Circles are important to this record , circular rhythms, addictive, tribal beats, but offset with subtle brushstrokes. On some songs, the voice is merely a whisper, floating by on the wind.

The songs form a cycle, have a very definite sense of place, but reflect the multiculturalism of her beloved country, this shines through in 'Written on the Forehead', set in the middle east, with references to '...date palms, orange and tangerine trees'. This contrasts with 'The Last Living Rose' 'bemoaning goddam europeans...' but glorying in the maritime past of olde England ('fog rolling down behind the mountains, and on the graveyards, and dead sea-captains').

The mood shifts again on 'The Glorious Land' with its charge of the light brigade sample, and a gently insistent rhythmic flow, set against the rhetorical, declamatory voices crying out - 'how is our glorious country ploughed? not by iron ploughs; our land is ploughed by tanks and feet marching.' This builds up layer by layer to a dizzying climax. You are helplessly drawn in to the experience.

The songs march to a jumping beat, with her cohorts chanting in the foreground, saxophone, trombone and keyboards combine to brilliant effect. The sound is enveloping, the guitars ring out, sometimes plangent, sometimes caustic.

The themes are universal - death, the dreadful violence of war, the all-consuming power of nature. these have been addressed through the ages, mostly in the war poetry of Sassoon and Owen. Polly Jean is the 21st century spokesperson for the lonely soldiers, in far off lands, yearning for home, for England, but away from it, confronting horror on the front line.

this re-imagining could be the world war trenches, the unbearable heat of Iraq, the vastness of Afghanistan. This is a fiercely political record, without being po-faced, it is political AND poetic, which makes it approachable . No hectoring, no brow beating, just life-affirming songs set to incredible music.

The voice goes from that whisper, gossamer light, to on 'England', a stunning, totally exposed vocal, a hymn to a country she loves and cannot leave behind. It is so so brilliant, so beautiful, with muezzin wails, battling against Polly's keening soul, opened out, backed by a lone acoustic guitar.

She won the mercury prize in 2003 for 'Stories From The City, Stories From The Sea', that was and still is, a benchmark, but this, this is so much more.

This is iconic, lyrically brutal and beautiful, utterly addictive, invading your life with each successive listen. This is the simple truth - (possibly the) album of the year by a country mile.

Give up, give in, surrender, without regret.