The evolution of the female solo artist over the past fifteen years has been a curious one. My generation grew up on solid, strong voices with apparent themes and lyrical twists. Tori Amos, Beth Orton, and Bjork were wildly different, but carried about them an obvious gravity; even Liz Phair’s sexual irreverence was rooted in the serious problem of sexual inequality.

Through the years, this picture of the solo female as singer-songwriter has shifted in interesting and probably heartening ways; these days, we’re more than familiar with Ida Maria, Lily Allen, Marnie Stern, and Kate Nash as figures that do their share to hold up images that are strong, but with a sense of irreverence. It’s somewhere in between the perceptions of serious, earthy songwriters and saucy, somewhat edgy singers that Polly Scattergood emerges; a forceful, breathy set of vocals taking precedence over a backdrop of ethereal sound.

It’s almost as if Scattergood has taken the best moments of the last 20 years in female rock history and studied them closely. Layered between moments of bare piano tracks are synthesizer-driven beats, creating an almost shockingly poignant soundscape. From the keyboard-heavy crescendos of “I Hate The Way”, it becomes clear that Scattergood’s forte is sadness. “My doctor said I’ve got to sing a happy tune,” she sings after weaving a tale of stark heartache, creating a wonderful and wrenching ending that evokes Marissa Nadler’s best lines.

Where Scattergood makes her true mark is in the ability to weave lyrical thickness with driving melody; “Other Too Endless”, “Please Don’t Touch”, and “Bunny Club” stand out immediately as very obvious and very British singles, though each track is laced with dark and contrasting imagery. Through the course of the album, her voice becomes a uniting factor, able to traverse both the twisted and the sweet through the album’s course. “Please Don’t Touch” hits a lilting note remniscent of Allen or Nash, where “Bunny Club”’s melody simply haunts.

It’s difficult not to find Scattergood’s work compelling from the very beginning, though it may take a few listens to make sense of the record as a whole. This is by no means a medley of sounds and moods; rather, it’s a well-orchestrated whole that executes each musical shift with a smooth elegance. What’s most remarkable is that no matter how far into the depths of despair Scattergood reaches (and when she channels death by suicide as in “Untitled 27″ or by cancer in “Breathe In Breathe Out”, those depths are very deep), her work retains a strange sense of hope. Polly Scattergood succeeds in evoking the serious while nodding at the irreverent, making for a most impressive debut.

A singer-songwriter’s fourth album is a difficult thing; it is not easy for a solo artist to maintain a sense of style and self without falling into the trap of the too-same. For Marissa Nadler, this challenge is made all the greater by the increasing critical acclaim each release has brought her. With Little Hells, she reveals a remarkable sense of growth while maintaining the rich, haunted sound that has become her trademark.

“Haunted”: it’s an adjective that’s hard to avoid when characterizing Nadler’s work, and on Little Hells, it’s a feeling she heartily embraces. If the album’s title wasn’t a tip-off on its own, the first track “Heart Paper Lover” sets the tone wonderfully. Dark and sweet, the song centers around a simple electronic piano melody and a veil of atmospheric noise. The effect is slightly foreboding, a feeling that lasts through the whole of the album. Little Hells was recorded with a full backing band, and Nadler makes good use of it. Muted drums carry “Mary Come Alive”, and a pedal steel takes simple, understated songs like “Rosary”, “River Of Dirt”, and “Mistress” and adds an appropriate twang of longing.

Still, Nadler’s own vocals are the focal point on Little Hells, and the full-band effect serves only to give each song its own contained personality in context. Compared to previous albums, Little Hells’ greatest achievement is its use of space. No song here is overly layered or monotonous; instead, each takes on its own sparse landscape with dreamy undertones. Simplicity is key on the album’s title track and the piano-driven “The Whole Is Wide”, showcasing Nadler’s rich voice as well as her lyrical talent. No stranger to carrying a theme, Nadler evokes ghostly imagery at every turn, as though the characters in each song exist just slightly out of reach.

Little Hells is an ache, personified; it’s no coincidence that its songs feature titles like “Loner” and “Brittle, Crushed, and Torn”. These characters struggle with belief, loneliness, and mortality in heart-wrenching fashion. It’s not an easy listen in the traditional sense, but it’s a lovely one. With Little Hells, Nadler has painstakingly crafted a world of detailed — and yes, haunting — beauty.