Toronto-based soul-pop singer Charlotte Day Wilson is a psychologist for your blood pressure.

Her lead single is about persevering through a crummy relationship. Another is about betrayal. And of course, the last is about being alone. Whatever the problem, Wilson has the vision and skill to imbue the most trying of moments with a calm and considered beauty.

Released on August 26, her not-quite-eponymous EP CDW is music from a wanderer. It opens with “Work”, a lustful yet weary track about the difficulty that goes into building a strong relationship. It’s a downer-topic often avoided in music. Who wants to talk about love’s tedious middle when you could discuss the more dramatic beginning or end? But with Wilson, the subject becomes a testament to hope and perseverance.

“Where Do You Go” is perhaps the most pop-ish track of the bunch. With its groovy undercurrents and its crafting of silence, it’s an irresistible song. The subject matter – betrayal – isn’t so rare, though Wilson’s lack of blame is. This could have less to do with a saintly temperament than the speechless dizziness that follows any betrayal. The muted trumpets seem just as lost as her in figuring out the situation.

The EP opens and closes with brief songs that are supposed to set the mood of the six tracks. But “On Your Own” and “Reprise” nearly tip into New Age and seem better suited for a yoga session in a non-denominational church. The EP would benefit from clearing the underbrush. Despite this, it’s a cohesive and memorable take on the vagaries of love.

Count on a sinuous voice and soulful synths throughout CDW to keep your head nodding through the most stressful of times.

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The rock angels dance around in “Shake and Tremble,” a sort of John Wayne meets Jefferson Aeroplane meets Austin Powers. It’s difficult not to get a little tingly in the happy waves Django Django throws over you. The confident stabs of piano chords, synths moving in whatever ways they please, sleigh bells and slurpy noises and badass tornado sounds–it all fantastic.

“Giddy art-rock” they’ve been described, and this album solidifies that descriptor.

The music is so blissfully peculiar that it’s easy to lose track of the beautifully simplistic lyrics, like the deflated love letter in “Found You,” or the palpable lyrics in “First Light,” a catchy carpe diem song for 2015, and the first single off the album.

You know those snake charmers that National Geographic loves documenting? The music here acts a charmer for robots, turning the piles of metal into sentient animals. (Interestingly enough, this is exactly what happens in their video the second single, “Reflections”).

The catchy drifts of “Pause Repeat” may make it a summer anthem, though it’s probably too long for that. The same could be sad of “Shot Down,” which has some beautiful moments, especially the ending, but would have benefited from more concision. Even the opener, “Giant,” goes on a little long, and could have used some editing work, but eh, it’s not killing people.

“Born Before Saturn” has been criticized that the flaring talent and ambition overwhelming the lyrics. Which may be the case, but when the music is this blithely joyous, who cares?

In general, critics aren’t as excited for this album as their debut. This critic is not a part of that camp. In the end, this is a smart record that will expand your senses and make you smile. And Leo Tolstoy said that’s the purpose of art–so there.

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