Just as they did on last year’s lovely, self-titled debut, Maridalen again record in a lakeside wooden church in the verdant valley near Oslo which they’re named for. The location’s analogue presence and resonance, paired to affectless playing, resembles an ECM record warmed by tangible, balmy sunshine. Sax and trumpet interweave with a breathy burr, forming a grainy, ambient haze, like a sea-fret burning off; often staccato music points to a love of minimalism, smoothed over by this general sound.

‘Sandermosen’, for instance, rests on huffing, seesawing brass and the bass’s didgeridoo-heavy thud and twang, but an Afrobeat sway and oases of beauty enrich the rhythm. Jonas Kilmark Vemøy’s trumpet is also prone to cleanly soaring fanfares, piercing the gold-lit mood. The band’s compositions show considerable variety, too – from the slow, sombre romantic ache of ‘Dørstokken’ to the New Orleans-funereal ‘Silhuett’, and ‘Bilder frae en film’ [Pictures from a film], with its Bond-like bass and screen-filling trumpet. Guest Aleksander Sjølie’s lonely, echoing piano notes add unresolved tension to ‘Der hvor vi ikke kunne gå’. Emil Brattested’s pedal steel guests too, dreamily on ‘Portrommet’, and with a stately country wail on ‘I havn’, a closing track half-way between ballad and elegy with its hymnal vocal harmonies. The breezy optimism and limpid melody of ‘Dance du soir’ is characteristic, living in a world where all your problems are overcome. Comforting beauty is the consistent, satisfied aim.