GIVEN her skill as a cellist and her enviable vocal talents, Hildur Guðnadóttir could surely have opted for a more conventional career path.

But then Icelandic artists have a reputation for the unorthodox and Guðnadóttir has proved no exception, following through on her experimental instincts to cultivate her own highly individual style. Enhancing her abilities with subtle electronics, her ambient soundscapes have gained widespread attention: latterly she has underpinned blockbusters The Revenant and Sicario with her distinctive tones.

Taking to the NCEM stage, she certainly exuded the calm, collected presence of an artist at the top of her game, easing into Sunday night's performance by letting her breaths develop seamlessly into plaintive tones. Using voice alone, she gradually unveiled tranquil melodic arcs, at first letting electronics provide only the most nuanced underlining before allowing a looping set-up to enable an ethereal dialogue with her cello.

Such descriptions only go skin deep, however. Beyond the surface beauty of these trance-like repetitions lurk compelling narratives. Rather than providing instant gratification, this is music that nudges you into the long game. Guðnadóttir utilises her acute sense of shape to build audible architectures, forever renewing our perspectives on simple motifs. Her sprawling piece Leyfðu Ljósinu used expansive, brooding cycles to give the impression of an autonomous work for chorus and orchestra, pulsing lines converging and diverging with growing anguish.

Granted, it doesn’t make for the easiest of listens; perhaps this might help to explain the unusually restless NCEM audience but staying the course proved wholly worthwhile.

Review by Richard Powell