Moletta, who is a native of the Ligurian coast, grew up with the sound of the ocean. She takes, as her starting point, the legend of the Sirens who sang sailors to their death as they crossed between Scylla and Charybdis. And, indeed, these 11 tracks are lovely in a dangerous, inhuman way, and might easily pull you off course if you let them.

Moletta collaborated with a different female artist for each track on the album, taking their voices as raw material and working her eerie magic on them. As a result, there are subtle variations in sound—Yellow Belly on “Their Voices Rise Above the Waves” has a warmer more caressing texture than, say, Elska on “Moon and Mirrors”—but the record as a whole coheres. I like particularly the musing, half-nodding hum that Nadine Khouri adds to “For All the Sea-Girls,” a song that could be a lullaby or a dirge. “Coral and Bones,” by contrast flows feathery, ethnic-flavored counterpoints, a touch of Arabic fluidity in the vocals by Laryssa Kim.

These singers are largely unknown to me, except for a couple: Mt. Fog and Khouri to be specific. It may not matter, though, so pure and distilled and otherworldly their voices have been made to sound.  Mt. Fog’s Carolyn B. sings not in the airy, hiccup-y, dance-electro style of her albums, but with classical precision and simplicity.  Moletta has done the difficult job of integrating strong musical personalities into her vision without diluting their individual attributes.

Moletta works alone on the seven-minute closer “Oceanine,” a piece originally intended to accompany a video. It washes over the ears in pristine waves, a cathedral chorus that billows and swells like rolls of transparent fabric unfurling in a breeze. You move through it slowly, as if through cool water, as if in a deep, meaningful dream, and when it’s over you blink clumsily, adjusting to the real world once again.