Musical dresses, circular doors, chirping toy birds, sonic hallucinations: in Kirsty Almeida we’ve the return, at last, of the enigmatic true eccentric. Her music (like her life) is magical, the kind of radiant soul-revue sophistication that’s been gone so long it suddenly feels brand new; crystalline vocals untouched by meddling sheen, live instrumentation tinkling across your synapses, the glowing warmth of classic song-writing pulsing like amber jewels.