Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir, “How to Start a Garden.”

It took going back home to Iceland for Of Monsters and Men vocalist Nanna Bryndís Hilmarsdóttir to develop her own sound. Known simply as Nanna, the singer took to a cabin outside of Reykjavik to write much of the material for what would become her first solo LP, How to Start a Garden. With her dog Vofa (Icelandic for “Ghost”) by her side, she captures a magnificent soundscape—rich, warm and subtle—that feels solemn and full.

If it sounds a little like folklore-era Taylor Swift, it’s not an entirely incorrect point of reference, especially with The National’s Aaron Dessner assisting self-produced record. It’s impossible to not feel transformed in the opening moments of the title track. The birds chirping, the rain falling, quiet conversations and a spectrum of atmospheric noise. The quiet hum of an acoustic guitar strum materializes as the outside world fades away and Hilmarsdóttir’s warm, quiet vocal enters and carries the track. It feels quite sparse, but the arrangement of vocal harmonies, horns and a low almost chanted background vocal brings it to life.

“Sputnik” ice different; sparse and somber, with  just a piano and light production. Each percussion instrument has a different expression. Some feel close while others distant. Hilmarsdóttir’s exquisite singing brings it together with lush, tight harmonies that bring the song’s sullen isolation to life. Fans of Swift and fellowing singer-songwriter Sara Bareilles will like find a lot that resonates on Hilmarsdóttir’s Garden.

“Do you love me?/ I can take it/ Do we think we can somehow make it?” Nanna Hilmarsdóttir sings on the introspective “Crybaby” as she considers the implications of being alone.

It’s a theme that weighs heavy not by accident. As she moved into writing the record, Hilmarsdóttir was in the midst of a major shift, ending one relationship and beginning another. Despite the melancholy uncertainty, she infuses the sense that better things are coming.

Other tracks swing the pendulum the other direction, like the quiet calm of the acoustic “Disaster Master” as well as the precise brilliance of piano ballad “The Vine.” A lone guitar is strummed, backing her on “Godzilla,” which oozes vocal harmony, slightly building through to the crescendo with a light pulsating backbeat.

“Bloodclot” brings back some of the sonic elements of the opening title track by including the field recordings. The addition of rushing water, or a ticking wooden clock, she adds layer upon layer of depth to a track that might otherwise be made to feel lonesome and barren. It gives the song a transformative element, taking listeners away to that cabin in Iceland where a songwriter is jotting down ideas.

The straightforward piano balladry of “Milk” gives way to the folky acoustic sway of “Igloo.” The latter even mixes in slide guitar. The acoustic “Voyager” brings out an added rawness. Fingers moving along the guitar strings, the buzz of the bass strings; everything makes an organic noise that breaks down the track.

The album concludes on “Seabed,” an exploratory journey filled with atmospherics, soaring harmonies and tight instrumentation. Clocking in north of five minutes, it’s a dramatic and glistening guidepost with which to find the shore.

Follow writer Mike DeWald at Twitter.com/mike_dewald.