(Emote Records, CD, digital download)

Seems like ages since we’ve heard fromGregory Douglass. The local pop prince’s last record, the brooding and sometimes confrontational Battler, was released more than two years ago, which is something of a dry spell for this prolific songwriter. Though he’s been busy playing weekly online concerts and revisiting the 1980s as a member of local cover band Side Pony, he’s such a phenomenal studio artist that it’s hard not to raise an eyebrow when he hasn’t released a new record in a while. Douglass’ fans will be delighted to learn that his eighth studio album is finally here. And Lucid was more than worth the wait.

Eerie, music-box-like chimes introduce the disc’s opening cut, “The Night.” Douglass matches this somber aesthetic by luring the listener in with a slow-burning melody that feels both soothing and dangerous. He is a fantastically talented singer, but here displays more than just otherworldly pipes. Elite performers are often tempted to rely on ornamental glitz — it’s a forgivable transgression that Douglass has occasionally been guilty of in the past. But throughout Lucid, his performance is refined; he communicates more with nuance and guile than with show-stopping vocal acrobatics. The results are often exquisite.

The title track begins as a piano-driven romp, then quickly changes course and veers into atmospheric electro-pop. Crystalline production has long been a hallmark of Douglass’ recorded work. Lucid is no exception, particularly on this song. A phalanx of ethereal noises dart around the speakers, highlighting Douglass’ intense vocal melody.

Even more than on previous records, he covers a variety of stylistic terrain on this one. From easy, mid-tempo rock on album standout “White Out” to new-wave electro-pop on “Naysayer” and sinister ruminations on “Raven,” the singer displays impressive versatility and artful curiosity.

Still, regardless of various sonic disguises, Lucid is still very much a Gregory Douglass record. Meaning that fans will find typically well-crafted pop suites, thought-provoking lyrical turns and adventuresome arrangements. That last characteristic is particularly true on the songs featuring cellist Monique Citro, whose work on “One True Thing” is alone almost worth the price of admission.

Gregory Douglass celebrates the release of Lucid with a show this Saturday, June 11, at the Higher Ground Showcase Lounge. Justin Levinson opens.

(Self-released, CD)

When I grow up, I want to be Francesca Blanchard. Barely out of high school, the local singer-songwriter already displays guile and artistic sensitivity that would be the envy of many tunesmiths twice her age — and, for that matter, music critics of a similarly mature vintage. Her debut EP, Songs on an Ovation, is quietly and profoundly stunning. It is a humble ode to love, heartbreak and home that says more about all three topics in the span of 17 minutes than some songwriters do over entire careers.

The EP begins with “Mon Ange.” Blanchard is French-born, and wrote the song in her native tongue. Whether or not you understand the language, her understated delivery evokes deeply stirring emotion — particularly at the song’s undulating chorus, where guest vocalist Gregory Douglass accents her breezy melody with a swooning harmony of his own. Angelic, indeed.

The melancholy “Save a Different Way” is next. Blanchard is currently a theater major at Boston University, and it would seem her gifts on the stage translate well to music. The depth of her lovelorn sadness suggests a weariness that runs contrary to her tender years. She may be young, but she has an old soul, which she fearlessly bares here.

Cellist Monique Citro — a frequent collaborator with Douglass — makes a number of cameos on the EP, the first of which is on “Sleep.” Citro’s lugubrious, textured sustains frame Blanchard’s bittersweet lullaby with aching tenderness.

“Back Home” is the last of Blanchard’s original material and is an homage to her hometown of Charlotte, Vt. In less capable hands, her musings on old farm dogs and summer days would tread perilously close to earnest, Rockwellian schmaltz. But the purity in her measured, restrained delivery makes her every word believable.

The EP closes on a pair of covers: “Quelqu’un M’a Dit” by French singer/model/actress/first lady Carla Bruni, and a version of the Chilton Price/Pee Wee King/Redd Stewart classic “You Belong to Me,” popularized by Dean Martin, among others. Sparse and airy, the latter is gorgeous. Blanchard commands the tune’s sweetly smitten lyrics as if they were written for no other voice but hers — sorry, Dino. It is a fitting and touching close to a remarkable debut.