AND sometimes the sun shines. Lingering spring days. Cold air, birdsong, the quiet rustle of trees and music heard in the distance. Somewhere far off voices are raised. But here and now time is pulling, stretching. Notes drop slowly and for a moment or two everything stills.

Rose Elinor Dougall's new album, A New Illusion, her third to date is a thing of bruised emotions and late-afternoon moods. Ringing guitars playing off singing strings and cushioned percussion. And over it floats a voice that's poised, well-spoken but maybe, just maybe, a little weather-beaten these days.

A New Illusion sounds more folky than anything she has done before. It is one of Dougall's most attractive incarnations yet. It's half a lifetime since she joined the retro girl group The Pipettes in Brighton when she was still a teenager.

In the years in between she has been full-on indie (on her very fine debut album Without Why), gone electro (on the follow-up Stellular), went pop working with Mark Ronson on his Record Collection album and then toured with him. Dougall has even turned up on stage at the Royal Opera.

Her new album is subtler and quieter than any of her previous work. "I felt a bit calmer making this record in a way," Dougall admits this grey, wet, cold London morning. "I've made quite a lot of music in my life now. I've been doing this since I was 16. I'm 32 now and I wanted to test how much I could trust my own instincts.

"In the past I've maybe felt a little bit insecure about whether I had to defer to other people to kind of validate the music I make. One of the best things about growing a bit older is having more experience. I just wanted to put that experience to the test a little bit.

"I wanted there to be a bit more space for people to play, not just be this kind of insistent, needy song writing. I've let things just be a little more open. I was thinking in a less pop-minded way as well."

Those changes are apparent in her vocals too. "I wanted it to sound slightly more like a kind of rooted place in my voice. I've done a lot of different kinds of music over the years and I think I just wanted to get to something a bit more essential. Most of the songs are piano and that's my instrument.

"I was sort of trying to find a new sonic, I guess, within the comfort that those real instruments provide.

I reckon she found it. Dougall was worried that the result might be either too trad or too MOR. But neither is the case. It's not folk as such, but you can see why the likes of Shirley Collins or Annie Briggs would be important signifiers for her.

"Yes, definitely and just as women as well. The way they represent their femininity is something I really relate to. There's nothing fey or twee or apologetic about the way they position themselves and the tones of their voices. There's some real blood and guts about the way they go about their singing. But there's still a beauty to it as well. It's angry, but it's not aggressive. Those are the kind of voices that I always lent on really."

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Three albums in nine years is not a Stakhanovite work rate, it must be said, but Dougall suggests that's more a reflection of just how bloody hard it can be to make a record these days.

"This record has actually been the easiest process that I've ever had, partly because I managed to find a set up with a distribution company which has made the whole process a lot easier. I had a tiny bit of budget to record for the first time ever which was a massive change for me.

"The gap between my first record and my second one was seven years. Even the indie labels with which I've always had decent relationships with are just so nervous to sign anything."

Still, there have been other things to keep her busy. Most recently, singing on stage during choreographer Wayne McGregor's ballet Carbon Life, which had a score written by Mark Ronson and Andrew Wyatt and costumes designed by Gareth Pugh.

"It involved me having to walk onto the stage at the Royal Opera House on my own and have these two ballet dancers dance around me with a live orchestra. I've never been more terrified in my entire life. I was walking into this spotlight – it felt like it was going to take an hour to get there – wearing these insanely high shoes. But it was incredible. That was a moment where I felt, 'I'm really, really f****** lucky doing this. How have I managed to get away with this?'"

A New Illusion is often beautiful, but it's worth noting that it has something of a troubled heart. Perhaps, given the state of the nation, it would be impossible to be otherwise.

"I guess I started writing this record before the EU referendum," Dougall explains. "But for my generation there has been an extremely pervasive sense of insecurity for the last decade.

There's a 'world is ending' kind of feeling. There's a bombardment of apocalypse news these days. The notion of doing something as vain as writing music seems like a ridiculous endeavour in some senses.

"Me and my friends are kids of New Labour and were fed a false promise that if you do this this and this then you're going to get a house like your mum and dad. You can live this middle-class dream thing. That there was room to aspire to something more. And obviously the world doesn't really function in those ways anymore.

"And, even just as a musician, it's like the whole framework that was there and had been quite a reliable industry for 50 years or whatever, suddenly the bottom fell out of. That's a microcosm of a more universal issue, I suppose."

And yet her she is. If Dougall had the chance what would she tell her teenage self? "Oh God, I wish I could go back and tell the 15-year-old to just f****** jack it in and do something proper. But I don't think I would have done it any differently if I'm honest.

"It's a real thing to have made another record. Who knows if I'll get to make another one? But you have to take your achievements and feel good about them when they come."

A New Illusion is out now on Vermillion Records