Shania Twain’s return to public life and performance is the foundation of one of this decade’s most remarkable comeback stories. If it seems ludicrous that an artist with three diamond-certified albums could possibly need a “comeback,” much less a remarkable one, it’s worth taking a minute to review the one-two punch that threw Twain’s life into quiet disarray. Her vocal cords were ravaged by dysphonia, a physical disorder induced by Lyme disease and exacerbated by stress that left her unsure if she’d ever be able to sing again. And while she lost her voice, she also lost her partner: her marriage to super-producer Mutt Lange fell apart in 2008 after Twain learned about his affair with her best friend.

It’s not like Twain had anything left to prove: her album sales are unimpeachable, and her influence has grown to encompass almost every musician with a passing interest in pop—Taylor Swift to Sheer Mag. (Listen to Haim’s “You Never Knew” and try to imagine it existing without “Love Gets Me Every Time.”) The skepticism she weathered from country traditionalists made it easier for contemporary boundary-pushers like Sam Hunt and Maren Morris to blaze their own trails. She would’ve earned plaudits just for settling into a comfortable Las Vegas residency and the occasional charming cameo on “American Idol” or “Broad City”. It’s in this light that Now, her fifth studio album and first in 15 years, feels courageous: a woman who’s enjoyed several careers’ worth of success and pain is searching for a place in a musical landscape that’s unrecognizable compared to her salad days. It’s the kind of leap you don’t take unless you have something you really need to say.

Now is a pure expression of Twain’s intent: she wrote and produced every song on the album, curated its additional four producers, and laid down strict guidelines regarding their involvement and the album’s sound. “I told anyone getting involved musically to forget about my other records,” she told Rolling Stone in February. “I didn’t want it to be related to Mutt’s productions at all. I wanted a more organic approach.” To appreciate the creative risk this decision represents, you have to understand the nature of Twain and Lange’s partnership. Their collaboration on mega-smashes like The Woman in Me and Come on Over reflected their romantic connection: they had a deep respect for each other and a sincere belief in the work they were doing, even if no one else did.

”Mutt was incredible with the feel and groove of a song,” Twain wrote in her intense 2011 memoir From This Moment On, “and my challenge was to write lyrics and melody to his phrasing.” This division of labor made Twain one of the best-selling artists in musical history, so it’s hard to argue with the results. She and Lange would alternate scraps of lyric and ideas on a single notepad, their two minds coming together as one. “As much as I loved Mutt as my husband, it’s possible I admired him even more for the unique way his musical mind worked,” wrote Twain. “It was as though the only person who really had the whole thing in his head all at one time was Mutt.”

Left to her own devices, Twain’s album touches on her past glories without leaning too heavily on them. Its eclecticism is an extension of her work with Lange on 2002’s Up!—an album famously released in “country,” “pop,” and “world” mixes to capture the greatest possible international market share—but there’s nothing about Now that feels cynical or even boardroom-tested, even with songs that sound like clear descendants of the Chainsmokers (the aching “Poor Me”) and OMI’s summer 2015 hit “Cheerleader” (”Let’s Kiss and Make Up”). Instead, it sounds like the work of an artist who’s written and spoken frankly about country as a means to an end rather than an abiding passion. Twain is still putting together load-bearing vocal arrangements: hooks like the ones at the heart of “Swingin’ With My Eyes Closed” or the Motown-lite romp “You Can’t Buy Love” throw off as much light as anything on Come on Over— but she isn’t going out of her way to cover up the combined effects of illness and age on her voice. The top of her range has been sanded down, and the residual grit is pebbled through a voice that was once uniformly crisp and clean.

And while Now still rings with Twain’s irrepressible optimism, its most impactful songs explore what happens when that unstoppable force meets heart-shattering, life-changing betrayal. Twain is adamant that Now isn’t a “divorce album.” Her marriage to Lange ended nearly a decade ago, and she’s long since moved on and found happiness with her ex-best friend’s own jilted lover. This isn’t her version of Lemonade. She’s never been able to summon that kind of righteous fury.

Yet the specter of her life’s temporary collapse hangs over the album like a shadow. She sounds a world away from the sassy, effervescent icon of “That Don’t Impress Me Much” on songs like “I’m Alright” and “Where Do You Think You’re Going,” piercing and desperate even as they end on hopeful notes. (Her writing is particularly bleak on the former: “I tried to scream/But silence haunted/Me in my sleep/Oh, and probably always will.”) Even at her bubbliest, darkness is always just outside the rear-view mirror. “Let’s Kiss and Make Up” is a plea for communication masquerading as lightweight tropical house: “Let’s be honest, let’s be open/We’re not broken, not yet.” And on lead single “Life’s About to Get Good,” jaunty strumming belies extreme vulnerability: “I trusted you so much, you’re all that mattered/You no longer loved me and I sang like a sad bird/I couldn’t move on and I think you were flattered.” Twain never quite reaches jubilance. She has to settle for relief.

Now can’t help but suffer by comparison to Twain’s absolute zenith, both in terms of musical potency and commercial performance. These are pleasant songs, but Twain and Lange’s perfectionism meant even the weakest cuts on The Woman in Me and Come on Over were weapons-grade pop; her label is already brushing off her recent singles’ poor showing at radio and on the charts. (”[Radio is] the magnifier,” said UMG Nashville president Cindy Mabe to The New York Times, “but frankly, does she need it? No. She’s a global icon.”) There’s an air of inevitability to Twain’s upcoming world tour: she’ll play the hits to legions of adoring fans, and they’ll hit the concession stands as soon as they hear an unfamiliar note.

This album deserves more, if only because it successfully conveys Twain’s one immutable strength: her personality. Her space in our collective cultural memory has as much to do with her character—her pluck, her unpretentious elegance, her genial nature—as her melodies or stomping arrangements. Even after tens of millions of albums sold and a decade-plus out of the spotlight, she still feels a little like your daffy aunt: ready for a campfire singalong, quick with a bottle of Pinot Grigio, and overeager with an exclamation mark. Time can’t take that away; trauma can’t take it away, either.