As a kid growing up in Chicago, Ravyn Lenae listened to a steady stream of R&B, alt-rap, and neo-soul—in a 2016 interview, she called out OutKast, Timbaland, India.Arie, and Erykah Badu as some of her influences. Now a member of the Zero Fatigue crew with rapper Smino and producer Monte Booker, the vocalist captures a robust spectrum of black art while establishing her own aesthetic. Lenae doesn’t sing, per se; instead, her blend of atmospheric hums speaks directly to you, even as Booker’s swirling beats threaten to take most of the attention. There’s a strong nostalgia to Lenae’s music that borrows from her late ’90s and early ’00s influences, but she doesn’t simply mimic them. Lenae’s art feels current.

For her impressive new EP, Midnight Moonlight, Lenae treads the same path she began on 2015’s Moon Shoes, her excellent debut. But where that collection was far brighter, Midnight carries a methodical late-night vibe suitable for Quiet Storm radio. Lenae reemerges having signed to Atlantic Records and garnered praise from the likes of Badu and Nas; she’s the latest in a recent line of Chicago musicians (Noname, Jamila Woods, Saba) to make national waves. And she’s still a teenager, studying classical music at the Chicago High School for the Arts.

With Booker on production once again, Midnight brims with quiet intensity, bringing singers like Syd and Aaliyah to mind. Yet while their art focuses strictly on hip-hop and R&B, Lenae’s sound feels a bit more atmospheric, blending modern bounce, dream pop, and electronica, encompassing those subgenres without leaning too heavily on one in particular. These words feel equally assertive and despondent, coming off like sweet one-liners scribbled in the margins of crumpled notebook paper.

There’s a nomadic nature to this work that grows stronger as the album plays, as if Lenae is still trying to find her voice among the colors. Her timbre—a soft, subtle falsetto—isn’t built for long runs or exaggerated solos, but when mixed within Booker’s nuanced electro-soul, the results are especially soothing. On “Hiatus,” the composer crafts a Brainfeeder-inspired track over which Lenae’s airy sighs set a romantic mood: “When your heart won’t grow, on you I’ll rain.” Then, on “Last Breath,” it seems Lenae wades into political terrain. “Are you willing/To sacrifice your life?” she sings, her tone more prominent. “Are you willing/To give it up tonight?” On an album full of subtlety, this is easily its most defiant stance. Lenae fills the romantic and political with grace and gravity, a dazzling feat that she's thankfully just beginning to explore.