Hello, Voyager is not some cliché of healing, yet there is a sense of satisfaction in the growl of this disjointed flotilla of mangled orchestration, string quintets, stark intimate songs and eidolic production. There is a moment a few minutes into the last track, a determined pile of percussion, trumpet, hushed feedback, shouts-turned-to-screams, background yelps and staccato guitar discharges, when you hear Carla Bozulich, say "ow!" (a drumming injury, I'm told). This is the same word going through your head as you peep from behind your hands during the previous eight tracks. It is not, however, the "ow" as in "ow, what a broken-hearted song" you felt on Bozulich and brilliant company's previous record, Evangelista (so much to communicate, still, they named the band after the album, perhaps). Now, the "ow" is the one you scream as you jump from the window of your drunk daddy's burning house. Yes, he is inside.