There aren’t many albums that truly seem non-existent in this digital age. There’s something special about having access to a record that isn’t haphazardly floating around. It feels like a reclamation of the artistic process where listening to said album is the consequence of human engagement and perhaps a bit of chance—but it is serendipitous. Listening to most music is an inconsequential, hedonistic process—all take and no give on behalf of the audience. But for an album whose very identity was built to be personal, with each physical copy hand-designed, Nathan Phillips’ Postcard is seminal. Its scarcity only magnifies its sense of wonder—this album was written for me. It values individual attention.

Postcard is unique in Phillips’ discography in this respect. Most of his releases, spanning a variety of projects, are more public. It’s the obscurity of the record that would leave many to not even wonder if more of Phillips’ work was out in the world. But it’s certainly a gem—it is not as ornamental as Winston Jazz Routine or as avant-garde as Big Bend. It’s minimalist, with a meek core of piano and vocals. It’s neither classical nor pop, but singer-songwriter doesn’t seem to sum up what’s going on here adequately. To some degree, some of Copeland’s ballads will give you a silhouette of what’s going on here. Phillips’ voice is airy, his arrangements are soft and delicate, and there’s a clear sense of honesty at play. Phillips knows how to go big and leverage an orchestra, but even in his quietest moments, he pulls things off with a certain prowess that’s rare. Postcard might be simpler than his other works, but it carries the same emotion and sensitivity.

In fact, this record carries such a specific degree of mysticism. Its appeal is striking in light of its lack of glamor, with the end result being remarkable. It’s proof that faster tempos and large melodies aren’t the only way to capture attention, and these songs feel utilitarian with everything in proper place. The album revels in a sort of sleepy feeling, but not in a way that causes any harm. It’s just abstract enough to be meditative and relaxing and just concrete enough to consider its content and harmonic structure. To some degree, it’s sad this album is so hidden, but there’s also a joy in sharing in something so private and knowing only a handful of others have experienced this work.

You can keep up with Nathan Phillips and his latest projects on Instagram.