Only a few artists released their debut album and had already established themselves as favorites for the Grammy for best new artist. Sienna Spiro is in that category, and let’s just say that “The Visitor,” her first full-length release, does nothing to diminish her chances in the category. As the title suggests, it’s an album of songs written primarily about feeling like a temporary intruder in the lives of others, especially arrogant men. But it’s unlikely that in 10 or 20 years we’ll look back and think that Spiro was simply a pop culture passenger. His is a voice that should have strength for a lifetime, reinforced by a lyrical and musical sensitivity that provides everything his instrument needs to deliver a happy succession of knockout blows.

We should probably say “happy-sad”, because no one will mistake “The Visitor” for a good-humor package, even if the effect of experiencing his powerful abilities is inevitably euphoric. The table has already been set by his signature song, “Die on This Hill,” which hit the top 20 in the U.S. last fall, and will likely have the lasting quality of a No. 1. Spiro has already instantly sold out a North American tour this fall based largely on the strength of that tune, along with a few other gatekeepers who have dribbled away, one by one, in the interim. It could be considered a classic ballad even if it were limited to its verses and choruses and did not include a bridge. But he has a stopper, leading to the cathartic moment in which he repeats the phrase “I wish something mattered,” preceded by “God…”. the second time, by a flash of emphatic anger. It is at this point that you either become putty in their hands or you will have to admit to some strange immunity to emotional release.

Fortunately, there’s plenty more where that came from on the unashamedly ballad-filled “The Visitor.” Her voice could take her into many different modes, and she’s already proven that she sounds pretty fantastic with a full band and a beat, like with last year’s non-LP single “Dream Police” or the Amy Winehouse-esque song she contributed to the “Devil Wears Prada 2” soundtrack, “Material Lover.” This last tune is included as a bonus track on the digital deluxe version of the new album. But for the 10-song standard edition of this debut, the decision was made to streamline its focus and keep it primarily to slow, introspective songs, based largely around piano and orchestration, that expand the tone of that over-the-hill hit to die for. I’m looking forward to hearing Spiro expand his stylistic range to bops, at some point. But for the moment I’m even more eager for her to continue mining this vein she’s found, when the reward is “The Visitor,” a collection rich in heartaches and climactic moments.

If you’re young and prone to getting attached to situations you should stay away from, pick up this album immediately. (If you are old and still addicted to the situation, consult a mental health professional first and then enjoy the album.) There can be some cognitive dissonance when you ask yourself: Could a woman who exudes so much raw power be as passive in a relationship as she describes herself in some of these songs? Well, for God’s sake, she’s 20, so the answer is: Of course she can. And it’s an intriguing juxtaposition that’s very much in the tradition of the early Adele, who first came to the world’s attention as a kind of foghorn doormat. When a woman who looks like she could huff and puff and knock down all of our houses confesses to having multiple layers of vulnerability, we stop and pay attention.

The album’s opening track is its biggest exception, as “This Is My House” opens with a sweet, vintage R&B beat and a positive message about maintaining a healthy sense of self-ownership in relationships. Spiro borrows some of that message from famed poet Nikki Giovanni, who recorded her poem of the same name as a song in 1975 with producer Arif Mardin, being the only sample or interpolation on the album. (For a minute remember Sabrina Carpenter’s recent “House Tour,” except this one isn’t 100% about sex.) But from there, we move on to the album’s most dominant track, in “We’re Not in Love,” in which Spiro laments, “We’re not in love, but we make love, and that doesn’t make sense.” (This is about sex, with the album’s most provocative lines: “You come down while I’m up in my head / And you left after I got naked / And that’s amazing”). “I will get close to you,” he promises, but “not close enough to break me.”

It would be easy to describe “The Visitor” as an album full of incredible songs, especially considering the retro style of much of the material, which can at times be reminiscent of both cabaret and vintage soul. But what Spiro writes in most of these tunes is something a little more interesting than the standard fare of loss and longing. It sings a lot about what it feels like to still be in a relationship that is deeply unrewarding but difficult to leave. And she even goes so far as to psychoanalyze herself and try to figure out what it is, particularly in “He’s Not My Baby, I’m His,” in which she compares a couple’s search for love with trying to solve some childhood problems. He even includes some basic arithmetic to show how unhealthy this could be: “Stroking my hair to stroke my ego / And no one feels as seen as when they choose a boy / And I’m half his age / It’s a right of passage, to know it’s wrong but not to care at all.” There is a lot of wisdom in that understanding of immaturity.

The album’s themes of uncertainty become even more complex on “Pure,” a song that addresses three or four different forms of anxiety in a single track. “I used to make everything so pure / Not for the love of the song anymore / Now I think of a round of applause / When I open my mouth,” he admits, which is a pretty daring confession to make on a debut album. He is jealous of his mother, for being able to experience real pain, and of his sister, because “at least she can have a good time; at least she can calm down.” At the end of the song, she thinks about her deathbed and wonders if her life had meant anything. It is not the last time that death appears in these songs; Spiro has bigger thoughts to sort out than simply whether some guy will finally give him his time away from the boudoir, although there’s that too.

It sounds like something heavy and sometimes it sure is. But there is an elevation that comes from the sheer uplifting qualities of Spiro’s performance, which is simply magical from start to finish, at least if you like mezzo-sopranos who have a slight scratch on their belt. (Everyone likes that, right?) She always gets to the creepy part you know is coming, but it’s not always exactly the same path from one verse or chorus to the next, and the cut or pause in her voice offers a bit of excitement every time she unexpectedly sneaks into the middle of all that perfection. Some of the lyrics quoted above may seem unwieldy if you’re just staring at the page, but the beautiful fluidity of her voice makes even the rawest, most random thought sound organic and lovely. And she doesn’t need to use her words to sound so captivating; At least a couple of times, he interrupts the flow of things only to release a melismatic “mmmmm” that is as captivating as anything else in the song.

If you want to know if he can tackle an actual Great American Songbook standard, the answer comes with the deluxe edition, which includes his version of “Autumn Leaves” as a bonus. But the real focus here is on how good their own Melancholy Songs of Summer are. If you like serious drama, the unreleased standout track might be “Time You & Me,” which sounds like the winning entry in a James Bond theme song sweepstakes. You can’t listen to it even once without imagining how the late Maurice Binder must be busy in a title sequence montage.

Respect is due to his main collaborator here, producer and co-writer Omer Fedi. It’s easy to imagine that he’s felt working with Spiro the way Mark Ronson felt working with Winehouse, except for the likely healthier lifestyle choices that will make the collaboration longer. The album’s instrumental approach is basic enough that few are quick to praise it as an exercise in innovation, but the way they were recorded to sound like live studio performances, whether or not they are that, is worthy of its own Grammy consideration. Who knows which freshmen or relative freshmen the Recording Academy will deem most worthy six months later, but for now it’s enough to have an album that digs deep, even as it gives us a decidedly ascendant Spiro.