This Is How Tomorrow Moves, the third full-length studio effort by Beabadoobee, gleams like an apple shined up bright. That polish represents no radical departure for the performing guise of Brit-based singer-songwriter Beatrice Laus. Her prior efforts had a similar sheen. There is an added certainty this time out, however, a vague sense that she is decisively settled into her sound. If prior outings, fine as they were, could feel a little coy, this latest album finds Beabadoobee absolutely owning her lithe, lilting, ticklishly gentle tone of music making. For listeners, satisfaction might vary; this brand of indie pop is going to elate some and try the patience of others. Beabadoobee is going to cheerily breeze on by either way.

For the album, Beabadoobee held fast to her usual crew of collaborators and also reached out to Rick Rubin help produce. As he’s wont to do, Rubin asked Beababadoobee to introduce him to her new songs in a stripped-down fashion and urged her to add back only what was definitely needed. The result is a set of tracks that have a cloud-like waft while holding some thundery rumbles within them. It’s telling that “Take a Bite” calls to mind vintage Rilo Kiley, albeit with the despondent tartness softened just a bit (“It gets harder to breathe/ But I take it and I want it and I love when it bleeds”).

If the material is deliberately spare, that doesn’t mean This Is How Tomorrow Moves is some aching unplugged album, akin to Rubin’s famous gutted-house exercises with Johnny Cash. Instead, there’s a tender lushness to the proceedings that is aligned with the lovingly crafted pop of Rickie Lee Jones back in the day. “California” swirls and swarms, “Tie My Shoes” has just the lightest tinge of twang, and “Girl Song” is a pretty piano ballad that’s reminiscent of Kacey Musgraves when she is entirely unconcerned about country purity. Each new track alights with endearing grace. The breakup song “One Time” shows that even Beabadoobee’s kiss-offs (“It’s such a shame you don’t cross my mind/ But you did this one timе”) have a sweetness to them, accentuated by the chugging, children’s-choir quality to the cut’s closing moments.

Beabadoobee occasionally allows a little more flash to creep in, as when the flitting synths arrive in “Post” or when some Harry Nilson swing gooses “Everything I Want.” Mostly, she seems content to make the comfiest record she can. “Coming Home” is a plucky folk ditty about homesickness while on the road (“A hotel room only means I’ll be with you soon/ An American state makes me feel so far away/ So I promise, this time I won’t be late”) and “Ever Seen” is like she’s building a nest for all the wandering boygenius fans to alight in now that The Record is dwindling to a distant dot on the horizon behind them.

I tend to think of indie pop such as this as if its a painfully delicate thing, at risk of being swept away by the blast of an amplifier with the charge of an electric guitar’s power chord going through it. On This Is How Tomorrow Moves, I hear the careful craft that leads me to that sort of conclusion, but there’s an added forcefulness that I sometimes miss elsewhere. Beabadoobee has a stride.