I can’t believe the things I hear,” Richmond, Va.-based songwriter Natalie Prass sings over some seriously pumping bass on “Oh My,” the invocation of her sophomore album, The Future and the Past. It may be a statement of confusion about the tumultuous state of the country, but the record is a decisive move on Prass’ part.

Her 2015 self-titled debut—a sepia-toned Tapestry-meetsVan Dyke Parks fantasia—was hailed as a breakout by critics. But while the new album doesn’t jettison any of her tunefulness or classically minded songcraft, it steps forward boldly with a jazzier, funkier strut. If Natalie Prass had a tendency to induce the feeling of floating, then The Future and the Past is designed for on-the-ground swaying. Conceived with longtime collaborator Matthew E. White and the Spacebomb production crew, the record drips with lush gospel vocals, clipped guitar lines, g-funk synths and deep grooves—equal parts Rhythm Nation and local classic Voodoo. (D’Angelo, Prass notes, is a fellow Richmond native and her Virginia community also includes her boyfriend and collaborator, Dr. Dog drummer Erik Slick.)

It was a different record than Prass planned to make before the 2016 presidential election waylaid her completely.

“I couldn’t move for like a month,” she says, detailing weeks spent under blankets, crying at the news.

After she’d properly convalesced, she found the material she’d amassed for the new record, centered on a bad breakup, entirely lacking in emotional resonance.

“I went to Matt and said, ‘I can’t record this record,’” Prass says. “I said, ‘All I care about now is our country and how fucked up this is.’ I would never forgive myself if I didn’t contribute to the conversation.”

White agreed, and the duo spent a month talking, with Prass sharing her experiences in the Richmond and Nashville music scenes.The conversations led to songs focused on womanhood, resilience and honesty.

“We wrote every single day,” Prass says. Over time, they put together the bulk of a new LP. The fresh material leaned harder into the sonic traditions of the music that Prass had found herself constantly streaming on Spotify—disco, funk, ‘80s and ‘90s R&B—and the gospel CDs that she picked up at a local record store.

As a result, The Future and the Past is a type of protest record. But the songwriter acknowledges that it’s not a typical one. On songs like the pop standout “Short Court Style,” Prass utilizes the language of romantic acceptance to draw together themes of togetherness. “Oh, the heart is pumping rhythms that are not our own/ Oh, but for all,” she sings, soaring over clipped guitars and synths. Balancing joyfulness with concern and fear with celebration, Prass has crafted an album of odes to inner strength.

“It’s scary no matter what kind of record you make,” she says. “But this is not the time for me to be scared.”