We have a lot to thank Conor Oberst for. First of all there’s the fact that his 2005 album ‘I’m Wide Awake, It’s Morning’ is one of the years best. Secondly and perhaps more crucially he has been instrumental in giving Willy Mason a break by signing him to his label Team Love. 20-year-old Mason drifted in from Martha’s Vineyard on a tide of ramshackle chords, country tinged backdrops and wry lyrical repositories. And now he has gone and produced a debut of understated beauty. It’s like that feeling you got all those years ago when Beck drifted over the speakers for the first time.

Apart from his ability to engineer a great tune Willy Mason’s trump card is his vintage voice. Perhaps he has perfected the first homemade vocal chord sander but the noise he makes is remarkably cultured for one so young with the result that his insightful lyrics seem apt. The musicianship is loose and free wheeling like on the albums opening track ‘Gotta Keep Movin’ which could really be the output from an over enthusiastic rocking chair enthusiast from the deep South. Mason ideas may script life’s underbelly but many of his tunes are punctured by couplets delivered in fluffy coated choruses. ‘Still A Fly’ is one such, coming and going in just under 2 and a half minutes; its simple chord changes wander mischievously until Mason dips the vocals and begs not be forgotten.

‘Oxygen’ has become a torch song, Mason gently bares his soul amid a backdrop of acoustic guitars and sweetly vulnerable vocals. ‘Oxygen’ and the albums title track are the potential seeds for Masons progression into public consciousness. ‘Where The Humans Eat’ has a steady course, defined by a rolling drumbeat, Masons lazy delivery of super lines like “I just fed you, and your fat brother, so why are you now, still yelling at me?” and the odd spectral emission. It’s the albums defining moment, a true 21st century classic. While ‘Where The Humans Eat’ exposes Mason’s ability to come up with straight laced pop, it’s obvious his preference lies in off kilter strumalongs, the kind that would make his campfire the location for this years best party. ‘Hard To Hold’ shuffles unevenly, chords chime and Mason storylines until a familiar chorus has everyone joining in. ‘So Long’ is equally rousing, its youthful theme and energetic stance will have audiences all over the world in a tizzy.

'Where The Humans Eat' has two thirds of an album worth of memorable tunes. The scraps are not totally forgettable but are harder to embrace (‘Our Town’, ‘Letter #1’, ‘Sold My Soul’, ‘21st Century Boy’). This means the album sags a little in the middle but the initial flurry and closing fireworks are so wondrous that they are easily forgotten. Mason tempers his pervasive use of melody with topics as bleak as homelessness, broken families and incarceration. The general mood is undoubtedly one of melancholy, which could leave inlay card readers reaching for the nearest bottle of JD. By immersing oneself in the music however the experience is one that is best shared with a few friends on a balcony overlooking the city on a warm summers evening.

It’s hard to ignore this album such is the ease with which it readily deals shards of wisdom, off centre playing and pockets of honeycombed melody. There may be a little bit of work involved in appreciating its curious directions but the enormity of Mason’s talent is there to see from the get go. He and Mr Bright Eyes are beginning to deliver a rich seam of urban poetry put to equally compelling music. With Mason’s predilection for taking to the road in his campervan on a quest to take over the world he could yet become the 21st centuries most revered travelling minstrel. KD

Rating: 7/10


More Info: Official & Myspace
Buy Album: [UK] Where the Humans Eat [US] Where the Humans Eat

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While the instances of stunted creativity abound when an artist decides to go solo, Elliott Smith proved to be a glorious exception to the rule. Coming from the Dandy Warhols neck of the woods (Portland, Oregan) where infectious hooks seem to habitually blossom on the trees it is no surprise that a cursory listen to Figure 8 reveals a smattering of sweet melodies that would have the makers of marmalade clambering to sign him up for their next ad campaign. Elliot Smith started out as twin singer/songwriting (with Neil Gust) in Heatmiser who went on to release 2 reasonable albums in 'Dead Air', 'Cop and Speeder' before Smith decided that going it alone was the way forward. 'Figure 8' was his fifth solo album. At this stage his star was in the ascendancy after the leg up received from having his 'Miss Misery' song included on the soundtrack to 'Good Will Hunting'. It's subsequent nomination for 'Best Original Song' at the Oscars (no, Celine Dion snatched it!) meant that the majors came running. Leaving his indie label Kill Rock to join Dreamworks he was given the financial clout to craft his most textured effort 'XO'.

Like a twinkling star 'Figure 8' initially beams great shafts light in the form of 'Son Of Sam'. The lilting piano strokes, smooth multi-layered vocals and periodic guitar frenzy is enough to have you gasping for more. 'Son Of Sam' is a delightful pick me up, yet Smith often descends into a strange state of melancholy. 'Somebody That I Used To Know' has him pining for a relationship that could've been while against the tide the acoustic guitar forays turn out to be as tuneful as the bees. Things get worse on 'Everything Reminds Me Of Her', a weepy that would probably be a strain for everyone except the recently broken up. The sequel 'Everything Means Nothing To Me' is equally taxing, saved only by the buoyant clamour at the end. But for all this introspection Smith cannily lifts the doom and gloom when required. L.A. is a shimmering pop tune, jaunty and devoid of chorus. Who needs a chorus anyway when the whole thing resembles a maze of sweet vocals. 'Stupidity Tries' goes one step further, raising the ante over its ebullient 4 minutes. Arched like a cat before the kill the brooding vocal builds up to finally reveal the bloodthirsty chords that so illuminate the underlying melody. The song has single marked all over it and could easily have harnessed an audience had the will been there.

Despite the undemanding intensity of Figure 8, Smith doesn't have it all his own way. About half way through you get a certain deja vu feel from the songs. As the pace slows and the mood becomes increasingly anal you can't help but wonder how things could be have been made a lot more interesting had Smith decided to wig out a bit more like on the incomparable 'Wouldn't Mama Be Proud'. Designed to catch you unawares, the deep seethed percussion builds a pressure that finally erupts bringing forth volcanic riffs and mouth watering vocal lava. In the background the quietly chaotic barrage of sliding guitars is enough to burn your ears. When 'Color Bars' shuffles into view you are reminded of a particularly cute Beatles composition. Fingers skirting manically along shiny piano keys and Smith's hushed melodic vocals would appeal to all except those with a stilted musical attitude. 'Happiness' has a dozy roving chord progression while the singers energised vocalising makes a nice departure. The song may outstay its welcome a little towards the end but there are a number of killer ideas just screaming for a listener.

While the pretty patterns woven during the quieter moments are sweet it's only when Smith decides to throw caution to the wind that the album can truly be called delightful. 'Can't Make A Sound' is one such occasion where he opts for the whiskey bottle rather than his usual glass of heated milk. For once the mood is threatening in that 'you can't see it but the ghoul is going to get you' type of way. Like a dry riverbed as the storm clouds burst it bounds into life like you always knew it would. The intensity of the climax is enough to clear the golden cobwebs from your ears (spun from earlier tracks) and have you taking a hacksaw to the prison bars of your ordinary life. By culling one or two Smith by numbers ('Pretty Mary K' and 'In The Lost And Found' being prime examples), this album could have had a much stronger uppercut. While the gentle sparring sometimes delivers a devastating leftfield hook the gap between these intensities is just a little too wide and diminishes what could otherwise have been a spellbinding release. At 52 minutes it is probably just that bit too long. While it is consistently pleasant there just isn't enough variety to ensure you'll be transfixed throughout.

Despite this, 'Figure 8' is undoubtedly a pretty album that veers between the quaint, the beguiling and the slowcore. It should make its home wherever an emotional heart resides. There are tender melodies aplenty and Smith sure had a way with a guitar. Elliott’s tragic suicide 3 years after this album was released adds retrospective resonance to his lyrics and the inevitability that he’ll become more famous after his death.

Rating: 7/10

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Way to Blue is a gathering of tracks taken from Nick Drake's 3 albums 'Five Leaves Left' (1969), 'Bryter Layter' (1970), 'Pink Moon' (1972) and a compilation of unreleased tracks called 'Time Of No Reply'. Critics and artists alike speak of Drake in oft-reverential tones and it's easy to see why. A lot of the tracks here are over 30 years old but sound remarkably fresh and interesting. Nick Drake's music is uncomplicated folk yet all the while an 8-piece orchestra does its stuff in the wings. 'Hazey Jane I' uses the string section to creates a wonderful foil to Drake's gentle guitar plucking. 'Fruit Tree' is a journey all on its own, full of lavish arrangements and poetry with a grand musical tapestry in tow. Drake's voice is a mirror image of Stuart Murdoch's from Belle and Sebastian (that should read the other way around I guess) and you can see how much he has influenced that band. The overall tone is very low key, never going beyond a certain decibel level. It could almost be a Belle and Sebastian unplugged session. The acoustic guitar work is distinguished and a lot of the tunes boast stupendous hooks. 'Time Of No Reply' is wistful and shy but deeply affecting all the same. All you get is Drake and guitar but the product of this fusion is overwhelmingly powerful. Music just waiting for the newest break-up in town to beckon a backdrop. Tears could have been invented for this type of thing.

'Poor Boy' is a funky effort, with sax thrown in for good measure. Drake remains his calm self regardless of the din around him. 'Cello Song' is one of his better known tracks and when the fabled instrument makes an entrance you can almost smell the melancholy. 'Northern Sky' is as dreamy as it sounds, shuffling on that lazy beat, the intermittent piano and the distant organ drone. It gives off the impression of anti-cool but it is beyond all that. There is a deep but hushed sadness to a lot of the early part of Way to Blue. The mist of gloom is never more evident than on the title track 'Way To Blue', a sort of funeral march put to music. It is immaculate and beguiling but provides little hope or solace. Thank the lord then for 'Things Behind The Sun’, which is a little more uplifting. On the album sleeve Drake looks alone and deeply puzzled, a perceptive marker for what goes on inside. Nick Drake's lyrics are often vague and open to different interpretations but looking between the lines you can pick up on the inner demons that would eventually lead to his demise. His music is very wordy, as is a lot of folk music, but there are also many beautiful musical moments on the album. 'One Of These Things First' is an example where the guitar and bass persuasions are even more memorable than the haunting vocals. It is a merry ramble that is easily filed in memory. Drake does attempt to work up a sweat on 'Hazey Jane II' but even then it is likely that your toes will be the only thing wiggling in time. That is the scope of this album; it is delicate but full of strong tunes. 'Pink Moon' for example is so cute, so damn simple yet so stirring the leaves hardly need to brew.

So is Way To Blue enough to wet the appetite for future Drake purchases? The answer is most definitely in the affirmative. Drake’s music could well be given a very timely boost with the emergence of the new acoustic movement but there are so many gems on Way To Blue it is hard to see when it will ever become unfashionable. Way To Blue is the perfect soundtrack to summer days spent picnicking. The bees are in no mood for stinging, just happy to deliver pots of sweet honey to the soft crust placed on the checked sheet that covers the bed of daisies underneath. It’s a world away from hectic lifestyles, computers, careers and fast cars. In saying that it still retains a marked relevance in today's world. Subtitled ‘An Introduction To Nick Drake’, Way To Blue is the subtle handshake that’ll begin your lifetime admiration for Nick Drake’s back catalogue. An acoustic fanfare for the common man.

Rating: 8/10

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Nick Drake's second album followed in the comet trail left by his wondrous debut 'Five Leaves Left'. Released in 1970 it shows little sign of ageing and despite being name dropped by all and sundry it largely remains an undiscovered classic. For students of the Belle & Sebastian school of melodic folk there is a seam of material awaiting you from this sadly underachieving (in his lifetime anyway) soul. With Drake's extraordinary predication for not telling things as they are the opening cut is dutifully named 'Introduction'. And what a majestic beginning it is too. The orchestration is as pretty as is imaginable being ably directed by Richard Kirby who was responsible for all the lush arrangements on the album. Bryter Layter reveals a large quotient of instrumentals, yet their presence ups rather than slows down the ante.

For such a supposed recluse it seems that Drake had little difficulty on counting on help from his contemporaries. For most tracks the acclaimed Richard Thompson fiddles about on guitar while the enigmatic John Cale (the Velvet Underground) adds in piano, organ and celeste asides. Drakes oft conveyed world-weariness is beautifully coloured by the jaunty playing. You'll find 'Hazy Jane 11' on 'Way To Blue' (a compilation) so its fluid escapades will hardly be new but that's not to say that they aren't welcome. The Van Morrison type trumpet fest shadows the bouncy percussion and Drake delivers a hearty attempt at vocal hopscotch. 'At The Chime Of A City Clock' is decorated with vast string arrangements and brass appendages that recall late night police dramas. It has a hushed demeanour that is hard to qualify at first; a few listens are required to see through the surface fog.

An unusually guarded soul not all that willing to directly open his soul, Nick Drake often paints landscapes and similes to get his message across. On 'One Of These Things First' we get as close as we're going to get to Drake's troubled interior. As he ponders how he arrived at where he is, he considers whether other roads could have changed the man he turned out to be. Of course this interpretation is subjective but it is revealing to listen to the words sans the wonderful cascading piano accompaniment. Like most prequels 'Hazey Jane 1' lays the groundwork for the follow up dramas. Operating at the speed of a kite it meanders over a foundation of acousticism and swooping arrangements. At times the orchestral manoeuvres resemble a long forgotten standard but I can't put my finger on it. As soothing as an everlasting cough sweet.

The title tracks instrumental forays perfectly conveys the seventies, all prim and proper, imagine wandering around London in an ill fitting tweed jacket and beat up brown leather clogs without feeling in the slightest bit embarrassed. The flute playing is exquisite like Jethro Toll himself had dropped in to add his bleak midwinterish two-penny's worth. As you try to disseminate 'Fly' you can almost hear Drake struggling to come up with a fresh idea. As the motley ensemble of instruments and vocas finally settles on a singular path it sounds like a celestial apparition. Naive and gloriously enjoyable for this reason alone. As is Drake's want 'Poor Boy' turns out to be a funky gospel jazz hybrid. Perfect music for an over indulging party of pretentious twits bloated on caviar and Ferrero Rocher. While this may sound like ordinary folk like you and me should avoid it then you'd be right. It's pretty naff, out of context among the surrounding beauty, like a chip van parked near a pyramid.

Order is restored instantly with the breezy effervescence of 'Northern Sky'. Shuffling as shyly towards your mind as a bear cub yet possessing more allure than 101 Dalmatians this is the sound of a small waterfall on a cool winter morning. The celeste adds a mystical quality as Drake comes across as the heroic hobbit. Buy the album and become part of his Fellowship. There is something frightening yet alluring about the flute playing that opens the instrumental and closing track 'Sunday'. Conjuring images of being lost on a windswept and lonely mountain the scene is somewhat arrested as the song fills out with the emergence of an ensemble of acoustic guitars and violins. By the end of a hectic journey a bath of goats milk is somewhat spoiled by its lactic disposition. Oh I don't know what I'm talking about either it's just the effect that such spectral music can have on ones imagination.

'Bryter Layter' is surprisingly short, the experience seems to end mid climax. That said for the time it takes to play there are more adventurous directions that your likely to find on most albums. The atmosphere is detached yet alluring, the playing is highly accomplished and the lyrics are intelligent and thoughtful. Little short of a classic then, don't waste any time, your CD player needs a good recalibration.

Rating: 8.5/10

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For a while there this album was harder to track down than a Nepalese Yeti. Tigermilk was recorded while Belle and Sebastian were still in Art College and was submitted as part of their final year project. This meant that it originally had a limited pressing of a few thousand copies. Thankfully for those not able to afford the £400 per copy asking price it was re-released in 1999. It is hard to believe that 'Tigermilk' was recorded on a limited budget because there is such a lush feel to it. 'Expectations' for example is a complicated sounding beast with trumpets, flutes, strings and guitars flying in from every angle while the lyrics spout from Stuart Murdoch's mouth like water from a classy fountain in Barcelona.

'She's Losing It' is a classic example of Belle and Sebastian turning a good story into a fantastical musical show. Murdoch pours the lyrics like honey on a pancake while the sweetest of accompaniments surrounds his words. Despite this if you listen closely, the story has an unsettling abuse theme. Belle and Sebastian consistently display an intelligence to back up their undeniable musical acumen and you can quite easily browse their inlay cards like you would a clever magazine. 'Tigermilk' has a breakneck speed (by B&S's standards!), with tracks such as 'You're Just A Baby' steaming along under the guidance of some chugging guitars and shadowy organic shards. The album is the furthest Belle and Sebastian have ventured from their folk inclinations. They may have mellowed and honed their sound since this release but looking back 'Tigermilk' sounds hugely refreshing.

'Electronic Renaissance' is an interesting departure. Sounding all synth pop, aha, buggles and resembling thoroughly ill-fitting trousers in an otherwise classy suit, it is a wacky OMD homage that is easy to swoon to (well, after 5 pints of stout anyway) especially that 'Take On Me' drum machine sequence. A re-recorded version of 'The State I Am In' appears on the 'Dogs On Wheels' e.p. and is one of those Belle and Sebastian tunes that isn't immediately obvious. Repeated plays reveal the glitter hidden under those delicate vocals and simple musical arrangements. Some might regard it as twee, but it has a beating heart that is twice as aerobic as any muscle bound tracksuit.

'My Wandering Days Are Over' contains the most gorgeous trumpets at its heart as it swaggers with such effortless grace you'd wish all musicians would put in the same effort. 'I Don't Love Anyone' starts out like Counting Crows but soon swings with such melodious harmony you could be forgiven for thinking that you were shipwrecked on an island inhabited only by finely tuned instruments playing sweetly in unison. The album ends with 'Mary Jo' that begins with dreamy flutes and an acoustic guitar and then mushrooms into a string rich wallowing chorus that transcends time and musical style. It is a song that could have been written two hundred years ago with a resonance that remains so vital to this day.

Belle and Sebastian's debut set a high standard. Luckily for us they rarely let this standard slip on any of the subsequent releases. They remain a modern day pop phenomena, untarnished by media exposure, happy to release astoundingly touching records. If you haven't discovered them yet, imagine something so good it’ll make you feel a decade younger.

Rating: 8/10

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Belle and Sebastian have released several memorable singles. Each comes complete with 3 or 4 tracks that individually have the quality to be an a-side on their own merit. Most are absent from their albums so the singles have achieved a special significance. Who could ever forget the majesty of 'Slow Graffiti' ('Modern Rock Is Rubbish' e.p.) or the wide-eyed energy of 'Belle and Sebastian' ('Dog On Wheels' e.p.). Jonathan David, the title track of this 2001 release is a little hard to pin down. It's got the Madness laced piano introduction and a heart that languishes in the distant past (oh that glorious 60's Wurlitzer). It speeds along at a frantic pace until at the end the vocals merge and deliver another piece of historic pop. The artwork on the cd has a religious theme (what?). Well to be more precise a Belle and Sebastian take on the David and Goliath story. Of course the inner sleeve clarifies in that familiar sly nudge and wink style that fans have become accustomed to.

'Take Your Carriage Clock And Shove It' is the closest thing you'll get to a cover of 'I've Never Being To Me' (by Charlene) without repeating the Verve/Rolling Stones hot potato of a couple years ago. In saying that it is a glorious piece of vitriol wrapped in a tender musical mould. It portrays the board room scene on retirement day with the loyal subject giving his farewell speech. The speech not only turns heads but continues until all and sundry are semi-decapitated. Take the lyrics out of the equation and the mix you're left with sounds as fragile and heartfelt as anything Burt Bacharach could dream up. Underneath though the disquiet is palpable, a warning perhaps to all slaves to the wage.

Belle and Sebastian deliver their message in a wry manner. This means that their musicianship often takes a backseat where it bleats beautifully under the cover of a torrent of words. 'The Loneliness Of A Middle Distance Runner' has been a live favourite for years and perhaps loses some of its impact in the transition to the studio. That said it saddles up and heads for the nearest sunset with the wind in its hair. The guitars have a Dire Straits feel about them but the groove is lazily addictive. Stuart Murdoch sounds tired and emotional but tuned in to his bands scattered playing. 'Jonathan David' is perhaps not one of Belle and Sebastian's most effective singles because it is misses the killer 4th track. Be warned, however, as the quality is still high enough to have you gasping for air as your heart skips several consecutive beats for its duration. Belle and Sebastian are a band deserving of every single plaudit that has ever being directed at them.



Rating: 6/10


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Belle and Sebastian's startling second album arrived at the perfect time. Britpop had taken the charts by storm and indie music was beginning to infiltrate the mainstream. IYFS sounded so completely different, full of folk fuelled moments, insightful lyrics and sleeve notes that tickle that funny bone you thought you never had. IYFS offered a delightful alternative to the Oasis rock and roll beast, it might not have been an obvious record but most classics rarely are. There is an aura to the grooves that approaches cuts like the Stone Roses that was released a few years earlier. The fact that success was still light years away meant that cult type things started happening. Scant interviews, dodgy half-lit photographs (it was next to impossible to find out what they looked like), ultra loyal fans and a v-sign cast in the general direction of the music industry. A band forging ahead by doing it their way, with the obvious result that sales were hit (in the interim at least).

So what does the music sound like? Well it´s low key a lot of the time and at first you might wonder what all the fuss is about. After a time though the quality shines through. 'Stars of Track and Field' is the ambitious opener/slow burner that reveals its beauty by about the third listen. Find yourself humming it incessantly until your concerned folks call for medical assistance. Stuart Murdoch may hide behind Nick Drake's cloak but underneath there is genuine talent. 'Seeing Other People' is the star of the IYFS show, a skidding piano riff, a xylophone plinking join the racing vocal that knows exactly where it’s heading. 'Me And The Major' and 'Like Dylan In The Movies' continue in the same vein and you wonder whether they can maintain this pace and quality for the whole album. The answer is most definitely yes, because even though ‘Fox In The Snow’ brings the gallop to a canter it's a stallion of a tune.

There's a lovely swing that runs right through the album that gives you the confidence to play it to your friends and feel proud that you discovered them first. Watch your status in your circle of friends elevate as a result. Crack open the fake champagne to the celebratatory strains of 'Mayfly' and get drunk on the closing track 'Judy And The Dream Of Horses'. While a lot of albums store the weaker tracks near the end, don't be fooled here as it's a romper stomper effort that develops out of humble beginnings. If You're Feeling Sinister is near impossible to fault. The cover design has a plush red texture, mimicking in some way the colour of your cheeks after one too many listens. Belle and Sebastian have a back catalogue to die for, for many this is their defining moment.


Rating: 8/10



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You just know you're onto something good when a band can wield a delicate brass instrument with a knowing precision. Alfie's music contains the most fragile of arrangements that from time to time allows a lone French horn or trumpet to weave its magic through an already intoxicating mix. Lee Gorton, Alfie's lead singer is consistently compared to a budding Ian Brown although I'd put him closer to the breathy Tim Burgess of the Charlatans. Gorton was offered, but turned down, the chance to play Brown in '24 Hour Party People', the film about the Manchester nightclub the Hacienda. The title of this album is a bit of mouthful. It's taken from a letter Gorton received from his dentist of all things. It is on such commonplace occurrences that legends are moulded. 'If You Happy With You Need Do Nothing' is made up of tracks taken from Alfie's first three singles; The Alfie EP, Bookends and The Montevideo. '2 Up 2 Down' and the exquisite 'Umlaut' are the only brand new tracks.

It would be hard to concoct a more appropriate opener than 'Bookends'. The wailing cello supplied by Matt McGeever may be the highlight but the twinkling guitars and hushed vocals from Gorton are never less than infectious. 'Bookends' sounds completely disjointed at first but the disparate sounds are so at ease with each other that they seem to arrive from the same source. This is magical stuff with the power to beam golden horned unicorns into your back garden. '2 Up 2 Down' has a similar brief except that this time McGeever takes on the vocal duties. And what a swaying off-kilter ditty it turns out to be. The French horn reigns supreme as McGeever trips the light fandango. The melody is freshly inventive with tiny nods to 'Bring It On' Gomez. The groove is loose limbed and you can pick up on the huge joie de vivre from its slightly erratic ramble. 'James's Dream', the album's only instrumental, could have quite easily slipped out from under Badly Drawn Boy's collection of wistful compositions. It's lazy melody, stray cello strings and delightful acoustic meanderings juxtapose in a superbly shambolic way to have you grinning from ear to ear. 'Manor House Farm' is so dainty you'll pray a sudden gust of wind doesn't steal it from your possession. The harmonies are sublime and the musical backdrop is luxurious.

At times Alfie sound vaguely familiar. This familiarity is most pointed on the acoustic shuffle of 'You Make No Bones'. The vocals are eerily close to a laid-back Tim Burgess and the band could pass as formidable Charlatans copyists. Nothing wrong with this as the songs breezy guise has a loveable understated charm. Alfie are at their most impressive, however, when they beat their own drum. 'Umlaut' is distinctively their own creation but for once they appear in a bolder incarnation. The tunes early subtleties are blown to pieces by a burning musical rhapsody with ingredients made up of 2 parts strings, one part brass and several straying guitar interludes. Only on the lo-fi intricacies of 'Talking Song' do Alfie stray towards all out guitar carnage again. At times Gorton adopts a post hangover voice that is both dry and twee. Like on the waddling 'Sure and Simple Time' where his understated words benefit from a circular acoustic riff supplied by Ian Smith and some beautiful strings that are positively dripping in melancholy. 'Check The Weight' is similarly toned. As graceful and stealth like as a bouncing pebble on a calm lake, it's so damn likeable you could be forgiven for thinking that Belle & Sebastian have had a hand in it's production.

Long before you are ready to except that the album is coming to a close, 'Montevideo' arrives unhurriedly to call time. Effusing a certain continental swing, it conjures the feeling you get while on holidays. Relax, there's nothing to worry about, we have all the time in the world. It hypnotic and proves to be a most eloquent way to put a full stop in the first glorious chapter in Alfie's storybook career. Alfie go about their business with efficient charm, their music is akin to a country ramble; invigorating in the gentlest of ways. If You Happy With You Need Do Nothing is a stellar debut full of cute tunes that colour your laidback lifestyle. Neil Hannon is apparently a celebrity admirer; he has been quoted as saying that he would like to see more bands becoming more like Alfie.

Rating: 8/10


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