“You seem a trifle unhappy, that I’m a cowardly custard” (‘Cowardly Custard’). King Creosote – aka the meandering melody gatekeeper Kenny Anderson – has a way with words. Namely that rhymes and turns of phrase that we would probably rain a hurricane of disdain down upon if they had come from one of the Gallagher brothers’ mouths, he somehow makes work. He carries one of those intrinsically wavering folk voices, like a faulty Theremin lazily trying to shake itself out of the lower register, that is an utter delight to listen to. He weaves this in amongst the exploratory traditional folk music with a psychedelic bent that he made a name for himself with on his dreamy debut.
Little has changed, but if anything this record seems more sure of itself, hammer and nails knocking together melodies into hand-built songs, rather than amorphously forming from dusk’s shadows and fading sunsets. This is no more clear than on ‘You’ve No Clue Do You’ where he velcros the usual to a pumping 80s new-wave disco beat. Don’t worry, it’s strange but it still works, though you do feel like you need a crash helmet compared to the more familiarly placid likes of ‘Church As Witness’ and ‘Leslie’ that both drone deliciously, akin to Euros Childs or Gruff Rhys’ zoned-out folk. ‘There’s None Of That’ is possibly the album’s peak with all those ingredients churned by some inspired drumming into a layered feast. He is misleading you though. There is nothing so definite as a bombshell here. So take ye sniffer dogs and do one – you’re ruining the atmosphere!