MARVELLOUS, melancholic, spooked and graceful folk-pop, that goes, quietly, from world weary, expiring sigh to sprightly, xylophone-led pop heaven. It also boast some rather smart line: " For the self-assured I have no cure/I only wish I was". Buy it, treasure it.
The Face
Emma Pollock and company here choose to eschew the more miserabilist mutterings of Arab Strap and the strung-out guitar work-outs of Mogwai (the other corners af this label’s mini-empire). Buoyed by cellos, this is a spring-heeled jack of a tune. Quite lovely.