With his fifth album, Seth brings his already assertive upfront brand of music ever closer to anthemic festival-cum-stadium-folk, while still managing (just) to observe and respect both his storytelling gift and his roots. But there are times when it’s a close-run thing, especially in the earlier stages of the record, where the musical gestures can at times seem slightly hollow; here there’s also more than a suspicion at times that the lyrics of this new batch of songs are themselves a touch over-simplistic.

It could be that Seth’s trying too hard to branch out from the sphere of regional (some might term it overly parochial) folk-legend into a more contemporary arena by tackling the more obviously universal themes as well as ones dealing directly with his own personal development over the past couple of years. Only two of the disc’s twelve songs are cast in the approved Seth Lakeman manner of tales of local west-country characters: Signed And Sealed is the story of a cruel 17th century magistrate who made a pact with the devil, while Preacher’s Ghost tells of a Cornish miner who reformed, gave up drink and became a Methodist preacher. These songs are among the disc highlights, and like much of the rest of the new album they benefit from some sensitive signature instrumental work from Benji Kirkpatrick on banjo.

But back to the title-track opener, on which Seth seems deliberately to be “doing a Show Of Hands” in a straight-talking all-out attack on financial mismanagement and politicians etc: even though it’s undoubtedly a genuinely felt response on Seth’s part, the nagging impression is that we feel we’ve heard it all before, and the heavy-duty, typically relentless musical setting that is part and parcel of the track emerges a touch unsubtle (albeit light-textured enough to be radio-friendly), even in the skilled hands of Seth and his new producer Tchad Blake (though give it all just a touch more bombast and a thicker drum sound, and it could be Zepp reborn, you might say!).

On first firing this disc up in the player, you could be forgiven for thinking that little has changed in Seth’s particular musical universe, and the many moments of in-yer-face-and-feet thrust certainly point unwaveringly in that direction. The catchy rhythm-dominated The Watchman carries on where Poor Man’s Heaven left off, and even the gentler affirmation of Tiny World feels a touch constricted in its busy bustling arrangement; even so, the riff-dominated See Them Dance and Hard Working Man are both irresistible in their own way I guess.

But as the disc progresses, Seth eases the tempos down and brings in more light and shade, and the welcome respites in volume and dynamics prove to be more than a device for resting the ears; for instance, the closing track – the sinister The Circle Grows, which takes another (but more satisfying) critical stab at “one man’s pain and another’s gain” – barely attains mezzo-forte and yet well retains Seth’s trademark passion. Spinning Days is an unexpectedly moving, quite gently expressed lament for a fallen soldier, and the pulsating repeated patterns of Changes enhance its haunting melody to mesmerising effect. It’s a shame, though, that the tenderly optimistic Stepping Over You is spoilt by a formulaic wide-screen big-gesture predictability in its chorus section. Instrumentally, there’s no faulting Seth’s tight regular band (Ben Nicholls, Sean Lakeman and Simon Lea), while I note that Seth’s own fiddle playing is embracing a new lyricism alongside the bristle-tearing antics we’re used to - always a good move.

Overall, Hearts And Minds shows some positive developments in Seth’s art, even if it feels a bit like a transitional stage, and it certainly grows in stature on closer acquaintance notwithstanding its consistent quality of fairly immediate listener appeal. Interestingly, the disc is also advertised as being available in a special edition (which includes bonus tracks and the mythical Live At The Minack DVD) - a copy of which, naturally, the record company have as usual neglected to supply us for review (when will they learn that we reviewers need to access the full product in order to do our job properly?).

This handsomely-packaged and supremely well-presented set is an expanded re-release of the series of five seminal discs that were previously available as individual CDs. They contain Pete’s influential (if admittedly by today’s standards more than a touch raw and basic) renditions of no fewer than 139 songs from all branches of America’s folk heritage - a staggering corpus indeed. Folkways’ enterprise is forever to be applauded, for at the time these recordings were first undertaken and planned (the late 50s) this was an undertaking not to be carried out lightly, still a huge investment (and leap of faith) even notwithstanding the comparatively minimal resources required.

It’s a veritable encyclopaedia of American folk culture, with Pete unashamedly giving the same measure of commitment both to songs of true worth and songs of little substance, the classic traditional ballads and the embarrassing ephemera, spirituals and nursery rhymes, protest songs and old-time hokum, the deeply felt and the undeniably corny all unashamedly presented cheek by jowl as it were. Pete delivers all of these songs simply and directly, either with his own guitar or banjo accompaniment or in a few cases unaccompanied; but in all instances, you can hear every word, and relish his evident, almost childlike perennial delight in communicating these often timeless songs.

The original LPs, recorded between 1957 and 1962, sold so well that their contents provided what amounted to a core repertoire for the folk revival; even today, 50+ years on, they have the power to modestly and unpretentiously entertain, educate and yes, impress with their degree of direct insight - provided you don’t expect too much from them in any more "radical" sense. Pete’s presentation was (and still is) unfussy, and yet thoroughly engaging, for his attitude (and mission) was clear: he embraced the task of sharing, the passing-on of songs, with complete enthusiasm, just as much so for the insubstantial or dubious examples as for what might be termed the real folk nuggets.

These five volumes are an absolute treasure-trove, not least for containing a healthy quotient of seldom-heard or little-known variants of songs or tunes we think we know and/or which have been “done to death” (Black Is The Colour being just one instance and cause for rejoicing). We also find that Pete’s version of Big Rock Candy Mountain is a revelation to one who’s grown up with the sanitised Burl Ives version, while old-time standards The Fox and Old Joe Clark include several verses I’d not heard before too. For in so many cases we can name, tunes since have been endlessly recycled for newer compositions, and lyrics have since been combined, cobbled, paraphrased and parodied, often quite mercilessly. And the fact remains that so very many of these songs have since become repertoire standards (and worse) through their swift incorporation into the skiffle and then pop arenas. Whatever, the litany of song-titles includes now-staples which we can’t imagine ever at one time being without: Midnight Special, Putting On The Style, Alabama Bound, Wabash Cannonball - you get it!

The copious liner notes, reproduced in full in the lavish booklets, are a model of erudition and information, and I learnt much regarding the provenance of songs I thought I knew all about (if you see what I mean) - indeed, Pete’s notes scotched several misconceptions I’d long harboured. Endlessly fascinating, in fact!

As far as Pete’s actual performance goes, well sure, there are a couple of instances where Pete’s unbridled enthusiasm to communicate gets the better of him (some decidedly over-cooked barnyard impressions on I Had A Rooster for example), but these can readily be forgiven! And let’s not forget Pete’s banjo playing, which in itself has been an inspiration to countless folks (old and young), for as we know he was to go on to provide tutorials and workbooks that are now regarded as seminal in their field.

The remastering of all five discs is pretty damn fine, apart from one curious and frustrating glitch whereby track 13 of disc 3 (My Good Man) is abruptly cut short at around 2½ minutes (around night number five of the seven drunken nights).

The presentation and packaging, as I’ve already hinted, is both lavish, sturdy and user-friendly, with all five volumes accessibly yet solidly bound into the one robust hardcover sleeve. Robust as befits the monumental importance of this "collected edition" representing the enduring legacy of the legend that is Pete Seeger, his pioneering work in encapsulating nearly a century of American history and culture in order to "plant the seeds of a better tomorrow in the homes across our land". Pete truly put his own stamp on America’s exhaustive folk song heritage while bequeathing it to generations to come. And now that Smithsonian Folkways discs have attained an efficient and reliable UK distributor in Discovery (www.discovery-records.com), this provides an ideal incentive for you to become part of that folk process and invest in this key collection of recordings.

With a core band of Mavericks guitarist Eddie Perez, engineer John Lousteau on drums , one time Funky Kings member and session legend Greg Leisz on pedal steel and Derek Silverman playing and arranging the keyboard parts, it drips with catchy, pop friendly hooks-laden melodies, soulful rhythms and chugging countrified riffs that hark back to the alt-country of the 80s.

Dealing with staple themes of love, death and life on the road, it's not the most lyrically original album you'll hear but, carried on predominantly upbeat musical wings, the songs are strong and prompt you to turn the volume up. Standouts would have to include rousing opener Helsinki, the rhythm rolling Get Along, An Atheist's Prayer's Southern country soul, a keening bluegrass tinged rockabilly cover of Joe Strummer's Burning Lights and the big building power chord anthemics of God Damn, but it all sounds good in the fast lane with the windows down.

He mentions Eddie Cochrane, Wilco and Merle Haggard among the influences, but with that guitar sound and the nasal burr to his vocals, then if Brian Fallon's the new Springsteen Shiflett has to be the new Tom Petty.

This is an abundantly scintillating (if perhaps mildly confusing) offering from the nifty Shoogle stable/label, on which the self-styled sisterhood trio of Heather Macleod, Lindsey Black and Kaela Rowan get it on and lay down live in one take in the studio, accompanied by David Donnelly (guitar) and James Mackintosh (percussive thingys), a really canny cocktail of songs that takes in swing, jazz, folk, Americana and some contemporary songwriting from their own pens.

It’s precisely that mercurial sensibility, that sense of not being able to make up their mind where to settle, that’s the confusing aspect of this release. But once you’ve gotten over that slightly disconcerting constant gear-changing, you can revel in the sheer vibrancy of the performances, the glorious immediacy of the music-making, the exceptional vocal arrangements and the tight-yet-responsive supporting playing. Yes, at times it is like being at an impromptu session where the participants are good mates just getting together to run through a bunch of songs they happen to love - and who cares whether the next one’s gonna be a gospel number, a thoughtful new personal creation or even a beer commercial!

On some tracks (like the delectably carefree Sugarfoot Rag and Leadbelly’s cowboy song) the lasses sing tight and swing like crazy, coming on like the Andrews Sisters you might say; they also bring their stylish brand of seductiveness to Man Of Many Valentines, a joint composition by Heather and Karine Polwart, and Kaela’s old-fashioned Latin-tinged romance The Way You Know You Do. Then, as emotional counterweights to those fluffy confections, we’re treated to some significantly fine originals in what I might call a pensive-Roches mould (Lindsey’s Draw The Line and Fine Lines, David’s 1,000 Miles and Kaela’s Apocalypse) which are complemented by Heather’s smouldering, jazzy ode to Old Mother Earth. While last but not least, the Bevvy Sisters’ special take on gospel harmony is both wholly enchanting and eminently persuasive (check out Rock My Soul, on which they even manage to persuade their guitarist to sing, and Oh Mary Don’t You Weep), and they also "do the good Tanyas" for a spirited cover of The Littlest Birds.

Cheeky or wot? I’ll leave it up to you to decide; but it’s all so wonderfully fresh and spontaneous-sounding (and remains thus on each subsequent play, which is a big advantage!) and I’ve grown to really love this record.

This is a live album, yes - ostensibly to celebrate the Girls’ long-standing passion for live performance over (believe it!) two full decades. But it’s also deliberately pointed out that it’s an album of carefully-selected live performances as opposed to a straight record of one continuous live set - quite a different animal, as it turns out, although it still somehow manages to embrace the spontaneity and continuity of a typical Indigo Girls live set. And most importantly, its 31 songs encapsulate the Girls’ entire emotional and musical range and prove just why they’re such a draw on stage as well as key motivators in the wider life-arena.

The aim is "to capture the most memorable moments of their 2006-2009 shows", and I can’t argue one iota with the success of that gambit, for playing the two discs straight through is a cathartic experience indeed - one which fair makes you want to yell out with the live crowd’s full-throated enthusiasm. From the generous acoustic-strumalong-singalong vibe of Closer To Fine and the mando-charged Ozilline to the ultra-passionate Kid Fears and those more politically charged songs like Go, the intense solo performances within, and even a rollicking cover of Don’t Think Twice thrown in. These are variously couched in settings that range from refreshingly bare-backed folkiness to intimate piano balladry via a handful of fuller, rockier band treatments, and there are guest vocal collaborations from Brandi Carlile and Jill Hennessey. The Girls’ absolute togetherness within the climate of individuality is forever remarkable, and whatever the song or the vehicle, Emily and Amy both observe an unwavering commitment to their music and their public, as their fulsome, honest and personal booklet notes well illustrate.

Staring Down The Brilliant Dream is a beautifully packaged release that will both satisfy the hardcore IG gig-goers and fans and provide those unable to attend many of the gigs with a credible part-substitute for what they’re missing out on.

Last year I reviewed a CD by The Baileys, which contained straightforward yet highly satisfying performances of best-known Irish songs by two of the members of Rig The Jig, Michael Banahan and Anthony McDermott. Here we find those two same musicians captured in finest fettle and fine company back in the fold of the full eight-piece band, all shoehorned into a long straight line on the notoriously skimpy stage at Dublin’s famous Wexford Street venue, Whelan’s, on a rainy night last December.

It was a tremendous gig, one which showed exactly why Rig The Jig have such a fearsome reputation, where they presented an often quite unpredictable and sometimes unashamedly off-the-beaten-track choice of material (at least in Irish music terms), eclectically encompassing anything from Irish trad to Lennon & McCartney, with a generous helping of classy (and classic) roots Americana along the way. In fact, I could best liken Rig The Jig to an Irish version of a Transatlantic Sessions team, primarily string-band-based with much mando mastery alongside two guitars, banjo, fiddle, whistle/uilleann pipes and bass/keyboard, and all in glorious celebration of their chosen music.

But they’re not just a bunch of top-grade high-octane belt-it-out session-tunesmiths, although (as the opening Lark In The Morning set demonstrates) they can adopt that role with consummate and wholly enviable ease. That particular set at first seems so breakneck it almost threatens to derail on a couple of the corners, but the octopus is in fact firmly in control of all its moving parts and the ride is invigorating and intensely enthralling to say the least. A similar edge-of-the-seat reaction is engendered by virtually all of the gig’s purely instrumental items, especially the Jackie Coleman’s Set which is led by the horns and steered along its perilous course by young Aoife Kelly’s ferociously assured fiddle playing, and Ian Kinsella’s utterly brilliant banjo-driven rendition of The Moving Cloud. And yet they can slacken the pace credibly too, as when mandolinist Brendan Emmett chips in with a gorgeously deliquescent own-composition A Song For Molly for which he takes up the acoustic guitar.

All the individual components of Rig The Jig’s arrangements weave their own vital magic, from Noel Carberry’s intense, keen whistle playing and hauntingly phrased piping to Paul Gurney’s fluent and adaptable keyboard and electric bass work, Aoife’s incredibly exciting (and yet flawlessly executed) bow strokes to the unerring pulse of Anthony’s guitar and Brendan’s rippling mandolin fills. Highlights come thick and fast, inevitably so on the various showcases for individual band members (Aoife’s spellbinding rendition of Monti’s Czardas - not trad by the way, as credited! - which effortlessly twists into The Mason’s Apron; Noel’s whistle extravaganza The Sandymount Set; and Paul’s excursion into high-speed Chaplinesque barroom-ragtime on The Showman’s Fancy).

But arguably even more so with some of the vocal numbers, which comprise 12 out of the 21 items on the DVD. Half of them are taken by Michael, and include well-considered takes on songs by John Prine and Townes Van Zandt and a surprisingly finely-wrought Let It Be. Four contrasted songs are taken by the excellent Patricia Lane, who has a supreme command of the more upfront style of Irish singing with an attack and timbre that uncannily reminds me of Anna Shannon, especially on her passionate rendition of Briege Murphy’s Clohinne Winds, another set highlight. Patricia also tackles the Patti Page classic Tennessee Waltz, Ola Belle Reed’s High On A Mountain and the traditional Pretty Fair Maid (aka As I Roved Out), whereas Aoife brings her own confident (if distinctly pop-inflected) brand of singing to Radiohead’s High And Dry and George Michael’s Faith (the encore, for which she inexplicably decided to don a jacket!).

The recorded sound is top-quality, the camerawork sensible and undistracting (if at times focussing a touch adrift of the principals), and the energy and enjoyment of the performers very well caught (although clearly a lot of banter has been edited out). The accompanying 70-minute CD gives us audio-verité of 16 of the DVD’s 21 tracks, in the same sequence (tho’ pity it omits High On A Mountain). You really can’t resist Rig The Jig’s uplifting, energetic and supremely controlled performance, nor can you carp at their at times wilful-seeming eclecticism when it’s all so persuasively done as this.

Invited to join The Strawbs in 1967, Denny had a brief tenure with the band before leaving to become part of Fairport Convention, persuaded that singing with then could do more for her career. In July of that year, she did, however, record several tracks in Denmark with the early Strawbs line-up of Dave Cousins, Tony Hooper and Ron Chesterman. These didn’t surface until 1973, after she’d already left Fairport, formed and quit Fotheringay and released three solo albums, and even then only on the budget Pickwick label. An immediate collector’s item for her following, it became even more so on its 1991 reissue via Hannibal which had a different track listings and string arrangements. To the best of my knowledge, only one track, Sail Away to the Sea, has ever figured on any of the anthologies and box sets.

Compiled by Cousins and remastered from the original tapes by Chris Tsangarides, this is the definitive assemblage of those 1967 recordings. The first dozen cuts comprise the original version of the album, of which Denny takes lead vocal on seven, among them On My Way, Tell Me What You See In Me, Stay Awhile With Me (which sounds more like a Springfields number), the Greenwich Village folk-rock style All I Need Is you and, of course, given the solo spotlight, her first recording of self-penned signature tune Who Knows Where The Time Goes, a tape of which would, eventually, make its way to Judy Collins and make Denny an international name.

Tracks 13-21 comprise ‘Out-Takes and Demos’. Three of these - Poor Jimmy Wilson, I've Been My Own Worst Friend and (the only one on which Denny’s featured) Two Weeks Last Summer (subsequently the title track of Cousins’ 1972 solo album and recorded for the aborted second Fotheringay album) - appeared on the reissue, replacing Wild Strawberries and Sweetling, while that album’s version of Tell Me What You See In Me features Cy Nicklin on sitar and Ken Gudman on gong.

There’s also Denny’s more bouncy, Dylanesque take on Nothing Else Will Do, far superior to the Cousins recording on the official album as well as the alternate string section arrangement versions of All You Need Me, Stay Awhile With Me and, diluting its emotional potency, Who Knows....

The remaining tracks are all Cousins numbers; Strawberry Picking an alternate version of banjo breakdown Wild Strawberries, the other three previously unreleased demos of Pieces of 79 and 15 (from the Strawbs’ eponymous debut) and the hitherto unheard (though neither are a great loss to the Cousins canon) The Falling Leaves and Indian Summer.

Once listed among a poll of Great Lost Albums, whether you’re a Cousins or a Denny devotee, it’s good to finally have it out there.

Saltfishforty is a dynamic Orkney-based duo (Douglas Montgomery and Brian Cromarty) who bring their own special stamp to the blending of the traditional music of their native islands with contemporary song - much of the latter being their own compositions.

Their particular attributes are well illustrated on the dozen tracks that comprise Netherbow, their third album, which comes after a recording break of five years. During this time they’ve become well established on the UK festival circuit - indeed, they’re currently touring Scotland in tandem with Spiers & Boden, with whom they share an intrinsic dynamism and trademark freshness of approach. Considering Saltfishforty comprises just two musicians, their live sound is admirably full, and this quality is well translated to the medium of CD, albeit here with a modicum of selective augmentation from percussionist Erik Laughton on a handful of the tracks.

What most characterises Saltfishforty’s music is its immediacy, which is coupled with a real sense of exuberance and joy in execution, even on the slower-paced items – which doesn’t mean to say that the faster pieces don’t possess a brilliance and drive that doubtless makes the duo the envy of many a larger ensemble. Highlights among the purely instrumental tracks are the genially storming set of jugs (track 5), the intriguing tune The Locks At Athy (which the duo learnt from Kris Drever) and sprightly, if nicely measured accounts of the title tune, a strathspey composed in the 1950s by Rousay’s then-postie Jimmy Craigie, and a wedding march composed for Douglas’ neighbours on Burray. The closing track Svecia is a gorgeously dark-hued tune written and played on a viola part-made from wood salvaged from the wreck of the ship of that name (which sunk off the coast of North Ronaldsay in 1740), while the preceding pacy set of Cape Breton reels (track 11) has a distinctly playful, almost La-Bottine-Souriante demeanour.

As for the songs, and notwithstanding the high standard of the original writing (especially perhaps the traditional-sounding A Ring On Her Hand, which was partly inspired by a George Mackay-Brown story), the pick of these is probably The Bride’s Lament, a traditional song that Brian learnt through The Big Orkney Song Project. Brian’s keen vocal work is well counterpointed by his own guitar and mando accompaniments and the intelligent pairing with Douglas’s fiddle (or viola or mandolin).

Yes, Netherbow is a well-engineered, generous and thoughtfully paced record that lovingly and infectiously extols the virtues of these two musicians.

Sounding not dissimilar to a Klezmer party in full swing courtesy of Hilary Coleman’s clarinet the set of tunes Fly Cellar/Unity/Heva Cornishe in fact provide the setting for a Schottishe dance. Both of the two opening tunes are penned by master multi-instrumentalist Neil Davey who along with Bec Applebee (darabuka/crowdy crawn) and Steve Hunt (guitar) make up the rest of this resolutely Cornish band. The second track, Ann Tremellan a variant of the more established Barbara Allan is a sumptuous banquet of layered vocals courtesy of Coleman and Applebee interlaced with a gently rolling, hypnotic mandolin/bouzouki riff topped-off by guest Will Coleman’s gaita bagpipes.

So, here we have the opening gambit for what proves a real box of delights in both musicality and technique and one that I hope any self-respecting ‘folk’ musician should aspire to. Meanwhile, in another moment of quite reflection the Padstow via America song Maggie May (not the rousing Liverpool chant) performed with the subtleness it deserves by Steve Hunt will I’m sure be soaked sponge-like into the folk tradition (much like Roger Bryant’s Cornish Lads) and work its way into many sessions throughout the UK. On the other hand if it’s dazzling displays of digital dexterity you’re looking for check out Davey’s tour de force on the triplet frenzied Bishop’s Jig/No Song No Supper”…astonishing or what? There’s no need for a corny pastiche (sorry, I had to get that in somewhere!) when you can get the ‘real’ thing right here and I just hope that I’ve persuaded you, the great record buying public into dipping into your hard earned savings to purchase a more than worthy recording.

One of the frustrating aspects of being signed to a small, independent (and in this case foreign) label means that your latest recording could be two years old before it sees the light of day. Certainly the duo’s third album was edging that way, but really this is so timeless it could have been released anytime over the next few decades and still sounded newly minted. Recorded at the label’s German studios with Faust’s Hans Joachim Irmler at the controls. you might expect it to highlight their more experimental adventurous side or at least show some Kraut rock influence. However, despite some brooding ambient electronics on Cave and the reverberating trigger pulses behind Little World where the rhythm feels like a steam train coming to the end of the line, this is their folksiest and most direct release yet.

Eerie five and half minute opening track Beast sets the mood, Christy’s echoing reverb guitar conjuring images of moss hung everglades through which dart sprites in the shape of Gillian Welch and Kate Campbell before the Southern Gothic, Oh Brother echoes of Welch, Harris and Krauss break the surface of Firefly with its gorgeous harmonies, tinkling, almost Oriental Wurlitzer notes and tumbling refrain.

They even intro the achingly lovely Sundowners with mouth organ to accentuate its mix of old tyme cowboy honky tonk and prairie church balladeering with Emily providing the saloon bar piano.

They weave beguiling webs where voices, lyrics and instrumentation entangle you in their strands; parent-child fable Guava Tree with its cello and piano duet, Idle Hands with its intricate rhythms, the metaphor heavy Amaryllis which moves from trad folk style ballad and medieval piano accompaniment to mid section psych-folk swell and back again, and Kings & Monsters dark lullaby with an opening chord that makes you think they’re about to launch into I Will Survive.

They don’t, but they do include a sprightly Wurlitzer bubbling cover of Here Comes The Water Now, Tom Brosseau’s admiring acknowledgement of nature’s power inspired by the 1997 flood of his Dakota hometown of Grand Forks.

Each of the duo’s albums has taken them a step forward and earned them louder acclaim and wider audiences. This one deserves to see them taken up by those who’ve so enthusiastically championed the likes of First Aid Kit, Fleet Foxes, Bon Ivor and the new minimalist old-roots new shoots movement. Hopefully we and the girls won’t have to wait for distribution cash flows to align before their next release.

I must confess I’d rather lost faith with Collins over the past few years as she seemed to drift further away from the days of Wildlowers, Whales & Nightingales and Bread And Roses and more towards the easy listening that began with her, admittedly wonderful, version of Send In The Clowns and went on to include children’s albums, show tunes and Christmas records.

Her last release saw her doing the Lennon & McCartney songbook and while, save for the self-penned Kingdom Come, an account of the Roxy Club tribute concert for the 9/11 firefighters, this too is a collection of covers. However, now 71, it’s the first in a long while to catch that early spark.

Ironically, having bemoaned her MOR leanings, the album actually opens with Over The Rainbow, but starting out unaccompanied before a simple piano backing arrives, this sounds wide-eyed and innocent rather than just another rendition of a desiccated chestnut. Mind you, she can’t resist the swell of strings for the final flourish.

It’s an interesting choice of material, harking back to Greenwich Village days with Stephen Stills on Tom Paxton’s evergreen Last Thing On My Mine, even further for Ghost Riders In The Sky (which actually features Paxton on the chorus) and, harking back to her formative years, a pure voiced arrangement of traditional folk ballad Dens Of Yarrow.

But then she also comes up to date with a tremendous version of Jimmy Webb’s Gauguin that features Webb himself on keyboard, and a simple guitar accompanied duet with Michael Johnson on what appears to be an as yet otherwise unrecorded of his Emilio.

She also features a vocally soaring cover of Weight Of The World, Amy Speace’s anti-war protest from her current album The Killer In Me. On an album that draws from The Wizard Of Oz, both it and a gospel hued version of Tim Buckley’s soldier song, Once I Was, serves reminder that she was and remains a political activist.

Which in turns leads neatly to my personal favourite as she joins forces with fellow activist and 60s folk contemporary Joan Baez, joining their voices in harmony for the latter’s signature Diamonds And Rust. Not, perhaps, as great as Baez’s solo version, but more than enough to make me keen, once again, to anticipate the next Judy Collins album.

A redneck outlaw country outfit from Detroit fronted by Vinnie Dombnroski, former frontman of 90s alt-rock hitmakers Sponge, they comfortably live up to the impression given by the album title with a heady dose of spit and sawdust honky tonk shit kicking rock n roll and crying in the beer ballads.

There’s nothing particularly original about what they do, but as an album designed to keep the bar profits high (after all, as well as the title track there’s the double blues boogie of Speed And Alcohol and Booze Hound) it does the job for which it was built.

Highlights would have to include slow jangly act of defiance ballad Die With My Boots On, the Tex Mex flavoured Who You Lookin’ Pretty For Today which could have been a Mavericks hit in another life, and Church On Sunday, another hell-raising handclapping drinking song that seems unlikely to get much Bible Belt Country Radio play with lines about Jesus mixing his preaching with knocking back whisky, smoking, dancing to Hank Williams on the jukebox and singing Willie Nelson songs.

It’ll sound fine belting out of the car stereo, but really this should be sampled live in some hot and sweaty barroom for the full effect.

Following on from his two volume set of covers, the sandpaper gruff baritone Texan returns to original material with an album that taps deep into the Cormac McCarthy style seam of bleak American Gothic that veins his DNA. With tales of suicidal preachers (My God, My God), hung lovers (Stuck On The Job), dysfunctional parents (Seven Horses Seen - "your mummy doesn’t love you and your daddy’s just a slave") and general despair, the gloom comes on pretty thick.

Which isn’t to say the agony’s not offset by some balm. The Letter At Twin Wrecks is a love epistle to wife Ashley, a seven minute The Cross That Stole This Heart Away talks of spiritual rescue from fears and trials while the album’s most memorable track, Take Off That Dress For Me (aka Sweetness), is a simple acoustic guitar strum as Hinson pleads for a lover’s naked intimacy "against all hope and sense of dignity".

Vocally, Hinson retains that hint of Cash but increasingly draws comparison between Richard Hawley and Brett Sparks but on this album the arrangements have an equal dramatic weight, with much emphasis on darkness drenched strings and sweeping guitars, taking off into experimental spheres with the clanking percussion and dissonance of Watchers, Tell Us Of The Night and the hisses, thuds, and tribal rhythm of the old-time gospel influenced 2s and 3s.

Indeed, the album is bookended by two instrumentals; opening with the classical chamber orchestra tone of A Call To Arms that sounds like a collaboration between Mussorsky and Aaron Copland and closing with The Returning, a 12 minute flurry of feedback white noise that slowly gives way to a calm of violins after the storm that echoes the finale segue between Night On Bald Mountain and Ave Maria in Fantasia.

As the man’s still in his early 20s, I’d hesitate to call this his masterpiece but he’s going to have to really pull out the creative stops to better it.

Whatever the title may say, the string band music and three part harmonies of Forth Worth based sisters Grace, Sophia and Hulda are rooted very specifically in one era, the Western swing, hot jazz and cowboy songs of the 30s as embodied by such artists as Bob Wills, Benny Goodman and The Sons of the Pioneers.

Joined by guitarist (and producer) Joey McKenzie (who, along with his wife, was their fiddle teacher) with Drew Phelps and Dennis Crouch sharing upright bass duties, the album pays homage to the girls’ musical heroes with a mixture of songs and instrumentals with an authenticity that lacks only the crackle of stylus on shellac and the background buzz of the valve radio.

Sounding as if it was recorded live in Tennessee’s Cash Cabin studio, it’s a collection of faithfully rendered covers, opening with the Sons’ So Long to the Red River Valley and proceeding through Spade Cooley’s Shame On You, Georgia On My Mind, Tumbling Tumbleweeds, There’s A Rainbow Over The Range, Across The Alley From The Alamo, There’s A Goldmine In The Sky and Roly Poly, Fred Rose’s marvellous paean to childhood chubbiness with its line about ‘daddy’s little fatty’.

Inevitably summoning vocal comparisons to the Andrews Sisters, the girls are no slouches on their fiddles either, scorching their way through Duke Ellington’s Take The ‘A’ Train, Benny Goodman’s Air Mail Special, a fiddle breakdown medley of Speed The Plow, The Maid Behind The Bar and Temperance Reel. Particularly impressive is their transfiguration of Twin Guitar Special, a Bob Wills hit written by Leon McAulife and Eldon Shamblin, into a fiddle tune.

Released Stateside three years ago (their debut, Texas Fiddlers, came out in 2003), it’s taken a while to make its way beyond those shores but it shouldn’t take anywhere near that long to make an impression. Hopefully response and demand should ensure the next album - surely due soon - won’t be so long delayed.

Katy Boyd’s an ex pat West Coast singer-songwriter, Benny Wain’s a Dorchester based electric red fiddle player and together they’ve been creating quite a buzz with their blend of folk, bluegrass, Americana and Celtic fiddling. Boyd handles all the vocal duties with a voice that betrays a Southern twang while Wain makes the strings dance and legs twitch on songs that display a keen sense of wit alongside social observations and emotional poignancy.

Opening track, Gravity, a girls together tale of a meeting between a teacher and a former pupil in which the latter discovers she’s dating the former’s ex-husband, borrows from the classic country cheatin’ song tradition and, at times, reminds me of Bobbie Gentry and Jeannie C Riley.

That Southern flavour percolates throughout, at times giving Boyd a hint of a deeper voiced Parton, especially when the musical mood turns to the backwoods colours of the jaunty Hey Grandpa, bouncy old school country pop Don’t Send Me Flowers and the more reflective Dad’s Song, three numbers that offer family snapshots and childhood memories that may or may not be autobiographical.

Other than the latter and the lovely Slow Dancing with its images of cardboard floors and paper dresses, the songs are all uptempo, allowing Wain plenty of opportunity to bend the elbow and scrape the strings, demonstrating why he’s held in such high esteem in folk and bluegrass circles alike on both sides of the Atlantic.

Flexing her wit, Doctor Doctor takes a poke at celebrity and the tabloid circus, cleverly using media satire to get away with lines about Paris Hilton being a harlot, tramp, nymphomaniac bitch with no concept of a job, which obviously isn’t the case. Humour bites too on Cinderella, a feminist spin on the fairy tale that advises her to refuse the footwear and seek independence while closing tempo switching Be An American sees the album off with a socio-political satirical bite about the United States of Self Deluding Blind Arrogance.

It may not be a fairy tale, but on this reckoning the pair’s career can certainly look forward to happy ever afters.

Best known as the twanging rockabilly guitarist with Commando Cody & The Lost Planet Airmen, dubbed The Titan of The Telecaster and hailed as the pioneer of Dieselbilly, over the years Kirchen’s built an impressive contacts book recording and touring with an array of country and rock and roll stars.

He puts it to good use here on an album of mostly self-penned material that, alongside drummer Jack O’Dell, bassist Johnny Castle and former Eggs Over Easy man Austin De Lone on keyboards and guitar, features some dozen special guests providing either duet vocals or backing.

Like the Texan bluesy Time Will Tell The Story and the Ozarks jogging Arkansas Diamond, rockabilly boogie woogie opener Bump Wood is a core band showcase, but Merle Haggard’s honky tonk waltzer Shelly’s Winter love opens the door on track two to invite Nick Lowe and Paul Carrack to share the verses and provide harmonies.

The distinctive tones of Elvis Costello take over for the slow sliding country blues original, Man In The Bottom Of The Well, with Kirchen providing a big fat resonant solo before he reunites with George Frayne, aka Commander Cody himself, burning up the piano on I Don’t Work That Cheap, a blues boogie in the spirit of Subterranean Homesick Blues.

It’s not all a boys get together. Maria Muldaur duets on the sleepy swing Ain’t Got Time For The Blues while Asleep At The Wheel’s Chris O’Connell joins in for a guy/gal slow dance through Roger Miller’s Husbands And Wives with Kirchen doing his best Willie Nelson. A There’s an on disco reunion of sorts between Kirchen and a couple of the original members of The Moonlighters. Making his first solo appearance on record, the coal deep voice of Blackie Farrell takes control of Open Range, a number co-written with AATW founded Leroy Preston, while harmonica player Norton Buffalo stokes the campfire of Open Range. Kirchen’s twangy stomper about himself and wife Louise.

I’ve never been a huge fan of Dan Hicks, so their repartee and scat vocalising on the hot club jazz title track doesn’t do it for me, but otherwise this is definitely a case of well received wisdom.

What is different, however, is the inspiration taken from growing up as the daughter of 60s commune dwelling parents who fled to Canada to dodge the Vietnam draft and the influence of Ford's growing love of soul music, drawing on such influences as Willie Mitchell, Al Green, Ann Peebles, Otis Redding, and, on the warm, organ burred gospel-soul If You Gonna Go, Van Morrison.

She describes the album as being 'moved by motherhood, earth and land' with songs that treat on love, life and loss as she takes on different (though one suspects still autobiographically rooted) personas to tell her stories.

The opening Firecracker, a humid folk-blues featuring sleepy banjo, finds her a 'hard-drinking, deal making son-of-a-gun', though the tempo suggests she's sleeping off one she hung on earlier, while (joined by her own mother on harmonies) maternal baby boom generation sensibilities inform the slow ambling, bluesily reflective Lost Together and the equally languid Gospel Song (a live staple of the Tanyas set) sees her family life through a country preacher's eyes.

With much unfolding at a spare, dreamily somnabulence, it's particularly noticeable when she lifts the pacing on the likes of the Joni-ish Bird Of Paradise with its kalimbas and handclaps, a positively pop jaunty Hey Little Mama and Blue Streak Mama which mingles old school funk and new soul groove.

That said, one of the album's strongest tracks is her slow sway cover of Dylan's One More Cup Of Coffee which, with its soulful organ backed arrangement recalls not the Joan Baez version but rather one conjures a female Johnny Cash at his deepest Rick Rubin.

There's no indication why she chose the album title; maybe because of the backwoods imagery it conjures, maybe it's a reference to the Old Testament prophet who called for war against the Edomites or maybe she's just she's a fan of Monty Python's Four Yorkshiremen sketch.

That aside, working with regular musicians Jack Irwin, Dave Roe and Sergio Webb, there’s little else to complain about here. Olney’s cracked baritone on the devotion pledging Red Tail Hawk evokes thoughts of Townes Van Zandt, a comparison that applies equally to the closing and equally romantic The Moment I Tell You Goodbye.

But dusty folk Americana isn’t the only note to the album. Way Down Deep is growling blues with throaty horns, You Never Know a smoky 3am jazz cellar folk-blues, Lucky Star And Mr Moon sprinkles Buddy Holly dust, Little Sparrow (a song about Edith Piaf) a Presley-style 50s doo wop complete with bop shoo wop backing vocals while, backed by simple strummed ukulele, upright bass and box, I’ve Got A Lot On My Mind has him bursting into Tom Waitsian scat.

Then there’s Mister Vermeer, a gentle rolling finger-picked melody with heartfelt lover’s dream spoken lyrics inspired by the artist’s classic Girl With A Pearl Earring and, nodding to Johnny Cash shuffling chug, Covington Girl, a tale of an armed train robbery for the money to buy a bonnet for ma, a fiddle for pa and a ribbon for his sweetheart. And even a spare, late night rough edged croon through the Flamingos' I Only Have Eyes for You.

It’s not one that’s going to bring the 62 year old Rhode Island native any wider following, but those who’ve taken the journey or joined along the way will be well satisfied. Especially since it comes with a bonus CD recorded live at Norm’s River Roadhouse in Nashville that’s a little more rowdy and bluesy and includes Wait Here For The Cops featuring Webb’s impressive guitar impersonation of a police siren.

Playing drums, piano and guitar, he's taken two years to put together his second album, taking a stripped down approach that likely has as much to do with economics as wanting a more 'organic' sound than his Ready To Talk Now debut. Indeed, one track, You Always Do, was apparently recorded live in his kitchen.

With a solid backing band and guest contributions from Demon Barbers' violinist Bryony Griffith and lesser known but locally feted fellow Leeds folkie Ric Neale (who also co-produced), it's a mixture of pop, folk, MOR, country, and rock respectively illustrated by One More Chance, I Still Love You England, They Don't, So I Won't, I'm A Superhero..But I'm Not Saving You and the psychedelic Laundry Man. Six minute closer Wake Me When It's Over even combines most of the above ingredients with a dose of vaudeville, Latin and even thrash.

His voice strains in parts, but the melodies are hardy, the humour sly and satirical and the eminently listenable songs suggest he's probably an entertaining live performer. It's unlikely to do much to change his current position on the music ladder, but it certainly deserves to receive more attention than it will.

Although Mosaic has some vague references to global ecological issues, lyrically he never strays far from personalised themes of love, new starts and family, lines like "I can almost taste the toast she made' underlining his preference for everyday rather than poetic images.

The man also clearly has a sense of humour with the last track, throwaway mazurka Jewish Bride, a wry tale of being seized by lust at a Brighton Beach wedding with acclaimed Polish jazz double bassist Tymon Tymanski singing scat solo and the inspired rhyme of 'hors d'oeuvres' and 'curves'!

From the opening Arthur Lee tinged psych-folk of More Than A Lover with echoing Morricone reverb guitars and heady swirling melody that conjure the same burning desert imagery of America’s Horse With No Name, you’re transported back to days when you weren’t a real music buff unless you’d acquired albums by Clear Light, Fever Tree, Earth Opera and Savage Resurrection never mind the Airplane, Dead, Doors and Byrds.

Produced by John Leckie, the band’s sixth album is unquestionably their best yet, packed full of irresistible blurring melodies that are as newly minted as they are as old as time with songs that deal with love, loss and the changes wrought by the passing of years. Guitars jingle, hooks cascade over a waterfall of descending chords while James Skelly’s delicate-bruise of a voice aches its way through hurt and regret (will the year bring a more beguilingly sad song than Walking In Winter with its woodwind trill and Simon & Garfunkel traces?) but also holds its head up to the sun on the optimism of 1000 Years.

You’ll hear shades of CS&N there, Skelly’s burr recalling Graham Nash, while elsewhere they paint with the colours of Love (the title track would have fitted neatly on Forever Changes), Peanut Butter Conspiracy, David McWilliams, McGuinn, West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band (notably on Coney Island), Strawberry Alarm Clock, and, on Two Faces, slyly share a Pleasant Valley Sunday with The Monkees.

There’s no point trying to isolate favourites because from the opening notes to the closing distortion guitar work of North Parade and its fleeting ghostly piano coda, everything here is a luminous quicksilver masterpiece. The only thing you can do is put it on an endless loop, surround yourself with hot smoke, sassafras, incense and peppermints the colour of thyme and indulge.

The eccentric typography and wilfully Barkerist déjà-vu of the album title aside, there’s a feeling of the earlier record’s often wayward experimentation being reined in, more tightly controlled in terms both of internal discipline and overall direction, although the band can still embrace their trademark sense of mildly manic abandon when it suits them, and their outstanding individual and collective musicianship still takes one’s breath away.

It’s still also the case that the most satisfying of the band’s brand-new musical adventures on the latest disc take an innovative approach to instrumentation and employ unusual combinations of timbres and textures – as on Les, where mandola, electric guitar, keyboard-harpsichordery and cooing voices atmospherically light up Jim’s original tune, and the (official) final set (Eejit), where AdamAnt-style chanting ushers in a virtuoso banjo reel and more. A comparable and entirely delightful swing-jazz vibe inhabits Nicola’s Lugerberugi set, while the neo-programmatic reflectiveness of The Calm After The Storm (another of Jim’s fine original compositions) provides a mesmerising contrast. I also liked the bonus track, a delicately poised cloggy-fiddle-box-backed rendition of Charles Kingsley’s charming Young And Old paired with a Chris Wood polska.

In fact, it’s the latter half of the album that works best, for on some of the earlier tracks I became mildly irritated by some of the quirkier or sillier touches on repeated play – for example, the self-conscious wackiness of Trooper Lad (surely more effective in a one-off live context) and the happy-clappy wibbly-wobbly funk that introduces Dan’s tune April Snowfall. There’s also a slight tendency towards a crowd-pleasing formula-fusion formatting at times, which may be as much a by-product of the tighter control as of exhaustive (and invariably well-received) live performances. Elsewhere, Dan’s song Pretoria has some great ideas and sentiments, but the musical setting strikes me as a touch bland, while Nicola’s decision to cover Karine Polwart’s lovely Follow The Heron is a good one, but her interpretation feels less than fully formed as yet.

But we can easily make allowances for future fine-tunings, and I’m sure that 4Square possess the confidence and good sense to make these adjustments as time proceeds – they do after all still have youth very much on their side.

The rather cleverly-titled In Modern History, Jim’s latest aural escapade (or should I say extravaganza!), well retains his credibility in my book, although its overall sound-world often feels closer to the accepted retro-mainstream, at any rate in relatively orthodox folk-rock terms, than the experimental or more deliberately controversial or provocative naggings of Jim’s earlier albums. Curiously enough, too, the set (arguably and yet quite paradoxically) achieves a greater air of consistency than those previous albums, even though unlike those discs it intersperses Jim’s typically intrepid realisations-cum-reworkings of traditional material with a greater number of his own original songs than hitherto, here songs of maturity and quality.

The opening ballad Bristol Harbour gets a full-steam-ahead prog-rock treatment, though initially (deceptively) taking off from a gloopy radiophonic opening and a skewed xylo-riff before launching into a grinding, grungey electric guitar bash. Perhaps, it occurs to me, the album’s more-than-intermittent retro-mainstream signature can be attributed to the at times fairly insistent (even relentless) rock-solid drumming style (that’s Jim himself - another of his many talents). In fact, there are several occasions on this disc when I’m strongly reminded of Seth Lakeman (at any rate especially in terms of the relentless drive and punch). For instance, Jim’s intentionally-epic take on William Taylor is built around an industrial-strength (slightly leaden-Zeppelin?)-style riff, kicked along by guest Eliza Carthy’s violin and interjections from a whole string section (courtesy of Opera North). Full-scale orchestral interjections and colourings also feature on Jim’s interestingly syncopated take on Silver Dagger, while Cold Stone is ushered along on a robust hurdy gurdy motif. Jim’s reworking of Long Lankin appears solid enough, and he benefits from grewat support from the likes of Saul Rose and Mawkin’s James Delarre here, but somehow in his enthusiasm to propel the music along Jim manages to bypass much of the tale’s inherent and grisly drama.

But on the other hand one of the major successes of the album is the swooningly lush, rich string setting that brings a ripe brooding grandeur to Lowlands Of Holland, while Jim’s delicate duet with Hannah Peel on Jenny Of The Moor is nowt but charming in anyone’s book. Which prompts me to remark that Jim’s own strong yet melodious singing voice is very much a focus on this album, a feature which has the incidental effect of playing down any elements of wilfulness that may be present elsewhere eg. in the instrumentation or arrangements. Having said that, the prominence of that voice can be a mixed blessing, for the bright, over-close miking of the vocal part can sometimes be mildly distracting (on Hard especially, where it obscures the romantic intimacy of the lyric, although Jim’s actual performance (it’s a gorgeous duet with his sister Jackie Oates) and the unusually mando-centred arrangement is in itself seriously attractive (for the erstwhile enfant-terrible has clearly mellowed more than a touch!).

The disc’s wild-card is strategically placed at roughly mid-point: it’s a wry, reasonably amusing spoken-mode retelling of Spencer The Rover, which here is voiced not by Jim himself but by Eddie Argos (of Art Brut); it appeals first time round, and would no doubt be a hoot onstage, but on disc it palls on repetition and swiftly becomes a slightly irritating interlude (however cleverly it’s conceived and managed).

But there’s no denying that In Modern History is a persuasive and masterful record, and Jim’s developing talent is one on which to keep keen watch.

Possessing a raw, gravelly voice midway between Janis Joplin, Bonnie Tyler and Lucinda Williams, Lie (pronounced Lee) has whipped up quite a buzz back in Norway, but she’s also been busy getting her name known outside Scandinavia with gigs from Liverpool to Nashville.

Which is where she recorded her current album with producer Byron House (currently part of Robert Plant’s Band of Joy) and session men that included Mauro Magellan of the Georgia Satellites, Dixie Chicks sideman Keith Sewell and Fats Kamplin whose pedigree includes Mark Knopfler, Nanci Griffith and Bad Company.

There’s an Americana roots base, but it also comes dressed with the ringing guitar rock of Ashley Cleveland’s Twilight Hour and Pirate’s Heart (where at one point she sounds as if she’s about to launch into Twist And Shout) and the funky Southern fried organ chopping blues of Dylan’s Do Right To Me Baby and Little Feat’s Home Ground.

These all suggest she’s a live firebrand, but it’s the mid-tempo numbers that really make the album shine, especially when paired with her honest, born of experience poignant lyrics. Solid recommendations here would have to include the opening smoky Black Swan with its soulful groove, countrified, emotion stained slow builder White Moth and dreamy piano ballad Winter Moon, featuring Grammy winning flautist Bill Miller.

However, the album’s two stand-outs come in the shape of the quietly anthemic bruised and battered heartache of Solid Ground and the bittersweet, mandolin-flecked piano ballad Gambling With The Star that uses mountain climbing as a metaphor for hanging in there.

Rather unflatteringly, her press release refers to her music as a meat and potatoes meal. If so then it’s best steak and Jersey Royals.

Just days after they handed over the master recordings of I Had The Blues But I Shook Them Loose, the band went back into the studio to start work on a collection of acoustic recordings in direct contrast to its indie rock.

Of course, acoustic isn’t exactly new territory for the band. most of the B sides have been recorded that way and, aside from singer Jack Steadman being weaned on a diet of Young, Mitchell, Martyn and Drake, guitarist Jamie’s father is Neill MacColl, son of folk legend Ewan and wife Peggy Seeger, brother of Kirsty and recent musical partner of Kathryn Williams.

So it’s fairly natural that they take to the folkier side of things like ducks to water, opening track Rinse Me Down suggesting a few old Simon & Garfunkel albums on their iPods too while the banjo dappled gently jogging Many Ways and the scuffed throat Dust On The Ground both hew to the old American folk pathways also trod by the likes of Bon Ivor and the Handsome Family.

Jewel comes out of the backwoods church hymnal while the warbling vocal and tumbling scales of the lovely Fairytale Lullaby hark to a marriage of Donovan and the ISB, these and the fingerpicked melancholic beauty of Leaving Blues and Flaws, the beautiful Old Friends-like Lucy Rose duet title track and the skittering Ivy & Gold, all making this a far more memorable and emotion plucking album than their debut. And, if Steadman can refrain from delivering them on stage in his Byrne-esque epileptic spasms, quite possibly a more lasting way forward.

Touring the UK in October, Washington native Cubero’s name may mean next to nothing here but, likened to Lucinda Williams and Shelby Lynne alike, she’s been creating a sizeable buzz Stateside, twice Singer magazine’s Indie Artist of the Year, winner of Mavric Independent Music Award’s Folk Song of the Year for Feather In The Wind (featured here) and named 2006 Artist of the Year by the Santa Barbara Blues Society, oldest blues society in America.

I daresay they’d be pretty impressed by Set You Free and acoustic blues drawl Old Cadillac here,. However, with Bill Flores prominent on pedal steel and dobro, the dominant flavour is country, whether of the Southern twangy rocking persuasion embodied by I Want More, It’s All right (sic) and the barrelhouse strut Reserve The Right or a bluegrassy Two Trains and the soulful balladeering flavour of What If I Really Love You and Whatcha Gonna Do.

It’s not about to elevate her to ranks of those to whom she’s compared, but it’s a highly listenable offering for those looking to find new names to discover within their favoured listening field.

Raised on an Isle of Wight nature reserve, an environmental experience that has informed her music, Class is currently best known as a composer among classical and soundtrack circles. She earned a Classical Brits nomination for the best selling Aurora-Cantamus for which she provided the music and wrote two numbers for Hayley Westrena’s Pure album while her film and TV scores have included BBC natural history series The Blue Planet - Deep Trouble and The State of the Planet (for which was Emmy nominated), Animal Forensics, big screen documentary Meerkats and, most recently, Blitz Street.

So, this is a bit of a departure that finds her not only broaching the acoustic folk market but also singing. As you’d expect, her melodies are impeccably crafted and often atmospheric but, as the nautically inspired Make Me Free shows, she can pen a breezy la la la-ing pop tune as well as filmscapes while Baby I Will Know You is a light footed Radio 2 friendly folk-pop waltz.

Perhaps informed from working with ethereal Irish singer Eimear Quinn, When Your Heart and Northern Shore have a touch of the Celtic mist about them, especially the latter with its multi-tracked vocals and Alex Hutchings’ Knopfleresque guitar solo.

A New Dawn and Darkness In My Heart should find favour among those whose collections include Katie Melua and KT Tunstall and although her pure-toned angelic voice could do with a little less formality in places and her background gives rise to occasional New Agey numbers like A Golden Leaf Fell, her popular music debut again proves she an, ahem, class act.

From WWI to Vietnam, protest troubadours were always there to serve as the voices of the masses, but ever since the socio-political explosion of anti-Thatcher punk there’s been few mainstream musicians taking to the barricades to shout about injustice in the manner of a Seeger, a Guthrie, a Dylan or a Bragg. Can you imagine the winner of the next X-Factor covering Eve Of Destruction?

Standard bearer for a revival, the ever excellent King is both making a statement about the world in which we currently live and serving reminder that while the times may change, some songs remain forever relevant.

As the title suggests, it’s essentially an anti-war album, fuelled by the political motives behind the invasion of Iraq and the war in Afghanistan. Of the 12 tracks, nine are cover version, the powerful title track King’s piano setting of a song written by Siegfried Sassoon’s trench contemporary Alfred Bryan back in 1915,but every bit as resonant for the parents of those fighting and dying in the world’s current theatres of war.

Inevitably, Ochs and Dylan figure. The latter’s represented by a waltzing, mandolin-accompanied I Pity The Poor Immigrant while the former’s songbook provides Cops Of The World’s bitingly satirical attack on an American foreign policy that’s changed little since he wrote it and, given a steely bite, the lesser known but equally ironic Is There Anybody Here with lines about thinking following orders takes away the blame.

Although best known from the Tim Hardin recording, featuring just King on acoustic guitar the closing 60s join together anthem Simple Song Of Freedom was actually written by Bobby (or Bob as he was then credited) Darin. The sentiments are undimmed.

Over covers are perhaps less well known. Sounds Of Our Time stems from the soulful pens of Jim Ford and Bobby Womax even if it sounds a little like The Band singing I Shall Be Released while, addressing economic meltdown rather than conflict, High Price Blues faithfully revisits the old Sykes Roosevelt song popularised by Brownie McGhee and, set to a mandolin flecked, chugging folk-blues arrangement, Life Is Fine puts music to a poem of suicidal desperation by Langston Hughes.

The other non-original is more recent. Co-written by album guitarist Paul Hesketh and King’s son, Oliver Lomax, themselves part of Manchester indie rockers The Reveres, Parish Of Rope is an enigmatic but addictive track that Lomax describes as being about a young man choosing to go and fight but feeling disenfranchised by his country, adrift from all generations and ("like Harold Wilson on the Morecambe and Wise" out of place within society. If their own eventual album is of this standard, it’s going to be well worth seeking out.

The remaining three numbers are by King himself. Bearing a distinct early Dylan influence, I have to confess I’m not entirely sure what In Spain The Dogs Are Too Tired To Bite You (an early song revised for the album) is about (there’s reference to the devil and a line about a dream of being forced fed pills by tattered boys wearing soldiers’ clothes), but it’s a track that keeps pulling you back for repeat listens.

Returning to the album’s prevalent anti-war theme and featuring a poignant extract from Homeward Bound and the line "it's time for me to get on the plane, my box will soon be loaded with fifteen others that all look the same", the fingerpicked Hey Ma, I’m Coming Home is a soldier’s letter to his mother, the sort of which have been all too tragically making headlines of late.

Referencing the same contemporary conflicts and "the black knight in The White House" attempting to clean up his inherited mess, stand-out gutsy marching rhythm folk-rock opener In Time sees America’s gift of democracy from the perspective of an Iraqi or Afghan father on the receiving end of liberation.

Another potent, superbly performed and heartfelt offering from King, on the inner sleeve, he lists songs that didn’t make it, among them Sins Of The Family by PF Sloan, Paul Simon’s He Was My Brother, Richard Farina’s Birmingham Sunday and The Ghetto by Delaney And Bonnie. Here’s hoping for a follow-up. (In store Aug 9)

Born in Suffolk and now based in London, Mullan originally wanted to sound like Tom Waits. Unfortunately, her throat felt otherwise. So, while her Waitsian aspirations now stretch no further than the name of her label, time spent with the record collection (Beatles, Kirsty MacColl, Paul Simon) left behind when her parents divorced have helped shape her current musical direction along with artists (Beth Orton) and genres (30s blues and folk) discovered via pursuing assorted boys she fancied. You’ll probably also spot Dolly Parton, Johnny Cash, Lucinda Williams and, in some of her vocals, Colbie Caillat in there too.

Clearly a woman who knows what she wants, Mullan says the album’s about growing up and that she adopted a deliberate naiveté to capture that time of being enthusiastic but slightly awkward, one reason she opted to record it mostly live, laying down and mixing a song a day.

She’s 25 now, but the album has the soul of a 16 or 17 year old trying to find herself, exploring her sexuality and discovering the ups and downs of relationships. Owing much to the feathery little girl innocence of her country inflected voice and the uncluttered nature of the melodies and arrangements, it’s a real charmer. Fire In My Soul opens the set as she lays down a refusal to compromise or let herself be sucked dry by others, whether that’s a lover or, as a line about ceding control to make money suggests, the music business.

Wicked Way isn’t her song, it’s a cover of Ben Taylor’s upfront admission of trying to get someone drunk in order to get laid. But, set to an acoustic guitar and shuffle rhythm, Mullan transforms it totally to make it utterly her own, giving it a sheen of honest female sexual desire and turning the original’s whiff of sleaze into a coy eroticism.

The influence of old folk blues can be heard on Can’t Find The Words, another disarming little gem about how it’s often more compassionate not to tell the truth. She sings about the awkwardness of having your best friend’s boyfriend trying it on and not being able to tell your lover that you don’t feel as deeply as they do. But then, darkening the tone, subsequent verses deal with keeping a brother’s illness from his mother and of a hospital doctor whose face speaks the words he cannot.

She keeps the standard high throughout. Backed by acoustic slide guitar, a bluesy scuffling Alright With Me recalls Fairground Attraction as she sings about being happy with who she is and how she looks, even if she doesn’t have Angelina’s lips.

La La Love You is perfect summer song with its crunking capuccino jazz rhythm and fluttering title chorus (not to mention a lyrical steal from All I Really Want To Do), Would You Be So Kind’s a slow pulsing break up song with her 60s girl pop delivery backed by a spin on the Velvets Sweet Jane’s riff, When You Know picks up strummed ukulele for an airy reggae string band carefree lope, while, another knockout among an album of highlights, the alt-country flavoured descending chords and ringing guitar of Suzie’s Back In Town is a heartbreaking tale of being dumped by your lover for his old flame.

This review’s already turning into an essay and while I could spend several more paragraphs extolling its myriad virtues, I’ll just say that the three remaining cuts, the organ drone backed How To Hold On’s fingers and thumbs of the heart, the torchy waltzing Valentine Song (think a gene splice of Kitty Lester and Eddi Reader) and The Last Time I Got High’s jaunty accordion-led foot stomper celebration of falling in love, are just further confirmations that this is one of the year’s finest debuts and that Mullan is destined for a stellar future.

And, just to underline her mastery of the genre, check out her YouTube videos for sparkling folk n blues covers of Beyonce, Lady GaGa, The Killers and Daniel Merriweather. (In store Aug 2)

Every time a Walter Trout album lands on my desk I feel the excitement in the air and this one does not disappoint. Common Ground is Walter Trout's 20th album and it is testament to his talent that it sounds just as fresh as his solo debut in 1990. Walter has raised the bar immediately with the acoustic slide based opener May Be A Fool. This pounding blues rocker builds and builds as he introduces the band and finally his electric guitar to the mix. Acoustic guitar starts Open Book too. This is a standard rock ballad, if anything by Walter Trout is standard, but it is lifted from the pack by his superb guitar playing. The notes just fall from his guitar. There's a theme running here as Her Other Man also starts acoustically. Trout's voice is on top form and the guitar interludes are just what you expect from a master of the fret board. The eponymous title track has a spiritual feel to it. Bon Jovi written all over it and guitar ringing like a bell at the end. Danger Zone adds some funk to the rock and is held together by the snappy drums of Kenny Aronoff. Hudson Had Help is a good time barrelhouse blues and a bit of a highlight.

Loaded Gun is the type of song that you would attribute to Walter Trout right away. Loud, bawdy blues rock and one to get the party started with. Rousing, especially with Jon Cleary's piano getting hammered as well as Trout's guitar and driven on superbly by Hutch Hutchinson on bass and the aforementioned Aronoff on drums with some of the best guitar you are likely to hear this year! Song For My Guitar is exactly what is says. Walter gives his guitar almost human status. Some may think it a bit twee but a guitar can become a member of the family. Eyes Of A Child is a mid-paced blues with a touch of swing. No Regrets is a slow, chugging blues with Trout's voice and guitar in perfect unison. His guitar scorches as he bends the strings to breaking point. Wrapped Up In The Blues is a more standard type of electric blues. Harmony vocals and shuffling beats makes for another highlight. He finishes with Excess Baggage, a slow, sultry blues with Cleary's Hammond organ to the fore – just what I would expect from one of my keyboard favourites. This is a powerful finish to the album and Walter Trout just keeps on being outstanding.

An Edinburgh five part vocal harmony outfit with instrumentation that includes sax and cello, the name and album title might prompt you to expect some sort of techno. However. From the opening notes of Be Cool, Stay Cool you’re forced to revise preconceptions, not least because it appears to be launching into Marrakesh Express and, when the vocals arrive, transforms into an echo of Last Train To Clarkesville.

Aside from The Monkees, they’ve variously been likened to the Beach Boys, Beatles, Johnny Cash, The Band, Dick Dale, Moody Blues, Devendra Banhart, Them and The Acorn, some of whose influences you’ll undoubtedly hear on what is very much a 60s revival sound.

There’s quite a bit of that jittery train rhythm going down, driving along the bluesy surf rock Then I Get That Feeling, the psychedelic sax parping garage pop of Little Pink Dress (not one of the strongest vocals, it must be said), Tomorrow (a Cash chug) and, the wheels rolling faster, Alaska. This might suggest a certain sameness to the tunes, but the band’s use of instruments, arrangements, time changes and melodies ensures there’s plenty of curves on the line, Alaska, for example, breaking into a ska lurch midway and with sax breaks that suggest they might be familiar with Blurt’s Ted Milton.

They ring other changes too. Sheep is 60s West Coast psychedelic freak out rock n roll with a titular musical joke in its ‘ba ba ba ba’ doo wop chorus, Turn is a rolling country ballad that harks back to Sweetheart of the Rodeo days, Roman Nose combining folk, avant jazz and psychedelia and the gorgeous closing seven minute plus Faithful Retainer a shimmering acoustic folk number which, while sounding nothing like them, reminds me of the beguiling simplicity of the early Incredible String Band.

A blend of soothing charm and challenging experimentation, they may wear retro influences on their sleeve but they also have a few post modern tricks up them too.