Folk eh? Scottish folk? In the summer? Are you mad? Scottish folk always brings to mind whiskey with a heavy aroma of peat, enormous beards (beyond the realms of the usually accepted folk beard), and dour, maudlin, introspective studies of the human condition. If there was a sun in your sky prepare to have it replaced with darkened clouds and rising mist.
King Creosote is the work of Kenny Anderson, part player in the Fence collective, a gathering of like-minded musicians. As King Creosote, Anderson rarely flies close to the cliché of beards and knitted jumpers. Indeed, Jump At The Cats is actually a pretty jaunty affair, almost... upbeat. It's equal parts Dylan and McCartney; it skiffles its way out of the speakers and makes you think twice about what you thought you knew about Scottish Folk.
So Forlorn (...again), which closes this small collection of songs, gets closer to the idea of the miserable minstrel. Its sharp lyrics and quirky delivery brings to mind the work of Smog (parenthesis are now optional as far as (Smog) is concerned); it's just too clever to be considered angst-ridden nonsense. By the time Jump At The Cats comes to an end, the sun is still out and it's so much sweeter.
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