Reviewed by Phil Thomson

This is an intelligent, beautifully honed work, thoughtfully constructed by the Irish songsmith once known as Booley (and before that Peter Wilson). On this the singer/pianist takes you on the most delicate of journeys inside yourself. The writing is intimate, at times wonderfully ambiguous and deeply personal; the delivery so un-self-conscious you will be held by every note, drawn in by every word. It's all message. The feeling is - if you get it, that's great; if you don't, that's okay too - here's the poetry, here's the beauty, pick it up later. The risk really has come off. Clever, intricate, well-paced (is it indie-pop?) with clear musical reference to the best sensibilities of a '60s release (I'm sure you've heard that sound before) yet mercifully free of the indulgence given to the genre during the '90s. The production (Eastbourne and Belfast) is clean and understated, with nothing rushed - just a quiet, insistent voice in mostly confessional mode. The haunting piano-led phrasing is economic enough to leave you waiting for something to happen - an excellent device, generating hunger for more with every track and the "ahs" and "ohs" harmonise in dream-like, almost couldn't-care-less ways that belie their strategic inference. Musically and lyrically inventive - Chip Bailey takes first credit for the cheese graters, whisks and wardrobe door, that's the kind of album it is - every song surprises in such a familiar way, you'll feel warm inside. Later, the truth will dawn. Pure delight.