Reviewed by Philip Woodward

Whispering quietly and mythically about things we don't really understand, it's an absolute delight to welcome veteran songsmith Ryder into my ear drums on this groggy Monday morning. Strumming and picking expertly like the old folkie he is, Ryder utilises his admittedly limited voice to deliver an eccentricity, and thus an intrigue to listen to what he's got to say. So, what's he got to say? Well, this writer's not really sure. But that doesn't really matter. Ryder rambles about in an entertaining manner that sets him apart from many other current artists. Like his singing, the primitive production should be something that turns listeners off but, for this impressed young scribe at least, it only serves to establish Ryder an effective niche to perform his mysterious works. In his roundabout and roaming manner, Ryder tackles (as the title may suggest) issues of faith and of superstition, and everything in between. He covers (hold your breath) alternative religions in Amsterdam; Cromwellian iconoclasts; voicing unfashionable taboos; Sat-Nav; the pitfalls and high-points of faith; and, amongst others (breathe out), old Celtic traditions. 'Here I Am To Worship', this is not. But this album is so much stronger for it. Long live Pete Ryder.