Ben Christophers does a fine line in obtuse. Take the opening lines from ‘Transatlantic Shooting Stars’: “Fallen angel in the crowd/Drags her heels over the noise/Lays down at the roadside of regard/A canyon in my broken mind/Echoes deep inside the vale/There’s dustcarts for the dead birds in the trees”.

Beautiful images, idiosyncratic phrases and quirky notions pervade this singer-songwriter’s second album, Spoonface. While it’s often hard to know what any of it means, the words are impressionistically evocative – an effect heightened as the lyrics morph into newer, even stranger territory.

Meanwhile, Christophers’ choirboy voice soars and drops, sparse, edgy guitar hums and electronic beats insist their way into the music. As the beats judder against Christophers’ pure, tender vocals, they become a melody-line all of their own.