Difference is, this album is really quite stunning. Al Mitchell, a boy wonder with a guitar and a simple, pure vision to match. And his songs are beautiful. Rather than brazenly prostitute himself by releasing singles and so forth, he has chosen to go down the Moby route – he’s in talks with several companies about licensing. This album, according to the suitably understated press release, was three years in the making, Mitchell working as a music and IT instructor at Paisley’s Kibble centre and offering therapy and counselling to boys “he feels he can understand.” One wonders how many times he played this album to them? It certainly has had that effect on these ears. Every strum of the guitar seems to caress the heartstrings and soothe one’s fevered mind – definitely a welcome quality in these troubled times. Mitchell also has a pure and plaintive voice that goes directly into your head and refuses to leave. Like all such records in this vein, there is a very personal and haunting quality to these songs. Not in a doom and gloom sense but in the sense that this record will soundtrack your life and be there for you when you need it. Think of King Creosote or Travis and you’re not far off the mark. Mitchell also manages to deftly sidestep the trap of many a wannabe troubadour in that there are many different flavours to taunt the taste buds. This isn’t just another album full of hollow heartbroken encounters which probably never happened in the first place. This is a personal record about personal stuff – wonderful!