Somewhere between brain and fingertip the words get lost, jumbled by so many different feelings swelling up from the gut and coagulating somewhere near the armpits. The tingle remains though, the skin crawling with static and fizzpopsizzle triggered by hearing the wonderfully new.

Espers aren't likely to have an easy ride - their floral shades of time machine pop and flourishes of extravagance have led to friends pondering my tastes with some seriousness. This is folk music at its dark heart, yet the harmonious voices sing with such a touched-by-sadness resonance that these songs - 'Under The Waterfall' particularly, bypass any tarring with the (insert prefix_ du jour_)-folk brush. Instruments are blown into and strummed at with such delicacy and tenderness that the whole experience is akin to wrapping oneself in the most comforting of blankets, feeling safe and secure, only to be rolled out of a biplane cruising at 10,000 feet.

The impact is quite something; the view on the way down as breathtaking as the most graphic tragedy.