And while I'm always a tad wary of any suggestion of artists being tied together as part of a "scene," I should also point out that the two - along with third brother Een, who records under the moniker Pip Dylan - are part of the Fence Collective, a Anstruther, Scotland, stable of mostly nu-folk musicians that also has included James Yorkston, KT Tunstall, Found, and, yes, John Cusack's High Fidelity faves, the Beta Band. Most of these folks have popped up on Creosote's recordings from time to time, and such guest spots have done a great deal to contribute to the down-home, intimate feel to his music. There's a stopping-by-the-studio-after-a-pint quality to some of his earlier recordings which is downright fetching, to be honest. Perhaps I'm still over-romanticizing small-town life in Fife after having visited there two years ago, but I cannot help but imagine folks swinging by Creosote's place, mandolins and acoustic guitars in hand, ready to harmonize long into the night.

Or maybe I got such crazy notions into my head after watching clips like this: here's Creosote and friends performing the aching ballad "My Favourite Girl" at a Fence Collective Sunday Social pub gig last year, in what might be the coziest room in all of Scotland. Swoon away, my friends:

The original version of "My Favourite Girl" can be found on 2005's KC Rules OK (679 Recordings), Creosote's breakthrough album of graceful accordion-and-piano-driven tearjerkers and quirky '60s-inspired pop. Along with the already-mentioned ballad, he offers tender confessionals in the form of slow-building opener, "Not One Bit Ashamed," which includes the devastating line, "I gave up half of my heart / and you gave a half-hearted shrug," and the weeping closer "Marguerita Red," a breakup song boasting wonderfully melancholy harmonies from Tunstall. "I could voice my fears out loud / and you wouldn't think to help me," he burrs over a simple piano line while Tunstall hammers the point home with the most mournful of sighs. Luckily, the album also has its lighthearted moments: my favorite is "You Are Could I?" - a whacked-out vaudeville number whizzed along by a shuffling beat, mildly unhinged violins, and multitracked doo-wop harmonies that sound curiously like saxophones.

KC Rules OK, with its improved production and wider circulation thanks to Creosote's signing to the larger 679 Recordings label - his previous two albums and two dozen-or-so CD-R's were either self-released or handled by the Fence Collective's tiny Fence label - marked the first time many folks outside of Scotland had ever the man. While he has since amassed a sizable following throughout Britain, he's still scandalously unknown here in the States. Ah, perhaps Bombshell will address the situation. It certainly should.

With the addition of subtle electronics and considerably more rock-instrumentation than on KC Rules OK, the album might be a good starting point for listeners who generally run screaming from the mere mention of the f-word (folk). "Home in a Sentence" is sparkling pop heaven, its ringing guitars and propulsive rhythm (slightly reminiscent of the percussion-dramas of Doves) pushing along a soaring chorus of "It's not going to help us," while "Cowardly Custard" is a endearingly wobbly-kneed theatrical-pop shuffler in the English music hall tradition - albeit delivered in a rich Fife burr - complete with a hardly surefooted melodica solo that borders on the adorable.

"Choke me, blind me, cut off my hands," he coos sweetly on "Cockle Shell," a delicate ballad of captivating self-deprecation set a-twinkling by graceful mandolin and understated piano, and somehow it comes across as the most reasonable request one could make from his lover. "I've likely punched myself below the belt," he reveals elsewhere, and it's one of the most tender confessions I've heard in a song in quite a while, strangely enough - blame it on that utterly gorgeous instrument of his. King Creosote's vocals benefit tremendously from Bombshell's rich production, resulting in a delivery which is far more confident than found on his earlier work. Nowhere is this more apparent on the anthemic "Spystick" - a round of advice being given to a friend to stick by his girl because she's a real keeper, the song swings with a tremendous might, thanks to its brilliant crescendos and pummeling rhythm urging him along in singing every word like it's his last.

The real kicker, however, comes in the borderline-obsessive intensity with which the pleas gush forth as the guitar-fueled drama ramps up: "Keep her in your sights, don't stray out of her eyes," he begs, and it's powerfully unsettling, earnest as it may be. Remember how lots of folks got suckered into thinking The Police's "Every Breath You Take" was a love song, before they started paying attention to the lyrics and realized there were darker forces at work than just mere affection? Well, "Spystick" feels to me like it might be coming from a similarly troubled place, and it's enormously affecting.

Care for a single? "You've No Clue Do You" is by far the catchiest number on Bombshell, a bragging stomper boomeranged back from somewhere in the early '80s due to some tasty synth squelches and a John Taylor-esque bass-line. Better yet, the mighty King slings out some fine put-downs while referencing childhood fave Clue (called Cluedo in Britain) in the process. "Library, lead pipe, P-P-Professor Plum / Is yet another wrong guess," he stutters and snarks away with delicious spitefulness, as the sunny vulnerability I've come to expect from the man fades off into the distance. But oh, well, that's the beauty of King Creosote's latest work: it revels in the unexpected.