Producing low, fractured, dark and acoustic campfire songs for midnight at the crossroads to nowhere, Breed might hail from London via Liverpool, but his heart belongs to the kind of indigo blues championed by a line running through John Lee Hooker to Scott Walker and Smog.

I Spy The Spider is a typical example. Despite having a beat so ponderous you could slash your wrists to it, it immediately imbeds itself in your mind and no matter how much Hi-NRG europap you use to try to dislodge it, it'll still be there at the end of the day, dragging you down as you try to sleep.

For much of The Smitten King Laments the music is provided by Breed solo, alone with his sadness and a guitar. When the drums or piano do kick in, the sparseness found elsewhere simply enhances their effect. On Devastating Sky, for example, they fill the gaping of space with images of storm clouds, gathering ready to burst.

Last.fm will tell you that people who like Simon Breed also like Belle and Sebastian, but offer no other alternatives. At first they seem like odd bedfellows but while there's not a lot in common with the fey pop of B&S; in their entirety, there are clear parallels with the places in which the indie troubadours choose to play away from home: Breed could easily have stood in for Mark Lanegan with Isobell Campbell and the similarities almost help to explain why such combinations work.

If this makes the sadness and doom seem unrelenting... well, it is, but not in a bad way. The Smitten King does lament, but he does it beautifully, wrapped in low chords and sinking strings, drowning his sorrows while you look on from the shadows.

This is music for a late winter's night, warm brandy and a ranging fire, a slow dance you can't share. And in that, there's more romance than you'll get in 50 of the Greatest Love Songs clogging up the Asda shelves this Valentine's week.

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