AMERICAN CELTIC

Cat chasin' its tail, ladies' skirts a' swirlin', dust rising up off the ol' wood floor. . . Not traditional, but archaic, the Yankee Celtic Consort pulls back the curtain of time, and suddenly you're there too, hoppin' and leapin' to a homespun music that pulses with the innocence of a bygone era.

There's scarcely anything modern about this album than the fact it's a high fidelity recording. The instruments, the songs, the performances are a faded sepia daguerreotype - and you're one of the faces staring out of it. Fiddles, whistles, banjos, mandolins - even the voices sound like your great-great-great grandparents, when they were young and full of apple cider vinegar.

Like the Chieftains, only (if that's possible) richer, realer, this is an extraordinary work of musicianship - and time travel.