WHEN some people want things off their chests, they opt for a therapist's couch and a few camomile teas.

Others insist on assembling 16-piece folk-rock monstrosities and declaring sonic warfare on an audience of bearded thirty-somethings who grunt and whoop with a kind of masochistic abandon. They don't deserve it, these university librarian types, having probably spent their lives cultivating obscure record collections only to experience unexpected joy as one of their staples descends towards the worst kind of chest-thumping, angst-ridden, Celtic guff since Big Country. And that's just the women.

This de facto Scottish nu-folk showcase had started so promisingly when Body Parts came on. Comprising Jenny Reeve of Strike the Colours and Jill O'Sullivan from Sparrow and the Workshop, their offbeat lo-fi guitars and violins might have sounded insipid but for the lovely melancholy songwriting. The American O'Sullivan emotes like a kind of indie Stevie Nicks, interplaying poignantly with Reeve's voice, with cookie interludes about everything from natural blondes to Orange marches between songs.

The laughing stops when Rob St John and his six-piece take the stage. He's from Burnley, but used to live in Edinburgh, and like Meursault is signed to the city's Song, By Toad label. He warbles like David Gedge drowning in custard, but it is somehow the perfect fit for his dazzling windswept soundscapes. My anxieties began when Meursault's army filed onstage. By the second time a song began with a "Hoy!" I knew we were in trouble. Their new album moves towards the mainstream but maintains texture. Live, they're about one record away from the new Runrig.

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