Dan Snaith's debut album, Start Breaking My Heart, is spliced with arcs of rainbow melody, hopscotch percussion patterns, and playground children laughing. Humanity and nature are strong threads through this album: beauty and mystery are revealed in the mundane and ordinary.
It's kind of a distillation of those rare moments when you look around and feel a strange glow of contentment - some friends called over unexpectedly, your room is tidy for once and not strewn with leftover apple cores, banana skins and orange peel. And it was a nice day for record shopping. Things could be worse, but they're not. For that you are truly grateful.
Dan plays guitars and keyboards, preferring to record a melody straight up than sample someone else's, combining these basic elements with computer trickery. It gives the album an electronic/organic feel, warm but with a slightly uptight twitch, like you know he's going to produce some really banging dancefloor track one day. Not today, though.
While there's a lot going on - some extraordinary explosions of rapid fire laser beats, out of which fairy dust nursery rhymes come dancing, Start Breaking My Heart is so beautifully arranged - equal parts grace and dexterity - it manages to both stimulate and soothe at the same time.