SCHOOLED in the old way, under the tutelage of such luminaries as Leo Rowsome and Séamus Ennis, Neil Mulligan's music belongs not to the I'll-get-more-notes-in-if-it-kills-me formula of modern music, but to a gentler, more reflective, age.

Evidence to this effect comes both from the names of some of the tunes her - 'The Langgstern Pony' and 'The Standing Abbey', for instance - and the presence of some fine slow airs among the album's sixteen tracks.

His playing is uncluttered, either by an over-complex style or the intrusion of other musical instruments, and the album works all the better for it, the music being allowed to create its own internal dynamic. 'The Bonny Bunch of Roses' is a case in point, the drones and regulators on this Napoleonic air being used sparingly but in a haunting fashion. There are other fine examples too, like playing on his own reel 'Barr Na Cúille', where the odd bum note invests this commemorative piece with even greater humanity.

If, in conclusion, I might use an analogy drawn from my limited experience of alcohol(!), 'Barr na Cúille' is like a classy single malt whisky, demanding to be savoured and tasted long.

There is nothing ephemeral about it; when other albums have gone the way of memory, this one will still be with us, in all its understated glory.

• Oliver P. Sweeney