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“These are all true stories in one way or another” claims Simpson in the liner notes, with his tongue in his cheek. True or not, in the spirit of British folk music, they are songs about jealousy, greed, murder, death, cruelty, more murder and ­ quite practically, bearing in mind the number of corpses lying around ­ unusual things to do with a dead body. No wonder Simpson recently described the collection as, “emotionally heavy.”

There are odd beams of light in the murk. One real highlight, “Swooping Molly” is about his daughter’s acrobatic tendencies pre-birth, and ‘acrobatic’ also describes his finger-work as he plays the nearest thing I have heard to Gordon Giltrap. At just over two minutes it is short, but sweetly executed. Longer, and an equally welcome instrumental, “Greystones” is just Simpson on slide alongside veteran bassist Danny Thompson.

Pretty much every other player is highly distinguished too: there is old-time pedal steel player B. J. Cole; Radiohead drummer Phil Selway; top new folkies Andy Cutting and Jon Boden on accordion and fiddle respectively; and Nigel Eaton, who has played his hurdy-gurdy for people like Page and Plant.

Simpson’s previous effort, the possible career-best Prodigal Son, was a warm and varied affair, showing both sides of his transatlantic life and sharing his guitar and banjo skills fairly evenly. With such an acclaimed disc to live up to, he seems to have followed some of the pattern in terms of the variety. Here we have solo tracks, English dance (“Will Atkinson”), New Orleans (“An Englishman Abroad”) and American works (“Stagolee”) ­ not to mention nursery rhyme, as Simpson gets political in “Humpty Dumpty,” an anti-war tirade that may be valid, but feels out of place on an already heavy collection.

For me, the instrumental skills on this disc are as good as, if not better than, on Prodigal Son, but the core material is less appealing overall. “Look Up, Look Down,” for example, has some strikingly clear and resonant banjola, which works beautifully with Cutting’s accordion. Everything is blended together gorgeously by some ethereal pedal steel and Selway’s shuffling drums. The way that the pedal steel works with the accordion makes the overall sound striking. Simpson’s notes refer to the arrangement as “proto-blues.” Sadly, though, I find that his vocals ­ particularly the way that he drops notes and brings them back up as if he can’t hold them ­ take away a lot of the song’s appeal. I think I’d rather hear the superb backing track on its own or with another singer than the track as it is here.

The instrumental resonance continues in the dark classic folk song “Sir Patrick Spens,” where hurdy-gurdy accompanies guitar and accordion. It makes you wonder why more people don’t employ Eaton to add a sparkle to their music.

There is also some tasty songwriting and disc sequencing. The rolling cadences of both “Home Again” and “Will Atkinson” blend tunes, words and picking as naturally as the latter’s dance tune leads into the other instrumental “Kleider Schottische.”

Technically, this album is superb, but I find it hard to muster the emotional enthusiasm I had for Prodigal Son. I can only explain the lack of connection by Simpson’s frustrating singing style and that there are few songs I can relate to; very few with the warmth of that previous album. Even “Home” has pedal steel that seems incongruous in a song whose chorus is about a town near Sheffield.

Maybe my distance from this disc is a purely personal one, and most listeners will be thrilled by its sparkling, spot-on instrumental display. Certainly this will not diminish the mighty reputation that Simpson has built up, particularly over the last ten years.

Derek Walker