MOST English folk albums consist of regurgitated versions of well known songs and a well known cosy clique of guests.

But Sam Lee’s debut is different. Not for him Carthy’s back catalogue or Cecil Sharp’s well visited archive. Lee has instead gone back to the roots; burning midnight oil in gipsy caravans and trawling traveller sites. This album is the result and features eight tracks collected on his own travels from a Sussex shepherd, a Surrey horse-dealer and the man who first introduced him to traditional music; Scottish balladeer Stanley Robertson.

It’s a far cry from Lee’s early Michael Jackson-loving days; his days teaching wilderness survival and nights as a burlesque dancer wearing hot pants sprayed with glitter.

And he is revelling in his brave new world. The arrangements here are often unconventional, but soaring above them is Lee’s pure voice; a voice totally immersed in the English singing tradition.

This is also an important album because it gives a rare chance to hear centuries old songs for the first time. Cecil Sharp would be mightily proud of Sam Lee.