When Wisconsin indie-folk legends DeYarmond Edison fractured, the members hurried into other projects - most notably, Justin Vernon became Bon Iver. Most of the rest of the collective formed Megafaun, but Chris Porterfield went out to invent Conrad Plymouth (who actually ended up opening for Vernon's vastly more successful splinter), and later on, Field Report. You'd think there would be pangs of fist-shaking jealousy or viridian envy - but apparently not. Though both diverged at a critical point in life, and Vernon went to superstardom while Porterfield scurried between support slots, the Field Report mainman harbours no resentment; he actually draws inspiration from his old band chum, and remains amicable with him.

Even if their paths went in differing directions, they share similarities in their sound - Field Report, the eponymous debut, recalls the Midwest isolation and fragility of heartfelt emotions of For Emma, Forever Ago. There are shared moments of crackling falsetto and the campfire acoustica hellbent on surging shivers through your spine. They both inhabit a niche of folk that can simultaneously evoke the terrors and bleakness of loneliness, but also the Clover advert orange glow of familial harmony. There are strands of desolation, there are strands of unequivocal vigour.

'Chico The American' rekindles memories of the Final Fantasy franchise - lolloping soft synths and metallic blips, shaken with rattling snares and sparse guitars create a beautiful, placid atmosphere for meandering through the wilderness (whether artificial or real). It's a dawn anthem. 'Evergreen' breeds a similar feeling. It's encased in a thin layer of frost, with a nautical brass/synth motif in the undercurrent and the occasional shimmer of guitar. It's indicative of the quality of folk available - there's a tendency for folk musicians to opt for skeletal textures or just solo the whole thing. On Field Report, texture is at the forefront, with many efforts comprising interwoven layers of many instruments, and the result is phenomenal for it. When the sound is fuller, richer, you can explore more with more success. There's only so much one man and his guitar can do.

There are lots of similarities to Bon Iver, but then there were bound to be. The two outfits have a penchant for the pensive, the methodical and the power of dynamics. They both love the acoustic guitar and are partial to a slice of US folk-pie. It's akin to when the Gallaghers divorced - Oasis had a definite sound, and when the two brothers unceremoniously broke up, they both went out and did essentially the same thing. Porterfield and Vernon are comparable (though infinitely more talented). However, there are differences too: Vernon tends to include more electronic aspects - not that he's a dance act of course - and is very fond of higher registers, whereas Porterfield leans towards alt. country/Americana slightly more.

Tracks like 'Fergus Falls' and 'Route 18' are home to adroit wordsmithery. On the delicate 'Incommunicado', you can hear Porterfield's flair for waxing lyrical: "I could have been in California for coming up now on nine years/ but I wouldn't be here pining for you/ I never would have made my way out here." The cut evolves beyond quaintness, namechecking Liberace and Jeffrey Dahmer as a rockier tone pervades. The band have told in the past of their fondness for telling stories they've either seen or experienced, and the personality within their music feels all too real. Their heartbreak is yours, their sadness is palpable - Porterfield & Co. have managed to inject their sound with an intimate streak.

Field Report is rife with comparisons to the more famous shrapnel of DeYarmond Edison. However, when the collection is listened to thoroughly and concurrently, those similarities begin to fade - it's still frail Midwest folk, but it's told from a wholly new perspective. There are superficial likenesses, but when you peel back the top layer, Field Report's noises take on a completely different guise, offering a more Southern approach to the genre. If you look past the surface, you'll be able to appreciate the calibre of this record on its own merit rather than as an imitation. These are brilliant capsules of modern folk, and you're advised to ingest them twice daily in a forest sodden with rolling mist and the sharpness of dawn.