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A surprise contender in numerous 'Best Of 2014' polls last year, The Twilight Sad make the most of their sudden forward momentum with a live album re-working many of that record's miserabilist-brutalist highlights.

No One Wants To Be Here and No One Wants To Leave achieved remarkable critical acclaim for an album that felt willingly coagulated - a splattered wretch of black bile and gotten-goat. The band had never sounded so loud, nor so innocuous. 2007's Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters had something. It felt honest; yes, but brutally so. And even if you ask for something other than heartfelt, clever workings of simple pop-folk melodies, the story was engaging, made all the more so by the telling. Idlewild pulled the same trick when they could make it work.

Seven years on, production was an issue. Peter Katis re-introduced his boomy aesthetic, which works with bands like the National, who manage to make a live-studio album sound like it's being played on the back of a flatbed travelling at 100mph through the Arizona desert. The Twilight Sad record, lacking much of the noisy, gaseous power of earlier collections, came out feeling like a soundcheck recording; an empty Academy 2 room being rattled to its black-painted foundations by a bunch of last-chancers not really expecting it to go big.

But then, despite themselves, they did, and the result is a tie-in album of naked imaginings of songs which were never overly dressed in the first place, as well as a bonus Arthur Russell cover. The previous album's title track immediately sets the template - sparse solo guitar and vocal arrangements of the previously thumping slabs of misery. James Graham's Scottish brogue is front and centre, and without much else to get in its way, it's a rare chance to hear him enunciate every vowel and consonant without screeching feedback and pounding drums muddying the message. For fans of the street-level poetry he expounds, this is something of a treat. Personally, I could take it or leave it.

And so follows workaday versions of workaday songs, unadorned with anything more than a twangy electric guitar and a little reverb. If you were one of those who revelled in the source material, you'll probably be more forgiving of the repetitive feel of much of Òran Mór Session. There aren't any highlights as such, although 'I Could Give You All That You Don't Want' is as good as anything else on display.

'Drown So I Can Watch' mixes things up, introducing - hold on to your hats - an acoustic guitar. 'I Couldn't Say It To Your Face', the aforementioned Arthur Russell cover, sits Graham's voice atop a whoozy organ in the simplest of arrangements of a song that started off life pretty simple. It's a heartfelt, lazy interpretation of the track, aping every melody as well as the tempo of the original. But then, if Graham doesn't want to re-imagine his own songs beyond the obvious, why would you expect him to bother on someone else's?

The Òran Mór Session is for Twilight Sad completists only. If you loved the originals, you'll probably enjoy hearing them in a slightly different style. Just don't expect worlds to shake.

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