First off, I'll admit to being a complete newcomer to the sounds of the Jewelled Antler, who seem to have filled the scruffy, unassumingly brilliant ragtag collective void left by the late Elephant Six crew. What was I waiting for? Did I think it would just show up on my doorstep one day? Happily, it did, and I couldn't have asked for a cushier or more pleasant introduction. While other Antler projects like Thuja explore more abstract drones and strict improvisation, The Skygreen Leopards add more preconceived songwriting to their improvisation and use slightly higher-fi recording techniques, like eight-track and Minidisc (no super-hissy boomboxes). But the duo's hushed, pastoral breezes, which feature everything from a Jew's harp and penny whistle to field recordings and bouzouki, retain the spontaneous, almost-castoff lightheartedness that is the Antler's chief trademark.

Glenn Donaldson, one half of the Leopards along with Donovan Quinn (who has worked under the name Verdure), once described their creative process thus: "We sit around and drink coffee and talk about Kenneth Patchen." Indeed, their name comes from a poem by Patchen, a highly unique poet even by beat standards. It's worth noting that Donaldson's account doesn't mention writing, singing or touching instruments. Their songs are lightweight and ephemeral, merely the unaccounted-for physical result of contemplative and relaxed living, the soundtracks to their own wayward creation. There's nothing jarring or abrasive (unless natural low-budget recording noise bugs you), but there are several scraps of fluid, tossed-off prettiness that separate the more fleshed-out songs. "Summer Alchemy" sets you in a barnyard with sounds of chirping birds, horses, sheep and wind chimes. Slowly, sun-baked acoustic guitar sneaks into the found sound pastiche, and a gentle instrumental melody coheres. "Hello to All Your Rain" opens with a startlingly gorgeous synthetic string part that gives way to a lovely guitar-based tune which, yet again, seems to creep out of nowhere.

"The Heron (A Dream of Waters, Part Two)", with its layered sound, lazily elegant falsetto harmonies and wistful, almost naïve lyrics ("in the ocean bed I will lay me down / I will fall asleep dreaming of the dreams"), typifies One Thousand Bird Ceremony's more traditional side. It's low-key folk like that of Richard Farina's, or Paul McCartney's first solo album, delivered with the whispery voice of The Clientele's Alasdair Maclean and the rough production of very early Elf Power.

This music is barely there. By the time the album is over, you might have forgotten you were even listening to anything, much less a collection containing several timeless melodies like "Where Do Songs Come From?" and "All Our Plagues were Rainbows". One Thousand Bird Ceremony is a hugely lovable meeting of songwriting, improvisation, eclectic instrumentation and creative production.