They say write about what you know. Doog Cameron, who records lo-fi documentary electronica from his bedroom base 'in the depths of Central Belt Scotland', appears to abide by that mantra as he attests that he's been 'spending most my life living in a jakey paradise'. In which case, he is to be pitied for the sights he has seen, sympathised with for the travail he has endured and congratulated for coming out the other side with this cathartic concept album on the hitherto untapped reservoir of psychodrama and street hassle which pervades the tradition of the smalltown Scottish gala day.

After the Float Rush is his appreciation / exorcism of the local parade's annual Buckfast bacchanalia with its hopeless floats, feeble fairground, fried food and token bouncy castle conspiring to generate a relative sense of occasion. At times, it can be hard to discern Cameron's narration over the hand-stitched patchwork of Korg synthesizers, echoey distortion and lo-fi field samples of crowd noise, amplified announcements, accordions, flute bands and skittering drum'n'bass beats.

His random perambulations with a dictaphone certainly reflect the chaotic bustle while, over a bleak, bluesy acoustic guitar, he delivers 'Ham Oan Piece', an Arab Strap-like commentary on how virtually any communal celebration in Scotland becomes an excuse for a piss-up and the ensuing drunken liaisons. Some of the shriller exchanges are captured on the eerie 'Goan Go Away After the Float Rush', later accompanied by a symphony of sirens as the situation deteriorates further.

It's not quite the sound of crying children on Lou Reed's notoriously grim Berlin but many listeners will identify with this horror and with the baleful soused chorus of 'Simply Depressed Again', rendered to the tune of Tina Turner's 'The Best'.

After the Float Rush is out on Mon 10 Apr, self-released