"I hate all that sensitive singer-songwriter stuff," announces Ben Christophers. "I'm just like everyone else. Insensitive." Despite his protestations - and comedy impression of a tiger, his growl a feeble purr - he's got more reason than most of his ilk to be introspective. Having made two critically acclaimed albums, Christophers was dropped by his record label and then had a breakdown.

Though now back to health and with a new album, The Spaces in Between, he still cuts a fragile form. His inscrutable, wide-eyed blankness and blond pixie haircut make him look like Kevin Spacey cast as the Fairy Liquid baby, complete with kiss curl. Pressing a button on his magic box of backing tracks, he suddenly freezes, realising he's lost his place in the set-list. Whipping off his guitar and grabbing another, he wears the mortified look of a child who's forgotten a line in the school play.

This naivety, perfectly expressed by his choirboy voice, makes his songs unique. That both flourish within lyrics and rhythms dripping with damaged optimism makes them troubling. Though at heart he's an old-fashioned troubadour armed with an acoustic guitar, he often swamps his songs with contemporary, club-born beats and industrial noises, a mixture of folk and the Prodigy's The Fat of the Land. His innocent observations in The Stream take on an aggressive air as they fight to remain as pure as his astounding vocals; his words flying skywards while his heart sinks to the floor.

Head back, eyes closed, Christophers sings Flowers Drink Upon the Ground, drawing out the word "years" as if reliving every day. Echo renders him ethereal, but there's steel behind every nuance. During title track The Spaces in Between, low voices spike the bubbly synth melody like a mob bursting in on a Brothers Grimm fairytale. But when he gives in to pure sentiment, as on the gorgeous lullaby Fake Eyelash, playing a keyboard with child-like fascination, he proves that sensitivity can be special.