Dublin-based multi-instrumentalist and student of music Greg Clifford certainly isn’t one to shun experimentation. Aside from his own musical leanings, he has toured internationally with the Diversus Guitar Ensemble, and recently took part in RTE’s ‘Instrumental’ series in which he undertook to learn a new instrument in four months.

It’s an attitude that should serve him well, and the success of the diversity of his approach (that work as an arranger and session guitarist also feed into) may become all the more apparent on future releases; there is just something about ‘Sun Of The Jackal’ that’s hard to engage with.

Having already released his debut EP and album in 2012, and the ‘Confessions’ EP and ‘The Temple Lane Recordings’ in 2013, Clifford continues here with the folksy singer/songwriter style that calls to mind Bert Jansch one minute, John Martyn the next. His colleague on violin and flute, Jack “The Jackal” Sherry, sets out his stall from the beginning, hanging back on Who Do You Think You’re Fooling to let Clifford build a mood with his picked acoustic guitar and vocal. Sherry gradually bolsters Clifford’s dual organics towards the coda where soft layers of vocals and strings intertwine.

A Latin influence permeates the playing on The Tempest Within with what sounds like the percussive thrum of guitar resonating with palm thumps as the strings are hit. A lone violin accompanies Clifford, and Sherry’s embellishments on the record are skilfully unobtrusive for the most part, but his influence can’t be clearer from the title of this release.

Sombre musings abound on ‘Sun Of The Jackal’ – “Where did it all go wrong/where have the good times gone” on Unfinished Endings, or Relic Of The Past’s angst and naval gazing (“I’ll forever be a stranger to myself”). Clifford’s guitar expertise dispels the desire to hit the forward button on a few occasions; where a strummed Frozen In Time appears bland alongside its bedfellows, for example, Numb – structured around a circling plucked guitar riff, just voice and guitar – is altogether more successful.  These folkier asides are where Clifford excels, his sentiments more astute, “I don’t practise religion/I’d rather fly/I don’t have any politics/I will survive”.

A country-inflected Can’t Run Anymore takes us out, a trace of Kurt Wagner in Clifford’s vocal hinting at yet more influences from which he draws. The trouble is that ‘Sun Of The Jackal’ seems to be a dilution of blues, country, folk and whatever else Clifford has soaked up during his musical career. Despite the calibre of musicianship on display, what’s missing is Clifford’s own singular voice to raise it from the MOR malaise.