Another signing to Jack Johnson's Brushfire record label, Costa's songs hark back to an age when singer-songwriters were happy to perform, bare their souls and if anyone bought their records, well, that was jolly nice. Occasionally sounding like a latterday Peter Sarstedt - he of the classic Where Do You Go To My Lovely? or, bizarrely Tim Burgess of The Charlatans (!) - Costa's output is emotive without being too... emotional, as on the heart-achingly beautiful Astair.

His layered vocal harmonies on tracks such as Sunshine recall the halcyon days of Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young and the boy can also rock, as on Sweet Thursday or the mid-tempo'd and haunting Yellow Taxi. While avoiding being sentimental Songs We Sing is admittedly a tad lightweight here and there, and borders sometimes on the twee.

But overall this is a pretty good record and there's enough here to suggest it could be a base from which the 23-year-old Californian can surely develop and grow into perhaps quite a significant artist.