From small moments to big romance in less than a year: it's all happening for David Kitt. The jump from band contests at Trinity College to picking up to-die-for reviews in everything from NME to Mojo might buckle lesser talents and bigger egos. Yet Kitt appears to be taking the praise and change of circumstances in his laid-back stride, apparently safe in the knowledge that his songs, rather than record deals or plaudits, hold the key to his success.

But for the moment Kitt is also a local hero, which has its own problems, not least of which is a tendency for the home crowd - including his media mates - to gloss over failings he might have as a songwriter or performer. So let's set the record straight: Kitt has some wonderful, beautiful songs; fragile items that waft around your head and make you happy or sad as the occasion arises. The melodies seem brand new, and the way he weaves intriguing lyrics into the fabric of the music is little short of magical.

But he also has songs that are so unfocused you wonder how he has the nerve to sing them: gossamer-thin ideas draped over a wire hanger, angular melodies that poke you in the ribs and musical backing that comes very close to arty pretension. What gets Kitt by onstage is his presence, a blend of surreal friend and goofy anecdotal performer.

The gig is a mixture of the fabulous and the frustrating. He is currently associated with the much loved lo-fi acoustic scene, but I'll hazard a guess that when that tide turns, Kitt will still be standing - in the mainstream, at that.

But those sloppy, half-baked ideas will have to go.