David Ford is a man driven by the faith of his beliefs – both in what needs saying and in the power of his own ability.

His name and reputation as a startling singer-songwriter grew by word of mouth, a dedicated following and the power of his performances, and have seen the former Easyworld singer acclaimed as a critics choice.

And he knows there’s only one way of getting yourself noticed... by “getting yourself out there”.

His energy saw this one-man-band cottage industry, from the south coast become a very hot property indeed with his debut I Sincerely Apologise for All the Trouble I’ve Caused and its follow-up Songs For The Road both singled out as albums of the year – and impressing an American hotel chain owner so much that he gave David free accommodation throughout his US tour – just as long as he put him on the guest list for every gig.

That appeal comes from his boundless energy, quirky, experimental style and determination to do it all himself – from drumming to trumpets.

“I’m an enthusiast,” he tells me, as we talk during a break in rehearsals at a studio in his hometown of Eastbourne, Sussex.

“I do everything myself. I like the control and getting everything exactly how I like it. So if I need a trumpet I learn to play the trumpet!

“After all, I don’t have a record deal and any other means of getting out there and doing this. Getting other people in involves money, which I just don’t have.

“However, at the minute I do have a couple of guitarists playing with me – but they are incredibly inexpensive.”

So, by his own fair hand, he conjures up punchy life-affirming songs reminiscent of the likes of Bob Dylan, Tom Waits, Bruce Springsteen, The Beatles and Stones – with blasts of brass, surf guitar, viola, and bizarre homemade instruments – including one designed to sound like the sound of metal been thrown against a concrete floor.

I enjoy challenges…” he says. “Though I don’t necessarily choose them.”

Never one to shy away from serious issues, David’s music covers everything from terrorism (the shooting of policeman Stephen Carroll in Northern Ireland) to Guantanamo Bay. “I don’t write about those things because I’m a political writer; I would take exception to that,” he says. “But I do write about things I think are important. We had a war in Iraq, which turned out to be not about the things we were told about. But I can’t believe no one was writing songs about it – apart from Neil Young and George Michael, of all people. Why was it not like Vietnam? I was a big deal; it affected a lot of people and a lot of people died.

“I want every album I write to be an historical moment and to document the age in which it is written.”

He adds: “You can’t get political songs on the radio and out into the world. People don’t do those songs as they realise it’s not good for their career. Perhaps someone like PJ Harvey can do it, but not a new artist.”

His last album Let The Hard Times Roll was inspired by the economic downturn. It’s perhaps not the cheeriest of subjects, I suggest. “I find the recession is extremely inspirational,” he says.

And, to be fair, it’s an upbeat, boisterous offering. It’s also very human.

“I like music that’s authentic,” he says. “Like old records where you can hear the sound of the room people are in. So much modern music sounds like it hasn’t even been made by a human being.

On one song, Missouri, recorded in a US hotel room, you can hear the TV news in the background. “I wanted to make a record that’s high quality but that’s not the same as making it sound sterile. I make music in the real world, not in a test tube.”

With his leftfield approach and reluctance to ignore the real world, he stands apart from the mass of men-with-guitars out there.

“I go to great pains not to be an acoustic guitar playing singer-songwriter,” he says.

“I like all sorts of music and don’t just do one thing because it’s an easy product.

“I suspect that what a lot of people are striving for is a marketable, sellable product, and I don’t have that much respect for it.”

He must strike an interesting figure in his seaside neighbourhood – a place better known for its legions of retirees, than a hotbed of new music.

“Eighty per cent of the population are of retirement age, so a grumpy old man like me fits in well,” says the 35 year-old; not exactly a veteran.

“I feel like an elder statesman,” he says. “I’ve been doing this as a job for 10 years, but started relatively late in life. I started by trying to find out what made the music I like more special than the music I didn’t like. And that’s what I’m still doing. It’s a lifelong process; I would never say ‘I know it all’.

“I am always finding new records I’ve never heard before.

“It’s a voyage of discovery.”