THERE are few things more depressing than the music of Elvis Presley, but one of them is the music of Jim Reeves.

Should I ever wish to listen to such sentimental, banal tosh, I’d build myself a time machine, buy a British Rail ticket and visit a Scottish wedding at a working men’s club in Kirkcaldy in 1975. But I never will, so I won’t.

Thus it was with great displeasure that I discovered these artistes were among those whose songs were being played as background music when I visited the recently opened Branded Bull steakhouse.

It was dire stuff – a dirge of pop-country from decades best forgotten.

I’d guess it was meant to complement with witty irony the restaurant’s decor, which includes a mural of cowboys riding the plains at sundown and all sorts of bull-related paraphernalia.

It’s an odd place, this. For despite the dirge and the decoration, I rather warmed to it.

It’s got “theme restaurant” branded across its bovine backside, but it’s also a place with ambition.

The meat, for instance, is supplied by Aubrey Allen, a merchant of some repute.

The prices, though, reflect that ambition and I’m far from convinced that I want to pay top whack at a place in which would-be cowboys yodel over the sound system.

But enough moans and on to the main thing – the steaks.

I visited on a midweek evening between Christmas and New Year with my wife and our two sons and all of us were impressed by the meat we ate.

Murray, Ewan and I ordered 10oz sirloins cooked rare and they emerged from the kitchen pretty much spot-on.