It's not just the once-proud American dollar that's being outshone by the British, allowing them to come over to our land with smug looks on their smug faces, crowing to us "yanks" about how everything in this country is "half-off." Indeed, there's a history of this sort of mania: After we invented the mighty Rock and Roll and let it wither among racist hysteria and Pat Boone covers, we found ourselves taken over by four hicks from some crap coastal shipping town who promptly sold the whole thing back to us. And the Brits haven't shut up about "changing the world" ever since.

Now that the recent explosion of American folk music (unfortunately saddled with the catch-all term "freak-folk") has drifted off into airy-fairy, 20-minute-long harp sagas (Joanna Newsom), silly Marc Bolan-impersonations (Devendra Banhart), and meandering, maundering psychedelic bores (the rest of them), a hearty British response was to be expected, an answer to the question we'd forgotten to ask (how to write actual songs, mostly). This year, a steady stream of fantastic records have been released by these London types, the latest of which is Noah and the Whale's Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down (released yesterday), and they've all begun to tour America. As with the previous British invaders, it's difficult to resist their charm.

At this point, the London Indie-Folks have established themselves enough, and are incestuous enough to be called a scene, if not a movement. (The short version: Johnny Flynn is currently on tour with Laura Marling, who collaborates with Noah and the Whale, who were formerly assisted by Emmy the Great, who now sings with electronic-folkster Jeremy Warmsley and ex-Test-Icicle Lightspeed Champion. All of these people have recently, or are on the cusp of, releasing albums.) And each works with similar ingredients: revved-up Fairport Convention-style English traditional, Bluegrass and American roots music, and, most notably, the brash and worldly naivete of New York's Antifolk scene (The Moldy Peaches, Jeffrey Lewis). They all mix them a little differently, but they all pull from the same sources.

On Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down the Antifolks are in control. Over a backing that could almost be considered twee (glockenspiels abound!), singer Charlie Fink—who even mimics Lewis's wordy sing-speak on opener "2 Atoms in a Molecule"—lets loose with sinister, creepy tales of love lost and babies being eaten by wolves. (Certainly, "Jocasta" is the happiest-sounding song about infanticide ever.) Which is to say that PTWLMD is not 11 versions of the band's minor hit "5 Years Time," itself a pure example of perfect pop. A duet with Marling, the song is a ukulele-based sing-along, complete with whistling solos, and is one of the best songs of the year. But the band is right not to rely on that formula (too much could get a little sickly-sweet), and ultimately, the album is better off for its cheerful excursions into the dark nights in the whale's belly.

Taken with Flynn's brilliant recent debut A Larum, which takes a more traditional English folk tack—his melodies are even occasionally reminiscent of Anglican hymns—and Marling's equally wonderful Alas, I Cannot Swim, which adds a mature, confessional tone (especially shocking, as she was only 17 when she recorded it), it's the similar-yet-diverse songwriting that keeps the London Indie-Folk scene from eating itself. As seen in the recent New York shows of all three acts, each has the ability to add bigness and energy to their meticulously crafted records on stage. They've shown that folk music, once a joke, is still alive, and can still pack an earthy, emotional punch. All that's left is for us to pay attention.