Franz Ferdinand once declared that their mission was to "make music for girls to dance to", but if you're more fond of making girls scream like a One Direction gig in Shea Stadium you could do worse than pick up an acoustic guitar right now. The success of Ed Sheeran may baffle as many as it bewitches but he's far from alone. In fact, there are some equally unstarry (and far folkier) artists making teenage fans go weak at the knees right now, such as Benjamin Francis Leftwich or Ben Howard, who packed out London's Shepherd's Bush Empire last month with a young and largely female crowd teetering on the brink of delirium.

How did this strand of strait-laced folk become worshipped in this way? Ben Walker, Robbie Wojciechowski and Stephen Thomas, the trio behind new London folk label Folkroom, believe that a new generation has been inspired by the likes of Laura Marling, Johnny Flynn and Mumford & Sons, along with more classic influences such as Simon & Garfunkel.

Ben Howard. Photo: PR

"When I grew up you learned to play guitar to join an indie rock band and be the next Strokes or Libertines," says Walker. "Now the trend is to pick up acoustic guitars."

Over mugs of tea in a Brixton market cafe they reveal how Folkroom started when Stephen spotted too many singer-songwriter types shoved on bills with metal bands at inappropriate venues. The trio set up a fortnightly folk club with the mission to give punters "that woozy cider moment where you feel you're in a dark-lit pub in Devon somewhere". The night has since expanded into a label, inspired by the success of Communion (the label set up by Mumfords' Ben Lovett) which has launched the careers of Ben Howard and Michael Kiwanuka, as well as signing up hotly tipped stars such as Daughter. Despite being only a few months old, Folkroom already has its own free compilation out: Folkroom Presents Anthology One. The trio rave about the talents of Andrew Butler and Josienne Clarke, although my favourite track is Camille Delean's Rivers, which has an almost Spector-esque chug to it, like something off Dion's Born To Be With You. All tracks are various shades of twee (Woodford Green's number stepping dangerously over the line) but there's a naive charm at play that is infectious, not least because several artists, such as Lucy Cait and Laura Boyle, are not yet old enough to even order a pint of cider.

<a href="http://folkroomrecords.bandcamp.com/track/rivers">Rivers by Camille Delean</a>

Of course, this is only one branch of the sturdy folk tree; some purists would argue it's not even really folk at all, more an earnest, singer-songwritery thing that won't go away as long as acoustic guitars are there to be picked up and picked at. But then folk exists in myriad forms. In the last decade alone we've witnessed psych-folk, antifolk, freak-folk, trad-folk and folktronica. And in a current scene where the folk umbrella can embrace Damon Albarn's "Afro-pastoral folk opera" Dr Dee and also Revere covering Joy Division's Love Will Tear Us Apart with Toumani Diabaté, it's hard to hold up any one thing as a sign of the genre's true health.

Still, it was almost certainly as a reaction to these more staid folkies that the band Sproatly Smith jumped out at me while flicking through the pages of fRoots magazine. Their press shots revealed a fondness for hiding any ordinariness behind animal heads – hares, goats, fluffy dogs – and the Herefordshire band's music is equally otherworldly.

Their recent third album, The Minstrel's Grave, is full of beguiling songs such as The Mermaid Of Marden, which manages to combine traditional English folk and psychedelic influences with nods to medieval minstrel music and what sounds like a ghostly, Mercury Rev-esque musical saw. At other times tracks such as Song For Annie Needham are filled with cafe chatter and wind chimes, a sound reminiscent of last year's Mercury-nominated Diamond Mine by King Creosote and Jon Hopkins. Talking of chatter, one current project that's worth investigating is Gerry Diver's Speech Project. Five years in the making, it takes conversations with Irish folkies, from Shane MacGowan to accordion player Joe Cooley (who died in 1973) and uses them as the backbone for his compositions before wrapping them in fiddles and other traditional fare. Not only does it highlight the inherent musicality of ordinary conversation but it manages to play on the feelings of nostalgia and emotion so prevalent in hipster world now (and do so without ever feeling like it's chasing a trend).

<a href="http://sproatlysmith.bandcamp.com/album/the-minstrels-grave">the minstrel's grave by sproatly smith</a>

Anyway, back to The Minstrel's Grave which doubly fascinated me thanks to the review of it in fRoots which suggested that this year might welcome in "the new wave of Weirdlore" (I trust none of you missed the previous wave, right?). This June sees an entire festival in Bristol – billed simply as Weirdlore: Psych Folk and Beyond – dedicated to promoting the more freaky side of folk. Visit their website and you'll find intriguing artists such as the spooky Sharron Kraus or the Oxford-based Telling The Bees. The latter of these artists met in a place called the Catweazle Club, which apparently is no stranger to acts such as the Naked Mystic – a striptease artist who combines getting his kit off with reciting Sufi poetry. Their music, like their twirly moustaches, is gloriously anachronistic, but at their best they do recall the wonderful acid-fried medieval rock band Circulus (fans of which should check out main man Michael Tyack's Princes In The Tower).

As well as bands, Weirdlore's website promises workshops and links to informative articles on the ancient practice of disguising yourself as an animal, instructions that contain such detail they make Sproatly Smith look like part-timers with their hare masks. "One can wear a cloth covered frame, traditionally of wickerwork, which totally covers the wearer making him seem entirely the impersonated beast," says the piece by Corwen ap Broch of Kate & Corwen. "Such was the case with the Norwich Dragon, Snap2, whose costume at times even included flame throwing-machines and fireworks. No wonder the operator had to be paid danger money!"

Should Sheeran et al feel the need to spice up their acts, they know where to come.

Next month On Shuffle explores punk – make your suggestions below