The Rolo night passed off well. Konrad the guitarist was unable to come, on account of his sick mother back in Texas. The groovy wee McGinty boy arrived with a pile of CDs, a theremin and short pants. Put on his DJ togs later, mind. Looking fly in his camo jacket and doing his groovy shit. As he took the stage and began to manipulate great swathes of digital sound, the audience barely recognised that he was there. Perhaps they were still reeling from being shouted at by the Sweat Hogs International, rowdy cats that they are. Rolo didn't let that get to him, and by the time half an hour had passed, the room was with him. Andy told me that Geoff, the boss of the club and a former Mayor of Northampton, thought the music was splendid. Things just got warmer and warmer as the slow burning opening morphed into some rock hard beats. The local MP appeared. I decided not to mention Rolo getting naked at that Red Wedge gig back in 1987. I didn't want him barred from the club for losing us an election before he'd even finished his set. Unmolested and - happily - still fully clad, Rolo went on to play an encore. Many happy punters, one relieved DJ Applebad, one ill-advised trip to the Charles Bradlaugh with some very brave Americans on board. Earlier on, poor Joe Woolley found himself embroiled in something of a struggle, as he strained to be heard above the noise of a fairly large audience all arriving at once. "It's a challenge, dude" he told me, and he battled bravely on. Joe's guitar playing is coming on all the time and he won't be getting saddled with these opening slots too much longer, to be honest with you. So another top night for the Masters of Budvar.

In four months we have taken over an ailing come-all-ye acoustic night and brought it to the point where nobody is in the least bit surprised or put-out to find a small madman spinning and mixing CDs of his own tunes, which - incidentally, Northampton - he created specially for the night. Along the way we've had singer-songwriters, rappers, beatniks, cellists, yodellers and laptop psychedelic droners. And Curtis E. Johnson singing The Fat Lady Of Limbourg.

Are we enjoying this? Don't be stupid.

Next month it accidentally really looks like a proper acoustic club. Gypsy jazz, western swing and a singer-songwriter from the same gang that brought you Dave Kusworth. Yes, it's free, of course.
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