Greatest living Canterburian

Here's an ancient one, to start things off, from BBC Oxford back in the day.

LUKE SMITH/ THE FOLK ORCHESTRA/ A SCHOLAR AND A PHYSICIAN, Trailerpark, The Cellar, 11/02.

Barry, the first act, doesn't show up. I don't know whether Barry is man, band or beast, but Barry's not here. So, at the last minute Olly, vocalist from local synthpoppers Trademark is drafted in to do strange things to a laptop. Various slices of pop cheese old and new (cf Beddingfield, Daniel; Hammer, MC) are scrunched and mashed in realtime. The experience - something akin to Manchester noiseniks V/Vm at an office party - is, surprisingly, rather good fun.

Folk Orchestra. Now there's an oxymoron. Orchestra: Huge dinner-jacketed embodiment of 19th Century opulence and emotive Romanticism; Gustav Mahler; Leonard bloody Bernstein.

Folk: Libertarian tradition of populist comunion, eschewing complexity and the strictures of the musical salon; Harry Smith; Joan bloody Baez.

How can these diametric opposuites be reconciled? Answer: they can't, at least not tonight. We get a six-piece folk-pop combo, which is a little bigger than most folk-pop combos I'll grant you, but hardly deserving of orchestra status. And it's pretty standard folk-pop combo fare too, at times mercurial and immediate, and times earnest and dull. They aren't helped by a muddy sound mix that destroys any chance of intimacy - the accordionist reached levels of volume for which most metal guitarists would sell their leathery souls.

Luke Smith sings at the piano, with his Dad on drums. As if this weren't reason enough to love him, he tinkles out an hour of wry, funny, sincere songs about his quiet Canterbury life, all infused with a nervous charm. Musically it's not complex, with echoes of music hall singalongs and simple 70s pop, but it's performed with more than enough jazzy dexterity and aplomb.

It's hard to describe what makes Luke such a great prospect. Phrases like "catchy dittes", "homely honesty" and "subtle drum accompaniment" could be employed, but they call up such horrors as Chas 'n' Dave, or Richard Stillgoe. I suppose Luke is a little like that, but imagine a parallel universe where "Snooker Loopy" is an elegant and moving anthem.

Can't? You'd best attend the next Luke Smith gig, then.