Into the big metropolis again. The bustle of Waterloo station with its late trains now to Paris and Brussels is soon swapped for the ill lit cold alleyways that lead to the Festival Hall complex. There is a method to this madness of not taking the tube direct to Tottenham Court Road. I do not come here to mix with the leather armpit folks gently milling around the foyer of this sedate art building, nor do I respond as they do now to the dong of the curtain call bell. I came for one thing tonight. The toilets at the Festival Hall are clean, the soap is scented, the water always hot. North of the river into the garish lights of Soho toilet soap is not in abundance. Besides the moon on the river tonight is poetic.

The walk across Charing Cross Bridge, just a thin tarmacadan strip that runs alongside the rail line is like a walk into Ray Davie's Waterloo Sunset. All the buildings along the river ablaze of light, the river Thames below, cold and running freezing to the sea past all those dark wharfs that inhabit Dickens Great Expectations. Half way along this bridge sits a poet, cross legged in an alcove, huddled around a single coloured candle, neatly surrounded by leaves of his poetry which he sells to passers by.

For now I'm making my way out of Charing Cross station, past St. Martin's In the Fields Church on the corner of Trafalgar Square where Paul McCartney held a special service for Linda last year. The papers speak of the Beatle having a new love and so he should, the lines in his face show only too well that Linda's death has aged him. His heart has found a home and the relentless thirst of the tabloids cannot dampen that.

In Charing Cross Road there is a bookshop, at 48a, which in earlier times would have, no doubt, fitted the description found in 84 Charing Cross Road. It is less pristine, more used to selling second hand volumes now but still a wonderful treasure house of books. It is late, however and closed tonight.

The walk to the 12 Bar is roughly about five minutes or so from Trafalgar Square, past the Garrick Theatre, then Leicester Square tube, with Leicester Squares dazzling neon hub bub just across the road on my left, dodging the lights of London traffic, the area alive with theatres and theatre goers. I'm seeking the sanctity of an altogether hidden piece of London magic, the 12 Bar Club.

Tonight the Handsome Family are across the way at the Borderline. It will be packed so my friends tell me later. So I can expect the 12 Bar to have a smaller audience perhaps. Slaid Cleaves gig was pencilled in late in the day so many may not know he's here.

Slaid Cleaves won the Kerrville, 'Texas' New Songwriters Award a while back, released a his first album called No Angel Knows and has now followed it up with Broke Down.

Slaid Cleaves, Portland, Maine songwriter currently residing in Austin, Texas was at the 12 Bar London last night. The gig was hastily arranged, part of a Philo/Rounder promotional tour as a taster for his return with a band in May.

Slaid had been at the annual crazy record industry bash, South by Southwest in Austin at the weekend. He'd returned from a tour just days before which included a gig with the one and only Tom Rush at the Turning Point in New York.

Was that a good one? Slaid nodded and let the breath out between his teeth. 'He looks so young just like his record covers . . .' Has he still got that voice? A further nod and a release of breath. Slaid Cleaves is still relatively unknown but his name just crops up all the time. Last here in London for another classic gig, a couple of years ago when Ray Wylie Hubbard, Carrie Newcomer and Slaid Cleaves plus Ms Newcomers band with the addition of Oklahoma's Terry 'Buffalo' Ware wanged the walls of the Borderline across the road.

Did he find that romantic restaurant he wanted for when his wife flew in to join him I wondered. 'I did, place was around here somewhere they served garlic with everything, even in the beer, the starters, the main course and the ice cream, it all had garlic in it. Crazy guy ran it, wish I could remember where it was and what it was called.'

These days he's spending long periods of time on the road touring and savouring those times in between to get back to Austin. Must be hard I suggest, on a relationship. 'Makes you appreciate the time when you are together,' he smiles. Slaid has that quiet calm and politeness which comes across also in one of Texas's finest Ray Wylie Hubbard.

The time is after ten now and Slaid Cleaves excuses himself from the bar to prepare himself for his first gig at the 12 Bar. He didn't even know he was playing here until yesterday. Oyvind Nyborg and I discovered the gig just this morning. Seemed like a good idea to finally meet up at it.

We endured a lame first on band that consisted of a songwriter backed by a bassist, guitarist and organist who sounded like they hadn't rehearsed or they just were so nervous they couldn't find the notes. the poor guy had no voice, no dynamics and no idea of how to handle a crowd. Cruelly I suggested to Oyvind that the lead guy should have stayed in his bedroom singing to the mirror.

So we retired to the bar where we chanced upon a chat with Slaid Cleaves then continued with our chat about this, that and everything including how Oyvind regarded Townes Van Zandt. Oyvind's here on a journalism degree of some sort, he has an over riding passion to complete a Townes documentary. He first saw the late, great Texas songwriter in Oslo in the 1990s. 'It was a religious experience,' he says shaking his head. Townes playing to a 150 people, 'the bar staff didn't open the tills because they didn't want to disturb the atmosphere. Everytime he came to Oslo after that, I saw him six or seven times he was either great or not so great but that first performance ohhh . . .' he smiles.

Oyvind's young, short cropped blonde hair and Elvis Costello half glasses, a passion for music that is plainly evident from what he says here. He's never seen or heard of Slaid Cleaves but warms to my description of having that 'highways whine of a voice'. The second act, a duo are finishing. Don't know who they were but they knew how to go for it. Classic format, sat on stools, one guy singing the songs with power and passion and his friend reeling out the solos from his acoustic. That's better. Hope that other band were taking due note of that one.

The 12 Bar isn't full tonight, just a few folks. It is so tiny and the sound is a combination of a guy who really knows how to mike a performer and the effect of this old 1635 brick forge walls that ring the sound back into the audience. You won't believe how small this place is. Like someone's tiny front room.

Visitors to the 12 Bar for the first time will be surprised that this little cosy club exists at all. Just a small board out on the pavement in Denmark Street to mark where the alley is by the side of Andy's guitar shop. A Dickensian back alley of whitewashed brick with a series of flyers hung at its entrance. I note that Suzi Ragsdale has a support slot here next week. The flyer is cleverly done, makes it look like she is the star attraction which isn't far from the truth.

Mark the cameraman is coming down the stairs as I go in 'make sure you charge him a tenner to get in here . . .' he laughs to the doorman. MarK's been working here since for ever, he runs a a photography and video business and films all the kind of people I love, Hazeldine, Stacey Earle and tonight Slaid Cleaves. Actually I think last nights show was filmed for the web, must find the link for that because it's worth looking in on to see the 12 Bar.

You duck you head down on the right to enter the performance room. Just a low beam box room with the ceiling cut in half to expose a balcony above. A small rectangular stage puts the performers heads staring up at people crammed in the tiny balcony area above and looking down at the people either sat at small tables or against the walls. It is dark and cosy here. When Slaid is well into his set Oyvind and I sit on the box that works as a step up onto the stage. Oyvind has his camera so he has one good shot of Slaid which should appear here soon.

For such a small audience Slaid Cleaves gets a big welcome and responds in kind to it. First thing you have to say about him is he can charm an audience out of the trees. He plugs in his guitar and the set begins with the title track of his first CD No Angel Knows. He gets as far as the middle eight when the audience start to applaud, 'no clapping yet,' he grins, 'this is a bluegrass song, yeah we got the killing done but we aren't done with the atonement yet . . .'

Such a fine song with some stark imagery opening it: 'On a desert highway, an old Chevrolet, my engine dyin', tryin to get away, thinkin' 'bout the consequences of the road I chose, now I know what no angel knows . . .'

Then its into the new album, without it to hand (I leant it to a friend) I don't recall what the songs are called but the first of the new ones starts 'it's New Years Day, just like the day before.' Slaid plays with a pick and his guitar style is simple yet effective, it is his voice that you really get caught by. Always makes me picture desert highways and the whine of the wind, clear, plaintive and stark.

Already the audience is giving him tons of appreciation. 'Thanks for coming out for me on a school night,' he thanks us. The title track is next from the new album, Broke Down. Most of Slaid's songs either feature old trucks or pawn shops and 'Sheri had a pawn shop' in this one.

I see he's playing the Woody Guthrie festival in Okalahoma this year. I've put some music to some of Woody's words he tells us, typical Woody Guthrie sentiments of 'Don't want your pearly gates, don't want your streets of gold . . .'

Perfect choice after this Guthrie song is Breakfast in Hell. 'I got a folk song for you, my definition of a folk song is somebody has to get killed in it.' Slaid's song is based on an event that happened in the 1800's on Lake Huron to some bloke or place called Sandy Grey's. Comes over like that Country Joe classic Man From Aphabaska and reminds me of the times that Grey Owl lived on the rim of.

This one really got the audience going and Slaid had us join in trying to break the log jam that occurs in the song by following his huh huh's on cue, great rabble rousing chorus to this one 'I'll be damned, we'll break this jam or it's breakfast in hell boys'. Great song.

With the room on an up he nailed us with Lydia off the new album, as Oyvind would observe the American songwriters are great storytellers. Slaid sings about a woman who 'from a forty year old coffee cup she sips a bit of gin' and he lays that line perfectly from it too 'Oh Lydia your tears are heaven's rain.' Love that.

The performer also writes with a lady called Karen Posten who he informs us was in a band called 'Aunt Rains First Prize Beets'. He's a wag. Think that Karen Posten and him might have written the Horseshoe Lounge. 'Anyone been to Austin?' 'Anyone know the Horseshoe Lounge on South Lamarr? My wife got beat by a one arm pool player there, she isn't very good . . .

This song reminds me of Anthony Neff's Lakeside Lounge celebrating a bar in Raleigh, North Carolina where Kenny Roby and one of the Backlsliders tend bar on occasions . Great line in the Horseshoe Lounge: 'peel the label off a Miller Lite' I like simple, effective imagery.

Slaid Cleave's great talent is to keep it simple and effective, nothing too flashy when he plays the guitar but he can turn an audience with just 'wood, wire and words'. The other thing is that he has roots and those are deep in his own father's who he describes in the next song 'in the spring of '57 he turned 18 listening to Hank, Elvis and Gene . . .'

It was from his father that Slaid got his guitar, an old Gibson J50 and learnt his first songs, My Buckets Got A Hole In It and Puff The Magic Dragon (love that song) 'and when I left home I took all his records . . .' he laughs.

Today Slaid Cleaves was exploring some more of those roots on the UK radio. He tells a great story about being in a radio booth today and being linked to another part of the country where Wayne 'The Train' Hancock is also in a radio booth. They trade verses across the airwaves of Hank Williams Lonesome Blues. 'Only trouble is I sing it like this (goes into a bar of Lonesome Blues) and Wayne sings it like this (imitates Wayne's more laconic loping way with it).

The audience really gets behind him on this one, his voice is uncanny how it can just get that yodel falsetto right, 'I'm going down three times Lord, I'm only coming up twice . . .' he sings. Slaid notes that he learnt to yodel from listening to Slim Whitman who said that you had to have two voices, your singing voice and your falsetto voice.

'Anyone here heard of Don Walser?' he asks continuing feeling warmed by the audience response to his set tonight. Walser still hangs out in small Austin bars playing great country stamped pretty much with his own style. Slaid does an excellent song of Walser's called My Ride With Jimmy, dedicated to Jimmy Rodgers. Any song that has a line in it that goes 'I heard the sound of an outbound freight . . .' is going to draw me in after only a few bars . . .

A perfect point for Slaid Cleaves then to slip into his own chilling tribute to Hank Williams. At 29 is as delicate, frail and sad as the figure of Hank Williams himself. Love that song, on the album its just Slaid's vocals and Troy Miller playing dobro.

'When you died at 29
you heard the sound of angels
but did you hear the lonesome cries
of the ones you left behind'

Troy Miller may make it here when the band comes back with Slaid in May or Gurf Morlix depending on who is available. Troy is only 22 apparently.

Earlier I'd shouted for Last of the V8s and got a grin 'yeah it's on here coming soon,' he'd laughed from the stage. Didn't realise that there was a London connection to this song through the line 'blood and bone, wood and steel'.

Slaid was a big Clash fan used to dress up like Mick Jones with scarf around his wrist and all. In a book about the Clash, possibly John Savage, don't remember there is a picture of them on one side of the page and on the other just a picture of their guitars and gear. The caption underneath reads 'blood and bone, wood and steel.' 'Saw 'em on the Combat Rock tour in Boston, it was all over by then but I enjoyed 'em,' he tells us.

'With blood and bone and wood and steel
we fight against time and it's a losing deal
can't you see it slippin' by fast
baby don't you know we're the last
of the V8's baby'

That was the end of the official set but the crowd were up and shouting for him as though their numbers were three or four times as strong. He clearly appreciated it, decided not to leave the stage, no way he could anyway, both Oyvind and I were blocking him in.

Sliad also sings his wife's favourite, one he plays for her every night, a favourite of mine too called Don't Tell Me, one of them songs about loss and love, lyrically simple but it still catches you if you are in that mood. Slaid follows it with one off the new album I think, begins 'Plenty of keys on my key ring' and then gets the the appreciation of the crowd when he goes to put his guitar down, everyone sounds like there is three or four times more people there. He clearly is chuffed by the applause, he doesn't leave the stage, Oyvind and I were sat on the step anyway so he picks up his guitar and tries to decide what will be an encore.

Someone upstairs shouts for a Townes song. 'Don't know any of them all the way through to be able to play one,' he replies, 'been meaning to work one of those up.' I guess Snowin on Raton would be a good one for Slaid to do, after all it was he and Carrie Newcomer who did those haunting choruses behind Ray Wylie just across this road at the Borderline all that while ago.

The final song is a buskers song which he had developed over his time busking on the streets in Cork, Ireland and back in Portland, Maine. 'It's got 40 verses but I'm only going to do 35 of 'em tonight,' he jokes. The song expanded over his time driving the hour between the country where he lived and the centre of the city of Portland. Each verse was a varient on the theme of this blowing oil, bleeding engine. A neat ending to the evening and proof that give a good songwriter a good audience and they can turn something special out of a performance.

I went to give Oyvind back his pen, both my biro's were giving me gip, but he just smiled 'keep it for writing the review up on the train' Like I said 'a good guy.' Oyvind went to catch a train home and I to thank Slaid for his performance, something I learnt off a friend, just go up and say a simple thankyou and then go home.

There was this tall guy in the dressing room with him and they were discussing the Clash and the book again. The guy says to him that was when he'd got into country music, went to a Clash gig and there was this bloke called Joe Ely playing support (and I guess that Lloyd Maines probably ripped his head off). So we kinda leave together and I ask him if he's the bloke what wrote the Clash book. No he says but I do write an internet music thing. What's your name asks I. 'Shaun Belcher', says he.

Shaun's Flying Shoes mailing list and internet site are good ones for okom, neato to see a damn good piece on Vince Bell there which I have on good authority has been well received . . . . Shaun's a librarian at the Bodley Library in Oxford and the link to Flying Shoes is:
http://www.bodley.ox.ac.uk/users/sdb/flyinshoes/index.html