The town of Wallingford has plenty going for it. The rolling river, the historic markets, the old churches, even a big-up from Jerome K. Jerome. What it doesn’t have is any well-defined music scene, which meant that the Truck organisation took a bit of a gamble in putting on a gig here.

They needn’t have worried. The room was reassuringly full from the start, thanks in part to an excellent bill, including Danny and the Champions, whom I regrettably missed.

The gig didn’t start that well, however. A very nervous Rami gave us four songs of inconsequential and interminable annoyingness, centring on such compelling subjects as The National Lottery, Jack the Ripper and playground bust-ups. They weren’t without the odd line of wit, and Rami’s guitar-playing was perfectly fine, but the set seemed to go on long into the night.

Much better was local four-piece The Family Machine who conjured up tiny little gems of folky-pop melody in the vein of Dodgy, but didn’t feel the need to place them in a very elaborate setting. Specifically, the songs were all too short. It was almost as if front-man Jamie’s endearingly self-deprecating shtick had translated itself into the structures of their songs. Hey guys, you’re good! You’re not going to bore us if you tease that idea out for just another minute or so! Other strengths were the backup singing- a four-piece that can do quadrophonic harmony that well is a rarity. I also liked the lead guitarist, who provided clever, spaced-out sounds to broaden the solid fare of acoustic guitar, bass and drums, but the backing-track I would have left at home. On the one occasion they used it, it emitted a string of bloopy musical non-sequiturs that muddied the sound and reduced the band’s own impact. For a group that have been around a while, you feel that they still need more confidence in their own abilities, which are considerable.

There was no lack of confidence from The Epstein, who were magnificent throughout a superb set. Drawing mostly on their fine album, “Last of the Charanguistas” (reviewed elsewhere on this site), they gave us yearning, haunting, nostalgic country music, with heart but also with that crucial lack of self-pity which is the best thing about the genre, but also the most elusive. Olly Wills’ voice epitomises this; he can project profound emotion, but there is also a lack of sentimentality, of playing to the gallery, which is so important. Because this band is walking a tightrope. If they were ever once to betray a maudlin, indulgent, she-done-me-wrong mentality, then they could fall into that demo-monde of Stetson-wearing saddoes, faking Nashville accents in dodgy clubs up and down the country. What keeps them away from that is the sheer life of the performance- despite having four guitarists everyone is needed, everyone is vital. And they have songs to die for; one of my favourites is “Nothing changes in the Old Town” which didn’t even make the album. “That Dress That She Wore” and “Dance the Night Away” (with Joe Bennett blowing up a storm on trumpet) were transcendent glories and make you think that the Epstein could indeed rewrite musical fashion in Britain 2008.