Meg Baird and Jason Steel, West Hill Hall

It's great when you go to see an old hero and know all the songs. It's also great to hear fine, new, unfamiliar music - particularly in an intimate setting.

So, 48 hours after Patti Smith wowed a couple of thousand of us at the Brighton Dome, I was one of maybe 50 up the road at the West Hill Community Hall - where my kids went to a toddlers' playgroup, where the stage lighting is provided by two old standard lamps, and where Michael Chapman played an amazing show earlier this year.

And Michael it was who led me to Meg Baird. She has a lovely version of his 'No Song To Sing' on the Oh Michael, Look What You've Done: Friends Play Michael Chapman compilation, which is shaping up to feature strongly in my favourite records of 2012.

And that was all I knew when I bought the tickets, other than that she had played in Espers, an American folk band who have never really grabbed my attention.

What a voice: clear and pure with effortless power, influenced - as I see the critics note and she herself acknowledges - by the sound of the English folk revival (Celia Humphris of Trees, Jacqui McShee, Shirley Collins are in the mix), but with a tone and style which is very much her own. Her largely fingerpicking guitar style is also distinctive and provides a solid and reliable platform for the songs.

She seems very shy. Singing always with her eyes closed, barely moving, taking several numbers before starting to say anything to the audience. But she warms into it and communicates a real charm: flashing delighted smiles at the end of the songs, which she seems surprised to find are greeted with rapturous applause. (I came away clutching a copy of her Seasons On Earth album, the sleeve of which has four photos of her, three of which hide her face entirely and the last has an eyes-closed semi-profile as she smiles at her dog... We like you too, Meg!)

She was supported by Jason Steel, a remarkable guitar and banjo player from Yorkshire, who also writes a mean song and sings with a light, true voice. He is remarkable for the way that he will leave space in his arrangements and allow the pace to drop, trusting the music to proceed according to its own internal logic. It works: spellbindingly.

He tells some funny and affecting stories, and quotes John Fahey - who is one definite reference point for the music, along with old, weird folk (from both sides of the Atlantic) and blues. But I also caught some flashes of early Paul Simon and (as my partner pointed out) Jeff Buckley in his songs. Fahey's advice was always to finish with a hymn and Jason gave us two, including a great reading of 'Satan, Your Kingdom Must Come Down'.

I came away with a handsome piece of vinyl from him, too - his very nicely packaged The Weight of Care album (numbered 242 of 250 - phew, just made it...). I'm going to enjoy getting to know both of my acquisitions.

A lovely, mellow evening: and the stars seemed particularly bright, walking home.

Patti Smith and Bob Dylan's 'Tempest'

I'm running out of superlatives for Patti Smith. I haven't seen her play a better show than the glorious couple of hours she delivered at Brighton's Dome last night.

She and her band have been on the road for several months now, on the back of their excellent Banga album. The musicians are tight, assured and powerful - and anything but jaded. She is supremely confident and self-aware, singing and moving superbly, seemingly relaxed and in her element. As the show progresses, she switches easily between communicating girlish glee - in telling a host of stories from her seaside stay and then upstaging Lenny Kaye's Nuggets medley by sitting on the edge of the stage swinging her feet and waving to the audience - and delivering a series of mesmerising performances.

She ranged widely across her back catalogue, with some older, obscurer selections like 'Distant Fingers' and 'Free Money' mixed in with new material like 'Fuji-San' and 'Banga' - the latter featuring her son Jackson reprising the dog noises he contributed on the record. And there were extraordinary readings of a series of classics - 'Redondo Beach', 'Pissing In A River', 'Because The Night', 'Gloria' and finally - and unbeatably - 'Rock 'n' Roll Nigger'. She spelled out Pussy Riot's name at the end of 'Gloria' and returned to their cause in the electrifying climax of the set - convinced and convincing in her determination that people do indeed have the power 'to redeem the work of fools'.

Heading home happily I couldn't help reflecting on an afternoon spent listening to Bob Dylan's Tempest. He is five years older than Patti, but there is a gulf now which feels an awful lot wider.

His is an old man's album: a perfectly decent and listenable one, but with nothing particularly new to communicate, and a fair amount of padding and verbal clumsiness in amongst the one-liners and flashes of wit, which remind us of why we're still listening to him. Inevitably, it isn't quite as good as some of the 5-star reviews suggest: it is an unavoidable fact that Bob does not sing or write as well as he used to. I certainly do not dismiss late-period Dylan and I love the fact that he is still out there doing his thing. But I can't say I return to his recent albums that often, despite some classy playing and treasurable moments, and I no longer rush to get tickets to see him live.

In contrast, I don't think it is an exaggeration to say that Patti, at 65, is an artist in her prime, vital and compelling. I'm already wondering when I can see her again. A US tour with Neil Young? Hmm...

Gum At The Green Door Store

Gum were back at Brighton's Green Door Store last night, fresh from what sounds like a productive session in the studio last weekend. Great stuff.

The usual unbiased recommendation to check them out whenever, wherever and in whatever format they happen to be able to you.

Some Quick Recommendations

Apologies for the lack of posting, but work at Eden On The Line HQ is still very much focused on getting the Saint Dominic's Preview book written. Nearly there, since you ask, with the first draft now approaching 30,000 words...

A few quick ones:

• in the absence of new Tunng activity this year, I'm very much looking forward to Cheek Mountain Thief's new album, released this week. It's their frontman Mike Lindsay's latest project, drawn from a spell living in Iceland. You can try a YouTube sample here.

• for a rather different bit of YouTube browsing, how about this 43-year old burst of the Soft Machine, featuring an improbably youthful Robert Wyatt, in great voice.

• and finally, from my Van research, the opening act from the Caledonia Soul Orchestra's European tour in 1973, the rather wonderful Alice Stuart and Snake. Try this... one of the unsung pioneers in women fronting rock bands.

More Wussy

Should that be 'Wussier'?

Anyway, just in case you weren't immediately persuaded that this is a band worthy of a little obsession, I thought I'd offer an update.

Last Friday's Guardian review of Buckeye was in deliberately circumspect mode, critical antennae stunned by Christgau's gush, Tim Jonze dubious about 'a 17-track compilation that shows the band's progression from earnest, fuzzy college rock to … more earnest, fuzzy college rock'.

Now, come on: don't worry - this will not end in embarrassment.

Evidence?

OK.

Exhibit One: a beautiful, belated vinyl release for the band's first album from 2005 Funeral Dress. This is ideal for the inner fanboy - heavy duty green vinyl with multicolour streaks, absent from Amazon ( both co.uk and .com) so you have to deal with a - very efficient - record store in Cinncinati. The thrill of the chase! And a lyric sheet which helps with...

Exhibit Two: great, quotable lyrics to go with the surging and soaring music. Who (but a stony-hearted churl) could resist the opening couplet of 'Yellow Cotton Dress'? 

The yellow cotton dress is beautiful, no doubt,

But it becomes a motherfucker when you fill it out.

And I'm sorely tempted to quote 'Airborne' in its entirety. One of the great break-up songs, where the loft and lift of the entwined voices in the chorus:

You did not even send me airborne anyway.

Why in the world I hung around it's hard to say.

give the lie to the fuck-you bravado of what it and the rapid-fire, close-rhymed verses purport to say... But I'll let you you check it out for yourself here.