Ryley Walker embraces the jams in Manchester

He may even be familiar with such seminal John Martyn records as Solid Air and Inside Out. The catalogues of Bert Jansch and Pentangle might not be entirely unfamiliar to the guitarist-singer from Rockford, Illinois, either.

Walker's roots are certainly planted firmly in the folk-jazz fusion that was at its most fruitful at the onset of the 1970s; as far as points of reference go, the subsequent decades might as well not exist. Should any suspicions of derivate aping of past forms remain after the bleary-eyed yet brisk jams of this year's excellent second album Primrose Green, they're catapulted well beyond Manchester city limits a few minutes into the robust rendition of the much-acclaimed platter's title track that emerges from the extended single-chord vamp that opens the set, which itself follows an all-too-brief virtuoso display of shimmering, melancholy, pedal steel and West Coast-harmony coated songcraft from Nev Cottee.

Walker's been disparaging about his recorded output in interviews. You can see his point as the four-piece band - double bass, drums, keyboards, electric guitar to complement the textures of Walker's 6- and 12-string acoustics - accelerate the tune's stoned, sunburnt groove into a fearsomely galloping wall of sound that has more in common with the physical build-ups of electronic music than the gentle explorations associated with psychedelic folk-jazz fusion. The dynamics on display are second to none, too: just as the energised - for want of a better term - noodling threatens to run off the leash, a quick 1-2-3-4 from Walker brings the band instantly back to earth and the original melody. The results don't so much wipe the floor with the studio cut as stomp it through the venue's hard cement floor, establishing the fact that Walker's very much for real. There's nothing studied or calculated about tonight's performance; Walker and co. possess a free-ranging spirit, powerful presence and exploratory ethos to match their vintage influences.

From there on, the intensity never lets up, even as Walker (on jovial, chatty form) tackles two songs - including "If I Were a Carpenter" by Tim Hardin, another seminal 60's/70's influence - on his lonesome. If Walker could catch the lightning that is tonight's set in the studio, with tunes to match (Walker's yet to write his "May You Never" or "Song to the Siren", although the delicately handled new cut "Funny Thing She Said" that closes the proceedings is getting there), he'd be totally unstoppable. For now, there are audible groans as the indecently early curfew brings the proceedings to a halt after just over an hour. An improvisation-based set that feels way too short? That's just about as rare as the talent on display tonight.