There’s always the night after the night before. You’ve barely slept, your eyes are bleary, your body is hurting and much like visits to your weird, slightly eccentric great aunt’s house, everything around you looks strange and smells kind of funky. Thankfully, I think as I wander towards to Northcote Social Club – Josh Owen and Simon Phillips are on tonight.

While my head couldn’t deal with the brutal punishment of a Swedish death metal band with guitars tuned down to C and wearing various combinations of black, I was more than happy to sit down and enjoy a night of artists, who had phrases like ‘smooth groove’, ‘soul’, ‘funk’ and ‘infuse’ sprinkled liberally all over their myspace sites. It was the perfect combination, a tired, cranky reviewer and a series of soul artists who had the chance to drag me back to normality.

So I wandered into the criminally empty band room and found Simon Phillips on stage, wielding only a lone acoustic guitar. Undeterred by the fact that more people would have turned out for a local Liberal Party meeting he began his set and played with an exquisite skill I haven’t seen in months. The tone was meditative while still strong and his fingers flew over the fretboard, but not excessively. He was amazing and while nowhere near as talented as Slava Grigorian, his licks and phrasings reminded me of the exceptional classical guitarist, which is no bad thing.

But then he started to sing. His voice is not horrendous, but his lyrics were naff and song structure non-existent. It’s disappointing when an artist can bring so much pathos and feel to an instrumental but can then instantly destroy the mood by thinking they can write songs. There was a strange cover of Billie Jean and an awkward song about Rosa Parks and the civil rights movement and it takes a lot to make the civil rights movement seem awkward. Simon Phillips is an exceptional musical talent, who can’t write songs, a combination which left me annoyed and disappointed by the end of his set.

Sadly Nessa Morgan couldn’t perform because of a car accident so it meant Josh Owen followed straight away and he gave everybody a masterclass on how to transfer musical skill into a decent song. Beginning with an acoustic set to a much larger crowd, Josh Owen and his band typified the word understated, with pared back arrangements and a relaxed attitude. Jason Heerah shone with his inventive and controlled percussion while Josh provided a rich, throaty voice and a wealth of guitar tones from his arsenal of guitars on stage. I hadn’t seen the band before, but I found the songs fitted the acoustic mould exceptionally, particularly Someday and Abigail.

After a break to signal the end of the acoustic section of the show, the band came re-appeared with Jason behind a Premier drumkit and Josh Owen holding an electric guitar. A slow build up with drums and bass bouncing off each other began a bluesy second set which highlighted the Josh Owen band’s diversity and ability to soar between styles, from reggae to soul to blues with ease. Added to this was Josh’s breezy, personable style and he regaled the crowd with stories and anecdotes with the confident air of an actor on a press junket or a drunk uncle at Christmas time.

The band provided effortless tunes, nice energy and it was a good night. However, in many ways that’s the Josh Owen band’s downfall. While they tick all the boxes and provide a wonderful show there’s nothing which makes them exciting. People were sitting down and nodding appreciatively and though my headache disappeared I’m not about to rush out to the local record shop and buy ten CD’s or obsessively blog about them until I get RSI. They’re more a jumped up version of that awesome nameless soul-funk band you see at a local pub on a sunny Sunday afternoon – brilliant, talented and oh-so-very-nice, but without the extra oomph to make them a band to remember.