HEARING every note crisp and clear is a privilege. In the intimacy of the front room of a York house, performers seem to relax, surprisingly perhaps when they are only inches from the faces in the front row.

Chris Simmons is a singer-songwriter with undeniable potential and a passion that burns. Hailing from Brighton, Simmons’ career is at an awkward stage. An album in, yet unsigned, he is fighting it out with the many earnest young men grooming their beards and guitars.

Yet Simmons has earned plaudits from none less than Jackson Browne, who would presumably have felt a connection with the superb love-gone-wrong Shacked Up. The rest of his opening set was less distinctive and taken at too great a pacetrot. But he poured everything he had into a tribute to his late brother.

The Black Feathers are relatively newcomers to the folk circuit, but this husband-and-wife partnership have been turning heads. Their hour-long set was a statement of intent, although it did also suggest that their Gloucester brand of folk and Americana needs a drop more blood and dark matter.

Ray Hughes has what could justifiably be called a high lonesome sound – a wonderful high tenor voice from the get-go – whereas Sian Chandler has a more full-bodied voice (a Home Counties Roseanne Cash) that seemed to warm and grow more confident as the set went on.

For good duet partners, it is all about chemistry, think Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris; or George Jones and Tammy Wynette. These two have “it” too; eye contact and their voices went wonderfully together. The early songs saw some inventive harmonies, which enlivened material from their debut EP that lacked the “knock them dead” factor. Over the set, some colour from other instruments would have been welcome, but those vibrant harmonies will go far.