THIS was the night when north and south shared the bill, but they were kept apart when a reshuffle would have benefited both.

York folk singer-songwriter Zak Ford opened; University of York alumnus Sam Griffiths went next, in a rare outing with a band; followed by two stark solo sets by ambient Londoner Sophie Jamieson and Hampshire headliner Marika Hackman.

Whatever the politics of last Friday's running order, the presence of Griffiths's musicians meant his stand-out set would have sat better between Jamieson and Hackman to provide coloratura amid the black and white. Mind you, the day cannot be faraway when Griffiths is headlining in his own right.

This Bob Dylan aficionado with the swagger of a young Edwyn Collins has such songwriting chutzpah that he has been bonding in sessions with Ed Harcourt, and only Benjamin Leftwich Francis rivals him among burgeoning York lyricists.

Add the candied backing vocals of Charlie Tophill, and the melodious Sam royally overshadowed the quietly-spoken minimalism of Jamieson and the graceful melancholia of Hackman.

Sophie ploughed a lonesome furrow through songs with short titles, the same guitar and solitude without solace, each a blister that never quite burst.

Marika switched between four guitars, both electric and acoustic, her playing assured, rhythmic and poised, her voice a siren's call, but you wished songs would break on the rocks more often in the manner of Ophelia and Drown.

She apologised for not having much to say between her numbers, although having something to say in those oft-dark, cold songs is always more important. She could see the funny side, however, urging the wearing of party hats, only to slip again into the mire of a lover waiting in vain for love's arrival and duly lying down to die.

Marika has talked of writing a new kind of folk, but this isn't it. What's more, Laura Marling has already been there, done that and fled to America from such aims.