THE Del McCoury Band were unfamiliar to me before last night. However, after delighting the Clyde Auditorium with their Pine Mountain Blues I'll not forget them in a hurry. Squeezed around a single microphone, the five musicians played with such nonchalant skill and joy that no-one was left untouched. The plucking banjo and sliding fiddle transported us to a shack on a frost-covered peak. Then, just as the roast and red-eye gravy bubbling on the stove was about to be served, Steve Earle arrived.

Jumping on the back of his pick-up we took a trip to the nearest town for a beer. Steve took the stage and, guitar in hand, shared his woes with us. With a mouth-organ sounding as rough as he felt, he listed the many women who had broken his heart. ''This one goes out to whatever she's called.''

His hypnotic guitar lulled everyone into a state of melancholy. What had started as an evening of clinking glasses in the mountain air was now a smoky night of weeping into empty tumblers. It was great. If you are going to sing the blues, why not go the whole hog and reduce us to wretched self-pity? We drank it up greedily, with many shouts of ''Go on Stevie''.

The combination of Earle and the Del McCoury Band produced a bluegrass experience of yee-haa party and boo-hoo pain. If you get a more complete musical evening than that, then I know of a few thousand people who would like to hear about it.