JOE IZENMAN: EXPECT AN EMAIL NEXT TIME THEY'RE IN TOWN >>>

See, I knew this was going to happen. When I started writing show reviews for Spew last month I sat down with editor Matt Driscoll and we worked out a schedule: second and fourth Thursday of the month, writing about shows from the preceding Friday or Saturday (mustn’t get stale, after all).

So of course it me took less than a month to find a show, a week and a half before my next piece, that I could not in good conscience avoid reviewing.

We went to the Mandolin Cafe Tuesday night on a whim. It was either that or take a nap, and Spew’s 5 Things description caught our eyes: “Bulgarian zydeco, klezmer and West African rhythms, wild bagpipes, trumpet and accordion.”

The brothers Rothschild have, in essence, my dream band. Which is to say, what I have always striven fore with my own band, Mr. Fusion. Not necessarily in genre, but in shape and principle. Two guys, surrounded by a dozen acoustic instruments, playing together, singing together, purely because they want to. So I was disposed to like them from the start.

Round Mountain hit Tacoma wielding: two guitars, an Irish bouzouki, an African harp, an assortment of percussion, an accordion, a trumpet, two different kinds of bagpipes, and a pair of excellent singing voices skilled in folk-style melodies from Africa to Appalachia. Their music is self-described as “world folk”, largely because there isn’t really another succinct description for their hodgepodge of ethnically diverse song-styles and instruments, synthesized into a single cohesive mass.

I wish I had a setlist in front of me to tell you what my favorite songs were, but rest assured that when Char starts wailing on the trumpet and accordion simultaneously, or busts out his gaida (Bulgarian bagpipes) mid-song, or Robby pulls up the African kora harp, you are in for an immense treat.

If there is anything good about a concert with only seven or eight non-staff attendees, it is that we few are at liberty to monopolize the post-show time of the musicians. Both men exude an absolute, unabashed love for music, both in performance and in conversation. They are genuinely interested when you mention that you play in this band, or once played that instrument. My friend Renee spent ten minutes playing Char’s trumpet while Robby and I discussed the merit of synthetic-head hand drums.

I look forward to the next time these guys come to town, because I am dragging as many friends as I can get my hands on. Maybe I’ll get lucky and convince them that they’ll get a bigger crowd if they let a local (me) book a show with them. Maybe not. Either way, you’ll find me there, enjoying the show and helping them put their gear in the truck afterward.

All that, and Char once played on a Kip Winger solo record. Yes, THAT Kip Winger. So that’s kind of neat.

So if you missed out Tuesday night (and I know you did, because I recognized about 90 percent of the audience â€" also known as five of the people there â€" and I’m pretty sure YOU weren’t one of them), scamper up to Ballard on Friday night to catch them at Egan’s Ballard Jam House with Kane Mathis and Ryan Francesconi. Failing that, well, I’ll let you know. Because I want you to see these guys. Yes, you.