So I was strolling down East Avenue on the last Friday night of the Jazz Fest when I happened upon a gathering of three souls. Painter, poet, rock 'n' roller El Destructo and the statuesque Teenage Junkies contortionist/singer Ian Andrews were curbside and drunk next to Roger Kuhn, a cat who picks some mighty mean acoustic blues. They clapped along as he wailed and caterwauled stories tried and true, interjected with ad-lib rants and pleas. I copped a squat on the sidewalk.

Kuhn cuts a mean profile. The cat sports a porkpie hat with the king of spades stuck in the band. An old tattoo of a bomb with "The Blues" written on it sits fading on his right shoulder. The fuse is lit. He sings loud.

The street was abuzz with passersby. They had places to go, dammit, and Kuhn was just background. Then he kicked into Lightning Hopkins' "Katie Mae." People stopped in their tracks to listen. Some danced. Some just stared. He wasn't just singing, he was testifying. Some coins clinked their way into his guitar case as the man raved on.

You see, Kuhn is a bluesman and a busker well beyond his 27 years. His rapid-fire intensity may lead some to think he's nuts, but that's just passion and confidence coming out of his rail-thin frame. You can hear it in his talk and see it in his walk. You can hear it in the songs he sings.

"The songs that I sing I sing for a reason," Kuhn says. "They draw a very close parallel to what's on my mind now. And what's on my mind a now? The fact that I ain't got no money, I'm working my tail off and nothing's coming from it, that I don't have a girl and I want one bad, I can't find nobody to start a band with... These songs give me a great opportunity to get out a lot of what's on my plate everyday."

But Kuhn seems to be OK flying solo. He picks loud and percussive and keeps time with the stomp of a tambourine strapped to his Cuban-heeled foot. It's all you need, really.

Kuhn, moved to Rochester from Virginia when he was 13. His mother, Margie Siembor, was a folk singer involved with The Golden Link Folk Singing Society.

"She took my sister and me to the sing-a-rounds at the old Sunken Room Coffeehouse," he says. "And we got to experience a lot of early American folk music."

Kuhn's mom showed him some basic chords on the guitar and he was off. The first song he learned was "This Land Is Our Land."

"I remember sitting up by a tape recorder for the first time playing and singing and trying to make it work," he says.

Then he caught B.B. King on "The Cosby Show." This led him into the blues.

"Quickly it became my favorite music to listen to," he says.

But Kuhn's blues are deeper and dirtier.

"That's a natural fact," he says. "Bottom line: Muddy Waters hit me hard and continues to."

Kuhn has a low budget, nine-song CD complete with a stapled Xeroxed cover he sells for $3. He's a little embarrassed about the demo's appearance but proud as hell of its music. Don't sweat the skin it's in, it's the guts that count.

"I just hope people aren't too terribly disappointed," he says. "Hopefully after they hear it they'll tuck it away in a drawer and, good lord willin', on a rainy day they'll reach for that handmade demo by Roger Kuhn."

So as more folks get hip to Kuhn, whether catching him on the street or hearing his CD, his popularity is sure to grow. And maybe, just maybe, the money, women, and like-minded musicians won't be far behind.

Maybe not.

"I know that at this point I'm a grouchy old man," he says. "And I'm a loner. And no matter what happens I'll probably end up staying on my own."

In reality, that's what he wants.

"In reality, it's what I do," he says. "I'm probably fine just where I am."

Roger Kuhn plays as part of Boulderfest 2007, July 27-29, at Boulder Coffee, 100, Alexander Street, 454-7140, call for info.