It's as unthinkable as an episode of 24 where Jack doesn't snarl into a mobile phone, or tell his daughter that he loves her. The sort of unthinkable you apply to vast, empty roads on the approach to the Glastonbury Festival, or a Prime Minister's speech without evident signs of perspiration.
So last week was out of the ordinary. But I've pinched myself repeatedly and it wasn't a dream. Three bands, two of them out of the blue, played compelling gigs while various A&R types stood watching, either confused or aghast.
I'm making the most of this because it bears out some of the points we've been banging on about in this column since the start of the year. Namely that there's a growing number of good new British bands out there - and that to find them you either have to head north, or look in places with little or no Rock'n'Roll heritage.
But before we get to them, let's start in London.
Tuesday night at Club Fandango - a favourite stomping ground of mine as you've probably guessed by now, but also a regular haunt for A&R scouts and hungry managers.
On stage, another set of Men In Black, fronted by a singer whose dark eyes seem to invite and repel borders at the same time. Is he hell bent on fighting you, or fascinating you? It's hard to tell.
It's hard because the venue's full-ish, and because one of my mates describes him as a "girl-magnet" - which is either a compliment, or strict, businesslike calculation.
Welcome to the world of Razorlight. Close your eyes and it sounds like they've digested every record The Strokes ever listened to and come to around about the same conclusions. There are traces of Television and the Flamin' Groovies, but - and this is the good bit - given a British spin the songs have New Wave warmth mixed with British steel.
I haven't a clue where they came from, but this is the surprise of the week (which might mean I'm over-egging their charms, but when the demo arrives I'll either be elated or deflated to the point of no return). Right."