"Oh my god! It's Stan," gasped my mate Pips as Damon Gough shuffled towards the middle of the stage. And for a mild evening, Gough was dressed less Soho than South Park: scruffy jeans, oversized jacket and beanie pulled low over his scraggly hair.

But Mr, er, Boy and his band seem the result of locking the cartoon kids in a room with a box of instruments and a hefty bag of weed. The result: instrumental accomplishment, thought-provoking lyrics ("We laughed so much, then we cried all night/And you left your shoes in the tree, with me") and a mellow, laid-back aura.

Perhaps it was dangerous we were sitting down: their hour-long set of hypnotic, lo-fi indie rock threatened to send us into a deep sleep. But that is part of his charm - his dress code, his manner, his music, give the impression of effortlessness.

To say that I was at a concert would be misleading. While the talented musicians did treat the audience to tunes both new (the pretty Promises) and old (you guessed it, Something To Talk About), it was the banter that really made the night.

Damon did blink-and-you-missed-them covers of Land Of Hope And Glory and Madonna's Like A Virgin, jokes about playing Gilbert and Sullivan tunes and cigarette stunts.

His devotees cheered his tricks with the sort of enthusiasm reserved for Christmas panto. Saying that, the Boy's got gifts. Plural.

He slid from song to song and instrument to instrument, and the night was a reminder to cheering followers that he's still about.

It wasn't groundbreaking stuff to draw in new fans - but with fans as passionate as this, does he really need any more?