David Kitt's gentle songs have taken him out of his bedroom to the top of the Irish charts, with his current album. On the way, he's gained a sizeable band: there are six other people onstage tonight, including a man who dances as if he's in the Happy Mondays. You can't help feeling the intimacy of Kitt's early shows has been lost.

Songs follow a similar pattern: a simple chug coloured by endearingly naive washes of melody, Kitt sighing as much as singing. A lovely early song, such as Sound Fades With Distance, now has a not entirely appropriate muscularity reminiscent of U2's With Or Without You - and where once you might expect a Kraftwerk pulse or a little Sonic Youth dissonance to subvert the prettiness, now Kitt furnishes a straight-forward rock solo. During Magnolia, the drummer attempts to get the crowd to clap along and fails. It's a dismal moment.

As if acknowledging there's a magic they can't capture, Kitt banishes the band for two solo, acoustic numbers. A tremulous Step Out in the Morning Light is simply beautiful, Kitt weaving in snatches of Bill Withers's Ain't No Sunshine and Fred Neil's Everybody's Talking as the song unravels. With heartbreaking simplicity, Saturdays envisions a domestic utopia where there'll be nothing to do but "sit around and talk".

It's hard to begrudge Kitt his success, but he has yet to find a way of translating what made him so special to a bigger arena. Whatever it was, it now seems frustratingly fragile.