Rumour has it Colin MacIntyre was coughing up blood just moments before he arrived on stage. You'd never guess it. Standing on a keyboard stool, one arm in the air, the other gripping a microphone, he's an archetypal dictator rather than a case for urgent medical treatment. But his face tells another story. Wincing as he sings, sweat tickling his nose, MacIntyre is not a well man. "I've got a sore throat tonight," he admits. His fragile voice isn't his only problem. A keyboard's not working. "It's fucked," he says succinctly. And the 15ft dog he was due to share the stage with has been nicked. As MacIntyre pulls off his guitar, handing it to a fan in the front row, it's clear things could be better.

That MacIntyre valiantly soldiers on should only be expected. The Mull Historical's new album is called This Is Hope, after all. Full of epic expectations, whimsical choruses, chaotic rhythms and love missives to his Hebridian home, This Is Hope is like listening to the past 40 years of power pop thrown through a fast spin in an industrial-sized washing machine. While video footage of the The Wicker Man plays behind him, MacIntyre sings soft sentiments with a roar. Though he can sometimes mistake shouting for force - very Davina McCall - his passion is undeniable. I Tried heralds an onslaught of dazzling energy, grinding guitars and twinkling keyboards. Only the twilight melancholy of Barcode Bypass offers some gentle introspection, changing the emotional pitch.

Playing up to the intimacy of the venue, he asks the crowd to sing for him, apologising for the keyboard being a semitone out. Drawing strength from their enthusiasm, MacIntyre climbs back on his stool, waving a bouquet of flowers in the air, before throwing it into the crowd, his sick bed only a stagger away.