Ed Harcourt had the misfortune to begin his career as the "new acoustic movement" (an NME-sponsored rabble of sensitive young men weeping into their guitars) was dominating column inches. While never entirely turning his back on fey songcraft, he has spent the ensuing years recording an eclectic series of albums, and describing himself as "the Oliver Reed of indie rock".

He seems to have been living the dream. "I had a bit of a heavy night," he explains from behind a thick fringe. "Sorry if I'm a little quiet or pensive." Coming from a man who kicks off the evening behind an antique synth, hands massaging the keys while his voice creaks and croons and a man behind him swings a wind chime, it's a fair warning. He need not worry: this stripped down self-absorption is utterly gripping.

Interestingly, it is Harcourt's poppier songs that succeed less well: All of Your Days Will be Blessed is distressingly ragged, while the Morrissey-tinged Hanging with the Wrong Crowd rather drowns in its own extravagant misery. Thankfully, Harcourt, who sports a dark suit and tartan tie and looks a little like a slimline Billy Bunter, is on entertaining form, asking his bassist to do an Austrian pimp impression, making self- deprecating jokes and explaining his choice of underwear ("nothing like a silk gusset on the balls").

His band, who flit between percussion, double bass, guitar, violin and accordion, demonstrate the ambition of a man who has moved from the indie blueprint towards jazz and roots, conjuring funereal still and riotous noise. They play the bulk of Harcourt's fine new album, Strangers, much of which sounds awesome: Loneliness rides a wave of desperate happiness, vocals and rattling guitars chasing each other across a breakneck rhythm section. It's not the most commercial of music - his last single reached the grand old height of number 61 - but Ed Harcourt is maturing into something more valuable: a genuine original.

· At Liverpool Academy tonight. Box office: 0151-256 5555. Then touring.