Formed from the ashes of 90s lost bands Red Snapper and Sunhouse, Clayhill seem a bit like those soldiers who were found in the jungle years after the war and hadn't realised it had ended. Their baggy shirts and straggly hairstyles make them look as if they've just got back from a Goa acid party which started in 1995, and their music often sounds like 90s chill-out kings Groove Armada after a folk session with Richard Ashcroft.

Such unlikely fusions brought them excellent reviews for last year's Small Circle album. At times, you can grasp what Clayhill are aiming at - head music with one foot in a muddy field at Glastonbury and an eyeball focused on the stars. However, front man Gavin Clark's habit of singing with arms folded shatters any mystique: he looks like he's come to give a householder some bad news about the boiler.

In fact, while they labour to cut it as visionaries, Clayhill's haplessness is endearing and entertaining. Between tokes - unintentionally echoing Young Ones' hippy Neil - Clark explains that a "bad day" has involved forgetting the CDs they were supposed to be selling here and a parking ticket. "We don't know where we're playing next," he sighs,"because the tour manager brought his missus's diet sheet instead of our schedule."

Clark's confessions illuminate a set that often blunders bleary-eyed into quasi-hippy gumbo ("I kiss the face of the sun"). However, when they get it together, the astonishing Afterlight - possibly inspired by acid era madness - is delivered with all the dark poise of Nick Drake. Perhaps that's what happens when your schedule is a diet plan, but if they can stumble out of their 90s torpor and get past their schedule's advice on carbohydrates, Clayhill may yet stumble across something special.

· At Porter Cellar Bar, Bath (01225 404445), tonight. Then touring.