If Mark Mulcahy didn't exist, then somebody might have had to invent him to please that certain kind of late-thirtysomething British male rock fan for whom rock'n'roll nirvana is represented by any singer-songwriter with a US passport and a legacy of commercial underachievement. Mulcahy certainly looks the part of an Americana cult hero - suit, semi-acoustic guitar, hair straggling about his shoulders - and his career ticks all the right boxes.

His 1980s band, Miracle Legion, were critically acclaimed, but never matched the success of peers REM. Their albums are now impossible to find. The press release for his recent solo album, In Pursuit of Your Happiness, notes that Nick Hornby devoted a chapter of his book 31 Songs to Mulcahy, a boast that's hard to read without thinking: yeah, that figures.

And yet, Mulcahy clearly has more to offer than the snob value of obscurity. Stripped of the cellos and french horns that colour In Pursuit of Your Happiness, the sound is stark, flipping between a spellbinding fragility - on In the Afternoon, his drummer plays a solo on a recorder, of all things - and a muscular, undistorted guitar chug in a way that recalls the Velvet Underground's eponymous third album.

Mulcahy's voice, as Radiohead's Thom Yorke has noted, is a pretty remarkable instrument in itself: high, soulful and sweet as honey. His songs, meanwhile, have a weirdly haunting quality of their own. Hurry Please Hurry sounds like a love ballad, but turns out to be about the relationship between a sports fan and his team. Cookie Jar uses biscuits as an unlikely metaphorical tool to berate a shady, self-serving acquaintance. The crowd - in which a certain kind of late-thirtysomething male figures heavily - go nuts. You can't help wonder why everyone else isn't going nuts as well.

·At the Salisbury international arts festival (01722 320333) tomorrow. Then touring.