In the current surfeit of guitar bands named after collective nouns, a group needs something singular if they are not to fall prey to NME readers' compassion fatigue. The Rakes have that special something, but it's in their people, not the music. For a start, they have broken the indie rule by putting the good-looking one on drums. Lasse Petersen is so handsome that it seems criminal to leave him at the back: a Phil Collins-style mutiny must surely be imminent. Then imagine Frank Spencer trying his hand at being a dictator, and you are halfway to summoning the frontman, Alan Donohoe. His stage persona combines the shouty vocals of Mark E Smith with the comically limp wrists of Jarvis Cocker - and he looks as happy as the latter in wonky specs (after leaving the stage to reappear as a "real live robot" on Binary Love.) He claims the band are called the Rakes because they are skinny, but he dances as if he has stepped on one.

Yet Donohoe is subtly skilled at rabble-rousing, and tonight's rabble are only too ready to be roused. The Empire is full of sweaty indie love for the Rakes, whose journey from playing the Camden toilet circuit to selling out these big venues seems to have taken five minutes. As the raucous set closes, Donohoe says they are off to "do some drugs and sleep with supermodels, be back in a minute". They take a good 10 minutes to return, so you wonder if Kate Moss got her hands on them. Well, at least the drummer.

· The Academy, Liverpool, tonight. Box office: 0870 771 2000. Then touring.