"Last time we played here, Trevor Horn was watching," remembers Rik Flynn, the tall, male half of Captain's singing twosome, with what can only be described as a big dumb grin on his face. "So Trevor Horn's sweat is adorning these walls," he continues. "A superior sweat, some might say."

Aided and abetted by Horn, Captain are a pop group for grown-ups. Theirs is a sensible, complex music that lifts the spirits and plunders the treasures of retro rock. Reviving the type of bombastic, soulful 1980s AOR that you probably last heard while wheeling a trolley down a supermarket aisle, Captain are floating on their own in a sea of punk plagiarists.

It's a situation they are evidently happy with, and also rather proud of. After a stirring Hazelville, Clare Szembek, the keyboardist and female singer, coyly looks around the venue at the wide-open eyes of the appreciative, bopping crowd before breaking into a massive smile. It's moments like this that lend a lovable, almost gawky air to the fivepiece - most of whom look strangely awkward playing their instruments, but still manage to make them produce fantastic, shattering noises. Frontline is their most playful moment, a jolly tune that recalls Deacon Blue and sees Rik Flynn - whose name is perfectly 1980s - squirming behind his guitar in true gauche teen fashion.

Captain don't look like pop stars, or even rock stars; their single attempt at an out-there sartorial statement comes in the shape of Flynn's grey, undersized trilby. Top marks for effort, but really, with tunes like these, who needs gimmicks?