David Kitt cuts a sorrowful figure. This has nothing to do with his demeanour - the Irish singer-songwriter himself is engagingly affable - rather, it is the picture he paints of life on the fringes of pop. Basically, it is not very lucrative. "You're a legend!" calls out one fan during this sparsely populated gig. "People have been telling me that for a long time," Kitt responds with a tilted grin, "but it doesn't really translate into record sales. More of a leg end."

"Touring the UK is an expensive business," he adds. "I'm actually paying more to play for you guys than you're paying for me."

It seems remarkable that, six years and five albums into his career, Kitt should persevere in this way. But his faith in his music is not misplaced. He switches from simple, sprightly rock to a more sinuous electronic-led sound with ease; one minute he is playing a beautiful song inspired by Daft Punk and driven by gloopy synthesiser beats, the next a country lament full of neat harmonics that ends in a blazing blues stomp.

He's an impressive lyricist, too, snagging at the heart with his tales of romance, of "the day's first touch of skin" and not wanting to say goodnight, and with his empathetic descriptions of the lost and confused. In fact, the one off note in the entire gig is a new, uncharacteristically abrasive song called Don't Fuck With Me, a stomping attempt at R&B that started as a tour-van joke and really should have stayed there.

Will the world catch up with David Kitt? Will he one day discover that music does pay? Who knows. But if this lovely gig is anything to go by, that is what he deserves.

· At Birmingham Academy (0870 771 2000) tonight, then touring.