It is a tribute to Conor Oberst's force of personality that the name Bright Eyes is now associated with him rather than with the rabbit-eulogising Art Garfunkel hit. Once indie audiences started taking notice of him via his 2002 album Lifted or the Story is in the Soil, Oberst's whimsical magnetism did the rest.

But the trouble with being held in the same esteem as Ryan Adams and the late Elliott Smith is that every random utterance is indulged by tonight's tightly packed crowd: aimless anecdotes about finding imaginary clowns in his dressing room are greeted with whoops rather than British impatience. However, Oberst knows when to stop talking and start singing, and when he does sing, he is pretty mesmerising.

The political bent of Bright Eyes's twin 2005 albums, I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning and Digital Ash in a Digital Urn, is referenced with a version of We are Nowhere, but the rest of the gig shows that Oberst has moved on. The spiritually inclined new album, Cassadaga, plays a big part, and his manner is appropriately introspective. But this is introspection with a difference - the deeper he goes, the more visceral his singing. With backing from Anton Patzner's shivery violin, new songs Four Winds and Middle Man writhe like a flame. Later, he is digging deep into a bad memory with the country-rock wallop of Soul Singer in a Session Band.

Oberst's lyrics dizzyingly combine the surreal and the too-real ("I'll go up to Harlem just to get my feelings hurt," he croaks on Crazy as a Loon), but even when the meaning is unclear, it is easy to infer it from his sagging shoulders and punchdrunk voice. Contrary to fans' claims, he is not the new Dylan - but just being himself is quite enough.