The Earlies are strangers to any form of orthodoxy. Even their geographical relationship is contrary: with half the band domiciled in Texas and the rest in Burnley, Lancashire, the majority of their compositional process is conducted by MP3 files and emails.

They also tend towards the visually unprepossessing, with a high percentage of tonight's 10-strong complement of musicians resembling delegates at a sci-fi comics convention. Yet this beguiling band's unique feature is not their ropey image but a musical reach that veers towards the pathologically eclectic.

Their recent second album, The Enemy Chorus, is easy to admire but difficult to love. Live, its arcane machinations gain a winning potency. The sprung rhythms of Burn the Liars suggest Flaming Lips, were the latter band's sunny side-up accessibility to give way to a less inclusive mood of brooding paranoia.

Main man Brandon Carr has the look and amiable demeanour of a good ole' boy who just happens to be fronting a post-modern experiment in rock and warped electronica. His reedy whine sounds great on One of Us Is Dead, a song equally capable of appealing to fans of Green on Red and Tortoise.

The scrapyard blues of Foundation Earth is shot through with Beck's sense of prankster profundity, while When the Wind Blows is as whimsically retro-progressive as Super Furry Animals. The Grateful Dead-esque No Love in Your Heart is such a peculiar song that even a trumpet and trombone add poignancy.

By the end, Carr and his equally hirsute sidekick, JM Lapham, are singing close harmonies like the Staples Singers fronting the Velvet Underground.

There is no other band like the Earlies, and that is rather a pity.

· At Birmingham Academy on April 16. Box office: 0870 771 2000. Then touring.