There's a Rupert, an Edward, a Trevor and even a Boris, which affords the possibility of employment as Tory MPs if the music thing doesn't work out for Chikinki. Conveniently, Boris already possesses a myopic fustiness that's impressive in a 25-year-old.

At this point, several years into their career, it could go either way for this Bristol electro quintet, who are rounded out by a Steve. On the one hand, hindered by their terrible name and lack of profile, even their major-label debut, Lick Your Ticket, didn't make much impression last year. On the other, you probably shouldn't write off a band whose pubescent sexual undercurrent makes you want to wash your hands after the show.

If Chikinki do break through, it will be due to the efforts of Rupert Browne, a singer comprised of two separate people. From the neck up, he's Jim Morrison in his hairy, dishevelled twilight months; downstairs, he's an office worker on the razz, button-down shirt askew and half-untucked. The Morrison half predominates, Browne clawing his lush beard and screeching unprintable invitations to the delighted mini-throng.

Unlike the real Doors frontman, though, Browne is an adolescent in a gangling adult body, and when not singing regresses to blushing nerdhood. He even prefaces one song with a list of keyboard information - "For the synth geeks among you". But the only synth geeks here are onstage. Two keyboardists splatter the place with squeals that, melded with bursts of disjointed guitar, make for either futuristic space-pop or a damned racket.

The latter generally prevails, but Assassinator 13 coughs up a grand punky chorus that goes "Sex is fun when you are high". The other big moment, Scissors Paper Stone, is glistening glam-metal punctuated by glassy-eyed screeching. By the end of the set, Browne is in a post-coital stupor, and the ravished audience files out silently.