American alt-rockers Sebadoh are a timely reminder of the heroic stature of a cult band. They have never bludgeoned their way into the public's conscience; instead, Lou Barlow and Jason Lowenstein have quietly subverted traditional rock and inspired a generation. Since the band's inception in 1987, they have traced a line from the awkwardness of adolescence to the confusion of adulthood, distilling punk rock and homespun folk to create a canon of love songs for the tongue-tied.

These acoustic arrangements (Lowenstein on bass, Barlow on guitar, a lo-fi tape of Lowenstein playing drums) reveal the dynamic between them. Barlow, his black velvet jacket and glasses giving him the air of a geography teacher, is studied by Lowenstein. The painful self-awareness of Vampire sees Barlow wriggling with frustration. Ever the repressed outsider, he takes the sad resignation of Soul and Fire to heights of dizzying longing, his cool voice, with echoes of Michael Stipe, breaking with desire. Lowenstein is the misunderstood rock rebel, shuffling back and forth as he bends each bass note, weighing it down with recriminations. His raging attack on Sixteen betrays his cavernous needs. Happily Divided jolts with sarcasm and sadness.

Sebadoh are good company. Lowenstein makes goofy noises, enjoying the intimate anything-goes atmosphere. Barlow, at a burst of feedback, tumbles on to the stage with a bang and a smile. Tearing through a cover of the Church Police's The Oven Is My Friend, an early 1980s homage to white goods buoyed by a shrieking slacker sensibility, they have a joke. "We promised ourselves we'd play that," Barlow says, always happiest pleasing himself.

· At the Louisiana, Bristol, tonight. Box office: 0117-926 5978.