The 22-20s make the late, laconic entrance that befits devotees of Skip James, the Mississippi crooner whose 22-20 Blues gave them their name. Two support acts have come and gone by the time Sleaford's much-hyped "acid-blues" (their term) starlets slump aboard. Full marks already for posturing. Blame it on the arrogance of youth - the four have barely left their teens - which has been ramped up by forgivable self-belief. A year ago, they were the subject of intense pursuit by every major label, and though Franz Ferdinand may now be pop's shiniest band, the 22-20s haven't lost their slouchy confidence.

If Skip James was their starting point, the group are now in thrall to 21st-century revivalists the White Stripes, as well as 1960s Brit-blues pioneers such as the Yardbirds. More specifically, this compact gig incorporates their breakneck, guitar-based intensity. Three or four songs in, though, it's clear that what the 22-20s lack is tunes and presentation. Songs rock past anonymously, all leathery husk and no juice. There's no doubting their musical proficiency, but while they play like demons, they're devoid of demonic charisma.

The self-titled debut album forms the backbone of the show, but it's the singles 22 Days, Shoot Your Gun and Why Don't You Do It for Me? that more or less stand out. In particular, Why Don't You Do It for Me? is rather good, lit from within by gloomy minor chords and bad intent. A twitchy bassline makes Shoot Your Gun one of bassist Glen Bartup's big numbers, though every song, actually, is an excuse for him to lope around like a Labrador after a bee.

A solitary acoustic number, Friends, draws attention to leader Martin Trimble's voice; those well-bred vowels are begging for mid-career retraining as a folk singer.

Having said that, it's unsporting to expect perfection from people almost fresh from doing their GCSEs. Their album contains enough roughneck passion to confirm that the 22-20s are on the right track, and, eventually, their gigs will be something to watch.