It’s a strange crowd in Club Academy tonight. A mixture of Moldy Peaches fans from way back when, and lads. Lots of lads. I suppose it reflects Adam Green’s own transition from lovable, lo-fi Peach to apparent boozy Bavarian lothario. Or something. Either way, it’s a strange crowd tonight. As Noah and the Whale open, the audience mill towards the back, chattering loudly. Noah ply on manfully regardless, rollicking through their set with the hard worn professionalism of a band who’ve spent much of the last year on the road. With Becca from Slow Club on backing vocals, you can see the similarities between the two acts, both bursting with enthusiasm and energy on stage, albeit Noah with the slightly darker lyrical underbelly.

When Adam Green takes to the stage it’s a whole different vibe, the melodious craft replaced by a shambolic showman, all flailing limbs and spandex top. If the act wasn’t so clearly tongue-in-cheek there would almost be something camp about it, this over-the-top sillyness; or maybe, campness is something he’s lampooning too. Or is he lampooning anything at all? Maybe it’s all deadly serious, this metamorphosis into a 21st Century, potty mouthed Tony Bennett. Although, as the PA system almost immediately dies, it’s hard to feel that way - the band grumpily trot off before the first song has begun, leaving an inebriated Adam alone, drawling “he-ll-o man-chest-hair”, pulling down his tight t-shirt to show us his own. He plays acoustic while the sound is fixed, working through ‘Bluebirds’ and even the vociferously requested 'What a Waster' (is that why the lads are here?). When the amps are back online the band kicks into action, a straight-laced backing to Adam’s own delirious unprofessionalism; as the group plod on the set seems almost interminable, each slutty ballad bleeding into the next. Even the crowd seem restless, heading back to the bar or shouting amongst themselves.

The nadir is a bizarre duet with The Paddingtons (remember them?), an impromptu number about a Thai ladyboy. Yup. Yet, whereas the English band seem to be taking it painfully seriously, posing dutifully, Adam stumbles back, clutching the mic stand for stability, eyes closed in the seeming heat of artistic fervour - as always, a quaint mixture of wide-eyed sincerity and almost forced, knowing foul-mouthed humour. When he comes back on stage for the encore he plays solo, the beautiful blue ‘Emily’ standing out as an exemplar of what makes Adam Green so confoundingly enjoyable.

Photo: Ilaria Magliocchetti Lombi