Julian Cope's set on Friday night consisted purely of solo renditions of songs drawn predominantly from his early career, played on guitar or a bright green mellotron.Interplanetary Sit In, a dazzling pop moment, sounded a mite shambolic when strummed on an acoustic. His rambling discourses between songs, his poetry of dubious literary merit and the fact that the set list was made up ad hoc depending on what the audience called for only added to the disorder.But it was the moments when he sounded like Billy Bragg when you realised what was wrong. It's easy to be weird. It's much harder to do a straightforward love song, and The Greatest Imperfection is Love and Upwards At 45 Degrees paled when compared to Bragg's tales of pints of beer and bathing the baby.