Lou Barlow and Jason Lowenstein, Sebadoh's theatrically intense song-writing core, are, you suspect, the sort of people who mistake surliness for emotional depth. Infamously morose live performers, the pathologically crabby Barlow has been known to flounce off to his dressing room at the merest hint of indifference from an audience.

That they tonight exude an air of breezy cheerfulness, is then, putting it mildly, something of a surprise. There's lots of smiling and upbeat banter with the punters. Still, who would begrudge them an evening away from their trademark miserabilism? This is the final date of a gruelling European tour - three months of irony-free emoting and interminable scowling. They're running on empty, all out of angst. The effete dirge Trees is reduced to a jumble of slurred bass, diffident drumming and slovenly harmonies, while Skull - the nearest thing Sebadoh have to an anthem - is muffled by a burr of apathy. Only full-on rockouts such as License to Confuse make it through intact.

When, after their opening song, a disembodied voice flutters from the PA to announce in a vaudeville, Blackpool pier accent, that a music "pub quiz" will take place while the band tune up, you begin to realise just how seriously Sebadoh take their joking.