No crunching distortion here. No grinding post-anything drums. And yet Noah And The Whale have secured a fanbase both achingly hip and scarily young.

It's mysterious, as on paper and, indeed, on record, there's nothing particularly fresh about their unerringly romantic, vaguely mawkish indie-folk. Just four basic components: brushed drums, acoustic guitar, fiddle, pump organ and occasional bass.

They took to the stage to the none more incongruous strains of The Who, but it didn't take long to quell the rowdy throng, such was the magnetism of frontman Charlie Fink. His come-to-bed eyes and hiccupping baritone, equally bruised and faltering, steadily drew the whole room in.

Despite the appalling murky sound and sweltering temperature, the band just about held the crowd's attention. A new number was redolent of a campfire Arcade Fire and a joyous scamper through Five Years' Time at the set's climax sent everyone home whistling its chirpy refrain and basking in its sentimental glow.