What a mighty noise to be coming from one so small. That is the thought striking everyone in the Assembly Rooms, half way through the Wagnerian "Sweden", the set opener allowing Neil Hannon to demonstrate his rather impressive vocal range. Even though he is flanked by two keyboardists, two guitarists, a drummer and a percussionist, the most sonically startling thing about The Divine Comedy is Hannon's rich and epic voice, warm and richly-textured, like Viennese coffee. Dressed in black suit, tie and shades, he looks like a cross between a Reservoir Dog and an undertaker at the beach, but his character and personality define a born frontman, cooler than ice with a repertoire to make Noel Coward splutter into his Dom Perignon with envy.

More accustomed to the cultural heights of the Edinburgh Festival, the Assembly Rooms with its grand Georgian architecture and decor still suits The Divine Comedy's muse like a velvet smoking jacket. As the band parade through the dazzling heights of latest LP "Fin De Siecle" (highlights being a monumentally bittersweet "Commuter Love" with its accordian accompaniment, and the Faith No More rock acrobatics of "Thrillseeker"), their grandly romantic music fills the hall like some seductive spirit, at times vocals rising to the ceiling like fireworks, at others subtle keyboard tones and soft drumming sending out gentle ripples through the sell-out crowd.

Older more familiar hits also receive an airing, including a triumphant "Something For The Weekend" and an acoustic section which included "Everybody Knows That I Love You" and "Songs Of Love" (the "Father Ted" theme). All this added up to a hugely enjoyable set, punctuated with moments of beauty and of wry wit. Between-song banter was kept to a minimum - although Hannon's charisma shone through at all times, and the rest of the band all turned in the required laid-back lounge lizard performances.

By the time the gig came to a close, we had been won over by Hannon's grand vision, and vowed never more to listen to dull guitar bands singing about dull things ever again. That lasted for about as long as it took us to get into the car and pop the Mansun LP into the stereo, but it is still proof of the scope and power of The Divine Comedy's music. Not bad for a wee bloke in a suit...