Along with the Bermuda Triangle, sub-atomic physics and just who the hell is buying all those Westlife singles, the career of The Fall has been one the enduring mysteries of our times.

With more members than an all-boys school's blue-movie club, Manchester mentalist Mark E Smith's post-punkers have been a constant presence in UK music, releasing almost an album a year since 1977.

From a distance, The Fall's frontman looks like the freaky backwards-talking midget from Twin Peaks, and makes even less sense.

But it's Mark's mumbling, half-shout, half-moan delivery which has established his cult hero status.

Complaining about it would be like moaning about Picasso not being able to paint eyes properly.

Half a dozen songs in, though, Mark seemed to warm to the gig and his incoherent ramblings provided a dark, haunting counterpoint to his band's tight, danceable riffs. Suddenly, you could almost hear the secret of their success.