Hamell on trial: the terrorism (of everyday life), Underbelly

If you imagine Frank Black fused with Fu Manchu, you'll get an idea of this energetic American performer, aptly boxed as a "one-man punk-folk band". Hamell's acoustic-electric compositions tear into aspects of life he's uncomfortable with, such as the sterility of fast food that one day, he sings, we won't have to eat at all – elaborate, unhealthy concoctions will just be funnelled through us.

The songs, backed by exhilarating if showy musicianship, don't always match his narrative clarity, but his account of how a friend copes with the death of his estranged mother hits a more resonant note; after she dies he extends her pre-rigor mortised middle finger so she can stick it to the man for all eternity.

Without mawkishness, Hamell carries poignancy and mirth throughout. There's a sense of capturing and keeping youthful playfulness. "When you are young/ Never pause to wonder why/ Never think that you might die." He sings wistfully while recommending the joys of getting naked on a hotel lawn.

"For every John Lennon, there's a Richard Pryor, for every Jack White there's a Lewis Black," says Hamell who, on the evidence of this show, can't be ruled out of having his own "musicomedy" couplet, however underground it might remain.

To 26 August, not 15 (0870 745 3083)