"It's too hot for a gold lamé suit," says Martin Fry. It's too hot for several other things as well. These include standing up, breathing, moving, and dancing to new romantic disco music. The giant air-conditioners at either end of the Embassy Rooms have all the effect of a couple of open fridges at the edge of the Sahara.

Sweat and mascara are locked in mortal combat all around the venue, and sweat appears to be winning. "Woo! It's hot," Fry exclaims after the opening number. "Woo! It's hot," Fry exclaims after the second number. "Woo! It's hot," Fry exclaims after the third number. "You're hot," retorts an over-excited fan.

Whether Fry, resplendent in the sort of turquoise suit last seen in a 1983 issue of Smash Hits, represents "hotness" is a contentious matter, but he certainly looks little different from the Yorkshire lad who melded disco and synth pop into the most exhilarating debut album of the eighties, Lexicon of Love. He still resembles a man pretending to be Scott Walker fronting Chic in a Vegas nightclub.

ABC haven't made a decent album in years, and Lexicon still towers over the rest of their output. The impressive thing about Fry is that he seems to know this: there's no cynicism or irony in his renditions of Date Stamp or Tears Are Not Enough. He loves it. We love it. His latest session musicians love it.

ABC are never going to reproduce Lexicon's elastic orchestration and disco sparkle without a mixing desk the size of a Nasa control panel. But All Of My Heart really snaps, crackles and pops, all thanks to Fry's invincible conviction as a crooner. He nips off and returns with the trusty gold lamé for a showman-like belt through The Look of Love and Poison Arrow - a reminder of a time when pop songs were a craft as opposed to a marketing tool, and a lesson in pure heartbreak and perfect glitz.