'The last time we played here was in 1992,' notes vocalist Paul Linehan in his Father Dougal accent after the first number. 'That night we were supported by a band called Suede. What I want to know is, where are they now, eh?'

Finding themselves back in one of London's smallest venues, the Frank and Walters tread a fine line tonight between chuckling in the face of seven years' obscurity and trying to regain the momentum they had at the start of the decade.

Back in the early 90s, the Irish trio (Linehan, his guitarist brother Niall and drummer Ashley Keating) were faux-naif figureheads for a newly classified breed, the Indie Kid, who wore his fringe floppy, his long-sleeved T-shirt baggy and his DMs decorated with Tippex. He drank snakebite and black using a fake ID at the bar and enjoyed a fey version of slamdancing where no one got hurt.

It's too bad indie-pop went out of fashion, because when the Frank and Walters play old favourites like Walter's Trip, This is Not a Song and Fashion Crisis Hits New York, it's remarkable how fresh and vital they sound.

They look good: where once they resembled bizarre, orange-clad lovechildren of Janis Joplin and the Goons, they now seem a fairly hard mod gang, with a photogenic new keyboardist, Sarah De Courcy. New songs - Plenty Time and Something Happened to Me - are less bubbly, spikier than before, reflecting their disappointment with the once friendly music press and two grim years spent trying unsuccessfully to crack America.

But if any band deserves a second chance, it's the Frank and Walters. Just ask the thirtysomethings at the bar, flopping their fringes and nursing their snakebite and blacks.