John Peel once commented that the most important ingredient in pop was a distinctive voice. Lambchop's Kurt Wagner certainly possesses that. He aspires to the supernatural soul of Curtis Mayfield, but his vocals were equally shaped by 14 years spent sanding floors and thus "sucking up dust". On record, Wagner's voice has a fragile intimacy. Live, it's simply painful. It sounds as though a fish bone is lodged within his windpipe.
Wagner's vocals may be one reason the Nashville band's appeal remains selective. Despite critical garlands for last year's Nixon album, the expected breakthrough hasn't yet materialised and the Apollo is not even half full. And yet the flock present are a devoted bunch indeed. Some songs are greeted with mild hysteria, although people may be applauding the singer's perseverance.
With Wagner squawking away, it's hard to concentrate on the music, which conjures up birds on the wire and tumbleweeds blowing across town. On record, it's skeletal. Live, the band offer skeletons of skeletal. I am reminded of John Lydon's description of the Orb: "Beautifully boring."
Lambchop - a band comprising as many as 14 musicians - are immobile to the point of comedy. At least Wagner has a more reasonable humour: "I love you too, sir. But not romantically. My wife's watching." His lyrics offer cute rather than weird visions of the American heartlands, but are mostly inaudible. His attempt at a falsetto mimics only laryngitis, and I eventually realise that the frontman is unconcerned with technicalities such as keeping his voicebox in the general proximity of the microphone. When he starts smoking as well I want to shout: "Enough! No more damage!"
After 90 minutes of torture, Wagner falls on his knees for an unlikely but spirited version of Sisters of Mercy's This Corrosion, which the band play with the gusto of inmates let out of prison. I don't care much for their alt.country, but their alt.goth squawk is rather fun.
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• Lambchop are at Somerset House, London WC2 (020 7845 4600), tonight.
