One of the best jokes in Paul Morley's Words and Music involves a cultural timeline on which the release of the White Stripes' album Elephant occurs in 1963, although the record also fits into a postmodern present in which "its wildly friendly sound would make comforting sense".

On that visionary timeline, Jim Noir would appear in late 1965 or early 1966. The band are a friendly Frankenstein's monster of British invasion bands - a little of the Kinks, a lot of the Beatles, a dash of Herman's Hermits and some Hollies harmonies - so lovingly patched together that you could slip them comfortably between Rubber Soul and Revolver. Their sound is wildly friendly, and very comforting in this dank part of the year: it makes you yearn for summer.

This is Jim Noir's first tour, and the musicians are still a little dazed and somewhat amused by the novelty of being in a band. Endearingly, they are halfway between slick and wonky. Their frequently uncanny pastiche - less strained and more straightforward than that of fellow 1960s fetishists the Thrills, who mine a slightly later period - is executed with stunning accuracy. Guitar lines are taut and unfussy; the tambourine rattles tinnily; harmonies build and soar with beautiful, deceptive simplicity. It is irresistible music.

The two-line lyric of My Patch becomes a rollicking audience singalong and proves itself indelible on the way home. You can't help but smile when Noir trills, "When we get together, I always hope there'll be nice weather," in Turbulent Weather, or, pricelessly, "If you don't give my football back I'm gonna get my dad on you," in Eany Meany.

The band play a short set and no encore. It's an adroit move, for Jim Noir's first songs are candyfloss: enough is perfect, too much might be sickly. Soon, however, it will be 1967, and things get even more interesting then.

· Box office: 0870 771 2000. Then touring.