It’s fair to say that the theme from The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin has never been a popular choice among bands appearing at this Soho venue. But then most bands don’t sound anywhere near as quirky and distinctive as Neil Cowley’s. All of which explains why the pianist is building a following among people who might not necessarily think of themselves as jazz lovers. How the group missed winning a place on this year’s Mercury shortlist is a mystery.

The jagged edges do not make for comfortable listening, however, and Cowley – a classically trained player who plunged into pop in his teens after answering an advertisement in Melody Maker – has been criticised for spinning single-chord vamps into oblivion. True enough, the players do fall a little too easily into the habit of turning all the knobs up to 11 as they generate a crescendo. Yet when the mood turns ugly, there’s an undeniable hint of jolie-laide to the intricately assembled music. Even if you want to turn away, the relentless interplay between Cowley, the double-bassist Richard Sadler and the drummer Evan Jenkins – neither of whom are mere supporting players – holds you transfixed.

In concert, their mischievous sense of humour comes much more to the fore. Sadler indulges in some uninhibited mugging: the sound of a dropped fork is enough to draw a playful grimace from him. And Cowley’s between-song banter has the cheekiness of a stand-up comedian. He name-checked the late George Carlin as he introduced the tune We are Here to Make Plastic, while That’s My Space was apparently inspired by his mum’s eccentric driving habits. Some of the other compositions are reminiscent of Erik Satie’s whimsy, albeit combined with overtones of grievous bodily harm.

The leader keeps a toy Tyrannosaurus Rex on his piano which somehow reminded me of the fearsome king of the prehistoric jungle in the classic Ray Bradbury short story, A Sound of Thunder. If that tale was ever to be adapted for the screen, Cowley’s themes would make an ideal soundtrack.

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