Sam Coomes @ Eagle Inn, Salford, 8 Mar

Is there a term in music that’s greeted with as much nervous apprehension as ‘solo album’? Perhaps it’s less of a concern when the performer in question forms part of a lesser-known act: if you know Sam Coomes at all, chances are it’s as a member of Portland duo Quasi (with Sleater-Kinney’s Janet Weiss), whose organ-soaked powerpop lent further wonky perspective to the 90s indie rock boom, although he also served alongside Elliott Smith in the under-appreciated Heatmiser.

It’s the sort of career you might call ‘artistically-satisfying’ rather than ‘glittering’, which is perhaps borne out by an audience consisting of little more than a smattering of Quasi fans. We all get a treat first of all, courtesy of Manchester’s own college rock heroes Hot Shorts: they’re a blast of fuzzy pop with Pixies gnarl, Weezerish hooks and the odd twee leaning (‘Tweezer’? Eurgh, back to the portmanteau drawing board), and they absolutely slay. It’s hard to argue with song titles like Sex Christmas and My Phone Is A Fucking Piece Of Shit, especially when the songs themselves are so addictively tuneful.

Coomes is a different prospect altogether. Armed simply with a keyboard, a foot-operated air synth and a whole mess of dials, he chats cheerfully over a discordant instrumental introduction, setting the tone for an intimate and wholly enjoyable evening. “Suicide meets the Beach Boys” is how the 53-year-old describes the sound of his debut solo LP Bugger Me, but in truth it’s not dissimilar to Quasi’s sterling output, albeit with a drum machine backing that alternates between sinister and adorably primitive. In some respects it feels strange to hear his songwriting laid so bare, shorn of Weiss’ rumbling avalanche of rhythms, but it gives more space for his melodies to breathe, and when the hooks truly soar (as on opener Stride On and the gorgeous ballad Fordana) it prompt questions as to why he still hasn’t been more widely acclaimed as a songwriter.

You could possibly argue that elements of his sound (particularly the fairground feel to his variety of organ sounds) wobble dangerously close to novelty at times, and he seems to nod to this by stopping the set and announce, “I’m just going to install my bandmates” – which turn out to be a revolving polystyrene head and a rubber vulture. “I think it’ll be a lot more fun for all of us,” he announces in deadpan fashion. It certainly helps break the tension that's perhaps unavoidable in a small room with scarcely any people in it, but ultimately fun is already high on the agenda, and the small crowd responds in adoring fashion. Sometimes the switch to a solo career helps to shine a light on those deserving of more attention: Sam Coomes is more than ready for his time in the spotlight.