Some people in Scotland speak Welsh, and Shirley Bassey was born in Splott, not Tiger Bay as originally thought. Just two of the many pearls of wisdom we picked up during Super Furry Animal Gruff Rhys’ solo show.

Tonight, Gruff’s gig is the hottest ticket around, the weight of expectation presumably based on the watertight reputation of the SFA live show. In short, the crowd are knotted of knuckle, baited of breath and eventually, beyond appreciable as Rhys plays tracks from Yr Atal Genhedlaeth (which translates, rather neatly, into The Stuttering Generation) for the first time ever.

Though few performers can carry off the Casio/solo-guitar/funny-banter combo (just ask Kittser), Rhys has mastered it with startling ease. He mumbles his random anecdotes, punctuated by odd cricket or ocean sound from his trusty Casio… the whole effect sounds not unlike Neosupervital rousing the comedic spirit of Andy Kaufman.

Something tells me that Rhys is slightly uncomfortable as a solo performer, and one with a largely unknown album at that. He implores his audience to ‘applaud with recognition’ at the opening strains of his songs – something that is probably a matter of course at his regular gigs.

Granted, Rhys’ solo offerings lack the psychedelic impact of Super Furry Animals, yet the touch of quirk is still very much there. Granted, his trusty Casio (and cricket machine, which he trods on to everyone’s horror) renders his new sound rather puny. Still, there is much emotion (and even a little romance) to be heard in the likes of ‘Pwdin Wˆy 1’ (‘Egg Pudding 1’), ‘Caerffosiaeth’ (‘Sewage City’) and ‘Epynt’ (well, ‘Epynt’)…even if we have little idea what he is singing about.

For all his quirks and stories, Rhys is the unlikely, unexpected master of the intimate gig, and therein lies the evening’s beauty. It’s nice to see that, for the time being, he seems fully intent on keeping it surreal.