Until I saw Damon Gough, the singer-songwriter better known as Badly Drawn Boy, in concert, it never occurred to me that the audience might be there for the performer's amusement rather than the other way around. At one point, Gough started handing out roses to women in the front row while he serenaded them freestyle. I couldn't help thinking of Jonathan Richman when he gave a flower to a guy and sang, "I'm not bisexual/but I appreciate the male population."

During most of his two hour-plus show Oct. 2 at Club Quattro, Gough seemed more interested in his cigarettes and bottle of Jack Daniels than his songs, but he was nevertheless attentive to the audience's expectations, even if he wasn't exactly meeting them. At first I thought the Mercury Prize that his debut album, "The Hour of Bewilderbeast," won a few weeks ago had gone to his head, and that he was exploiting the prerogatives of instant stardom. After stumbling onstage, fag hanging out of his mouth, fist pumping the air, he said "How you feelin' Tokyo? We're going to rock your socks off tonight." It was difficult to tell whether or not he was being ironic -- or whether it really mattered if he was.

Others in the sold-out club might have seen him a year ago when he played a showcase at a dinky dive in Roppongi; or they may have been following his career since his homemade tunes were first picked up by the UNKLE house/techno collective. But all I knew about Gough was "Bewilderbeast," which is one of the most consistently beautiful albums I've heard in a long time, a record of simple songs about everyday pain and longing that aren't forced or coy, couched in melodies snatched from the ether.