Tonight The Con Artists are taking their first steps outside of their hometown, and the huddled streets of Cwmparc conceal a million reasons not to. The atmosphere inside the venue can be cut with a knife, and strangers' throats might also be at risk. Instruments have taken on the importance of medieval joker's gags, and any minute now their players could be consigned to crocodile pit, guillotine, or, worse - a Rhondda disco.

If Johnny Borrell were here he would have had it already, throat slit and ego donated to the local darts team, so the gig begins with In the Morning. Temperature is sub-zero, and maybe below that, and the old time shimmy of Berry's Rock 'n' Roll Music is met with a number of people checking their watches for the length of time that they haven't heard a Stereophonics track.

Meanwhile, the microphones of singers Johnny Gardener and Stuart Smith sound tinny, and, around here, trust me, without diction, you're as good as nothing. Suddenly, the whole PA system shrinks like a giant, salted snail. Menace lurks, but the ironic nature of the chanting suggests that complete annihilation of the players might not be the verdict. Maybe drinks have been taken, but when the system croaks back to life again, there's a new optimism.

The Zutons are probably too foppish to be embraced here in person, femme fatale saxophonist Abi would have to come with a government health warning, but there's something about this song and this band that's burrowing away at all of the crowd's hostility.

Others like to garner it, so this is pretty unique and alternative edge. Gardener's superb harmonica on Love Me Do is another, spectral folk ingenuity floating across the venue like mystery itself. The surprises keep rolling as the retinue stick to only the pop-most nuggets of the recent mainstream-alternative and some quaint rock 'n' roll, and - whisper it gently - but a haven of philistinism is being quietly rendered a creative indie feast.

One thing the Rhondda has never lacked in is fine musicians, and lead-guitarist Adam Warren is destined to be up there in the higher echelons of axe-heroes with Racing Cars' Graham Williams. He shoots golden threads through the Manics' Australia and You Stole The Sun From My Heart with Bradfield-like soul, while Gareth Beartup flitters away at drums with stunning precision, upping stakes at will with the cartoon virtuosity of Animal.

Of course, the smallest details in indie music often create the killer moments, and the piano/keyboard in the corner is a sign that all the right laws of performance are being obeyed in this unlikely setting. Smith puts aside his bass to etch out the opening strains of The Killers' All These Things That I've Done before launching into the vocals with the quintessential new-wave strut of Brandon Flowers, and quite brilliantly, The Con Artists are winning the day without even playing Bryan Adams' Summer of '69.

Champagne Supernova is portrayed to an atmospheric T, before a fun-time medley of Please Mr Postman and Stand By Me has people going bona fide crazy. They simply don't want it to end, and for an encore we get the rare sight of Rhondda revellers dancing to nuggets like The Coral's Dreaming of You and The Who's My Generation rather than, say, jeering along to DJ Otzi's Hey Baby.

Bubbles are more likely to fill the air than intimidation, and if this is not a Rhondda revolution, I don't know what is. This may not be the real thing, but The Con Artists certainly sell the illusion with alternative glee. Cwmparc succumbs, and, if only for a night, freedom is won.

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