He's a sweet guy and the undisputed grandpa of electro-pop, with an honourary degree in goth. But Gary Numan is an artist of a bygone era when countering the grassroots fury of punk by evoking a detached robo-type character was wildly inventive. Then Styx happened. Today, monotone non sequiturs laid over static slabs of synth just don't cut it. Pure sounds like it was recorded on a four-track in a cave in the hours between midnight and dawn while grainy footage of Max Schreck as Nosferatu flickered on the walls. Almost unbearably grim. Black-lacquered nails will be the order of the day when Count Numan swoops into the Palais Royale April 22.