Sheridan Nichol, choreographer of 'Faerie Feat', the opening piece, says this work is a fusion of "traditional Scottish dance and jazz dance". It actually looks like something cobbled together on the spot by a mediocre teacher trying to perk up a boring dance class.

It opens with an X-Files effect - Celtic mysticism, anyone? - which, as an atmosphere builder is a non-starter. Things go downhill from there. The choreography is all too often a mess. Quite where the "traditional Scottish dance" fits in is a mystery. Campbell McKenzie prances around, trying to pretend he's not doing a Michael Flatley impression (thankfully he stops short of wearing a headband), the main body of dancers try to cope with routines that have neither the snap of co-ordination nor the freshness of improvisation.

A short interlude with two girls dancing together looked more promising, but it was only a brief flicker. Nichol is fond of dramatic lifts, that are more than competently performed, but the music works against them.

The live band, the Peat Bog Faeries, are a disappointment. Traditional music has developed in collaboration with rock in far more inventive ways than sticking a bagpipe and an electric guitar together and alternating tunes. The music they produce is flattering to neither tradition. They also manage the near-impossible feat of deadening the beat - there is a strongly accented beat, but it is curiously dull and unexciting.

The nearest Nichol's choreography gets to "traditional Scottish" is a jig on pointe that is as repetitive and undeveloped as the bodhran player in the band. The overall impression of 'Faerie Feat' is of 'Lord of the Dance' staged in an aerobics class. In a wise move, the costume designer is uncredited.

Peter Darrell's 'Five Rückert Songs' is more promising. Darrell' strength as a choreographer is a flowing style creating chains and curves. It opens with Dawn Sutton starting a domino effect of movement among trios of dancers. Ruby Philogene, who performs the songs, is on stage with the dancers and becomes part of the movement. In one striking image, Sutton crouches at Philogene's feet before bursting back into her dance. Unfortunately, the music, by Mahler, is boring, stifling both life and enthusiasm.

Adam Cooper rectifies that with 'Just Scratchin' the Surface', set in a dodgy bar. It is fun and stylish, with music mostly Duke Ellington and Oscar Peterson and an aura of 'LA Confidential' permeates the set.

Like Bourne, Cooper plays with conventions (also like Bourne, the sets are by Lez Brotherston). Vladislav Bubnov, complete with cowboy boots, snakeskin trousers, open shirt and pony tail, starts with an opening solo that is almost purely classical in form, particularly the port de bras. You can't but help wonder how he dances in those trousers, though. An assortment of characters, including a hooker, a trainspotter and a preppy couple, wander in and out of the bar and change the music at the jukebox to dance.

The characters are all "types" but some get beyond stereotypes. Nicci Theis staggers in, looking as though she's had a night on the tiles, and lurches around on pointe in a manner that suggests she's well over the limit. As her solo progresses though, it becomes clear that she may or may not be drunk, but something has definitely happened to her. Nothing is resolved - she shrinks Bubnov's barman at first and warms towards him later, but there is no development beyond that. In contrast to Theis' disturbed character, Clare Mahon is the most adorable bum ever invented - a cross between a hobo and a perky cheerleader, while Campbell McKenzie is the boy-next-door who increasingly abandons his pink- and pearl-clad girlfriend to hang out at the bar.

Oliver Rydout temporarily steals the show as the glamorous transvestite who has the best frock of the lot. He refrains from camping the role up - his shoulders are the real giveaway when he first appears on stage.

Bubnov closes the piece as it opened, with another classical solo, while the choreography in between shifts for the characters. Catherine Evers bumps and grinds as the blowsy hooker, Lorna Scott and McKenzie's duet starts off in character, before moving into more ambitious and expressive moves, while Keith Prested, the trainspotter lurking at the back, jerks his way through an energetic version of 'Jump for Joy'.

It's not just a collection of solos - the group also works together as a whole (which includes Rydout towering over his colleagues in the women's line up). Cooper isn't trying to say anything special with this piece, it's about enjoying the music. It ensures that the evening ends on a high point. Had the rest of the bill been of this calibre, it would have been a fantastic night out.