Placebo

Placebo inhabit a grey zone between credible indiemetal and decaf goth. Their adroit neo-industrial anthems contain sufficient sly wit to woo coffee-house anoraks while a flair for empathetic angst appeals to disaffected teens.

Coquettish singer/guitarist Brian Molko steers a deft course between harrowed authenticity and tart sarcasm. The diminutive Molko has lately forsaken the androgyne tokenism that saw him briefly installed as gender-bending court jester to Britain's music press. He needs to play it straight, as his audience is a disparate mob: frowning 20somethings jostling with giddy adolescents who, only dimly aware of The Cure or Sisters of Mercy, deem grey trench-coats and black eyeliner quintessential badges of tortured intellect.

The start is slovenly, as Molko's vocals are swamped by lugubrious bass-lines and overwrought drum flourishes, the caterwaul rendering the opening salvo of tunes unidentifiable. But then Allergic, a highlight from 1998's Without You I'm Nothing album, is dusted down, its shimmering elegance dispelling the sonic fog.

A frenetic dash through familiar territory ensues before the journey is briefly derailed when the group quits the stage after a lighting fixture comes loose. When they return, a soaring rendition of Every You and Every Me leads into a treacle-slow translation of Teen Angst. There is nothing ironic in the title and the throbbing revision of the recent single, Taste in Men, is here enlivened by a rumbling electro backbeat.

The closing brace - biggest hit Nancy Boy reborn as a swaggering punk workout and a shuddering wide-screen take on Pure Morning (arguably Placebo's most enduring moment) - carry the gig off somewhere perfect. Noisy but nice.