Sonic Youth

Few bands have created their own sound-world as convincingly, originally and as consistently as New York's Sonic Youth. For more years than they care to remember they have been brewing up their elixir of pop, concocted with feedback, a few dozen guitars, the odd screwdriver and a heap of genius. Half of it sounds like vomiting, the rest like the music from an alien invasion, and it's the sort of sound that makes parents think their new hi-fi is banjaxed. Perfect.

They also have that rare combination of creativity and longevity. While the likes of The Jesus & Mary Chain have gone rubbish and My Bloody Valentine have just gone, Sonic Youth have kept up sufficient creative impulse to be able to play a gig almost entirely of new songs. Remarkably, their audience is rejuvenated too. Most bands from the 1980s are sustained by the old fossils who remember them from first time round. Sonic Youth's following is full of teenagers in Smashing Pumpkins T-shirts, which is fitting for a band that don't look a day older than they did 10 years ago.

On Saturday night, they alternated between the atonal, minimalist musical lines and effects-laden work-outs with consummate ease. They only gave a small dose, which was quite enough, and the show could have done with a centrepiece such as Youth Against Fascism, but the acquired taste of their music was, yet again, quite superb.