When you go to a concert by a band that can trace its roots to the punk era, you can drawn perverse pleasure from speculating how the teachers, civil servants and parents around you might have looked in their youth, when they realised the attraction of loud guitars and the power of a song such as Teenage Kicks.

True to form, the old guard turned up determined that The Undertones would rekindle the passion of their favourite memories. They were joined by younger fans raised on older brothers' record collections and drawn there out of curiosity.

It was not surprising, as The Undertones were always outside of the punk loop, outliving their contemporaries and swimming easily into the broader, more accessible waters of 1980s new wave.

The band lashed into a series of energised anthems, provoking a mass pogo from a crowd old enough to know better. The highlight of this opening burst was I Gotta Getta, all 1970s bomber-jacket bravado and Derry colloquialism.

Replacement singer Paul McCloone is no Feargal Sharkey, but he has talent and a touch of the Sharkey warble. The rest of the band, buoyed along on their enthusiasm, showed they still have it. Simplicity. Tightness. That discernible essence of Undertone.

Then came the singalongs: My Perfect Cousin, Wednesday Week - how many classics are this band responsible for? There was even a "slow set", opening the debate on whether the youth of the audience might have been conceived to the strains of Julie Ocean.

After an encore capped by second renditions of Jimmy Jimmy and Teenage Kicks, the older generation, band and audience, go home, their passion rekindled, their memories confirmed.