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Five years after their last American gig, Elastica's 11-date comeback tour wisely starts in a city where the Fall sections of second-hand record shops are picked cleaner than carcasses in a burger factory. There's hardly a Brit in sight, maybe put off by The comeback's lukewarm reception back home, but the US indie kids still believe, and are ready to party like it's 1979.

There is a heroes' welcome and Justine Frischmann looks suitably chuffed. Mew, the Bez-type foil, pogoes brightly onto the stage, gripping the mike like a teenager with a hairbrush. Justine is taking it all in, firing off seemingly random licks before the first, fabulous 1-2-3-4 kick starts 'Line Up'. Yeah, the tune's nicked (from Wire's 'I Am The Fly') but it still kicks arse. Paul Jones is doing that half taking off his guitar then putting it back on thing and that's definitely not nicked.

The new album 'The Menace' may be a bit dodgy but half the crowd know it already and it's only been out a couple of weeks. The opening barks of 'Mad Dog' are cheered lustily, and like 'Generator' and 'KB' it sounds tougher and less cheesy than on the album. They may have been fucking around for the last five years, but they're not now.

A suitor throws a pair of boxer shorts on stage. Justine smiles graciously and puts them on her head, fringe flopping beneath the elasticated waistband. She swaggers around the stage, jeans slung low, chin held high. The boys - and the girls - make the characteristic whooping cry of the sexually aroused American before 'Stutter' sends them into a frenzy. A bit of random air-punching is great for relieving the old sexual tension, and there's no better song for it. 'Connection' comes last of course, and when Justine replaces the punchline with a delicious mockney "oh bollox", nme.com could do with a bit of relieving as well.

New song 'The Bitch Don't Work' is hauled out of its pram for the encore. Written in five minutes on the back of a fag packet by the sound of it, it's fast and that's all that matters. "Cahm on, let's do one more", pleads Frischmann to the band who are already half way to the dressing room after 55 minutes. The one more is a blistering 'Waking Up'. And yeah, the tune's nicked ('No More Heroes'), but the bollocks aren't. Five years? For a near-perfect hour of two-minute punk rock you'd wait twice that.

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