Phoenix / Turin Brakes: London WC1 Mean Fiddler

In this cynical old 21st Century, it would seem that a certain group of music fanatics resolutely crave traditional values, a back-to-basics approach. Don't think they're referring to the Paul Weller "let's-recreate the '60's by having the same hair and everything" kind of route through rock's rich lineage - these people want emotional purity and timeless melodies, not some kind of flavour-of-the-month glossed with an artificial sheen that we'll all be laughing at in a year's time. Oh, and good tunes would also help.

Those very "out of touch" people position themselves right at the front of the stage to listen - intently - to the chiming acoustics of Turin Brakes, and are soon transfixed by every twist and turn of frontman Olly Knights' astonishing voice. Don't have time to drag out all then usual comparisons here, but let's just say that when the group (and there's a full band here tonight) strum through the intimate confessionals of 'The Door' and 'Save Me' the voyeuristic pleasure is palpable. And it's not all 'bedwetter' fodder - 'Slack' rocks as hard as the school bully on steroids.

Phoenix, on the other hand, are, as one wag puts it, "like the French Blues Brothers". It's not all bad - new single 'If I Ever Feel Better' is undeniably catchy in a Hall And Oates-meets-Shakatak kind of way, but images of (sigh) mullets, short-sleeved jackets and slip-on shoes are difficult to shake when confronted with such a blatant reconstruction of an age which should be left well alone. God, pointless nostalgia just ain't what it used to be.

Phoenix are slick, professional, at times mildly diverting (especially when blasting through the grungy, completely-out-of-character 'Party Time' and a rollicking run through Cheap Trick's classic 'Surrender'), but ultimately soulless. They could - and should - learn a thing or two from their support band.

Alan Woodhouse