Sonic Youth

Sonic Youth have unequivocally earned the right to do whatever they want. A quarter century as innovative flagbearers for alt rock buys you that much. More prosaically, it’s their band to operate in whichever way they see fit. Still, do they HAVE to be so resolutely fixated on their most recent material when playing live?

On this year’s The Eternal SY found their groove and stuck to it, an assured combination of off-kilter classic rock and mild forays into noisier territory. It’s a solid album, not a spectacular one, not comparable to their decade-highpoint collaborations with Jim O’Rourke, and not strong enough to dominate a 90 minute set as it does tonight. They've always highlighted their newest material live, but it's an especially big ‘fuck you’ at a show that’s surreally promoting the awards ceremony for that reliable champion of leftfield music – Q magazine.

There can’t be many people in this middle aged-leaning crowd that have come to see The Eternal played almost in its entirety, but then again there can't be many people here who are seeing SY for the first time and expecting anything different. Early signs are promising as a bass-less Kim Gordon rabble rouses her way through ‘Sacred Trickster’ but as the Eternal material continues to dominate, energy ebbs away.

The Lee Ranaldo-sung ‘Walkin Blue’ is a real by-numbers thing, with no discernable melody coming through the muddled, distant sound and a lack of the dynamic shifts that save much of the album. Lights behind the band spell out O-R-G-A-S-M during ‘Anti-Orgasm’’s seedy breakdown, but we're a long way from anything that transcendent, while ‘Malibu Gas Station’ meanders around a narrow lane of unsurprising SY reference points. It collapses in an enjoyably unhinged way before returning for another pointless coda, reminding us of the band’s stubborn commitment to their current mode.

When ‘Hey Joni’ finally enlivens the patient audience Ranaldo appears to be singing half-asleep but Thurston Moore's fluttering harmonics in the de facto chorus are as crystalline and glorious as ever. Pavement’s Mark Ibold on bass visibly perks up for the older songs, and Steve Shelley on drums is grinning and powerful throughout, his waterfall fills kicking songs up a gear without fail.

There are plenty of moments which remind you why the band you’re watching is fantastic. Ranaldo enlivens 'Poison Arrow' by tearing out harmonic feedback on the bridge of his guitar, wrenching the tremolo bar up in a refreshing re-imagining of the normal capabilities of the instrument. Despite Ranaldo and Shelley’s registry office wedding shirts, there’s also an almost embarrassing rockout proficiency at times; how comes bands half their age can't manage this sort of graceful abandon?

Presumably Sonic Youth are especially dedicated to the concept of The Album; their string of Daydream Nation-themed shows in 2007 would certainly suggest so. No-one can begrudge them their right to focus on new songs, but it feels like a shame when they’ve got such an excellent catalogue to draw from.

‘Death Valley ‘69’ in the second encore is wonderful, Moore snarling his words in a way that the Eternal material just doesn't allow for, but my goodwill and hell, my interest, has evaporated. That shouldn’t be the case with a band that could never be labelled ‘uninteresting’. Would it kill them to throw us a bone?