Placebo's sporadic appearances always provoke mild wonder that this self-consciously seedy punk attraction have survived into the new century. More surprising still is the number of people who have stuck with them, guaranteeing that large venues like Brixton Academy are automatic sell-outs.

This was their second Brixton date in a month, the intervening time having been spent sticking out like sore thumbs in Australia. Placebo are an undeniably alluring package - if you happen to be a 17-year-old in the throes of gender confusion, or nursing a grudge against the cool kids at school. They know it, too, and exploit it in a way designed to send a dart to the heart of all common-room misfits.

The set highlight, Black Eyed, is played in front of enlarged photos of teenagers in the most awkward stages of adolescence, with phrases like "I hate my body" printed underneath. What's that if not understanding your demographic? Even aged 35-ish, leader Brian Molko is a reedy-voiced empathy-figure. "Just 19, a dream obscene, with six months off for bad behaviour," he declaims on Special Needs, in a voice so perfectly dissolute that any mothers in the house would have insitinctively put their hands over their offspring's ears. Bad Uncle Brian's half-defined visions of naughtiness keep the show rumbling along, and any gaps are filled in by a punk-metal onslaught that, by rights, should be beyond the reach of three skinny men.

The most recent album, Sleeping With Ghosts, was thoroughly wrung out. But while Placebo had their moments, especially in the shape of sludgy grinders like Without You I'm Nothing (written during Molko's hard-drugs phase and, in its horrid queasiness, sounding it), it was hard to see the appeal. Actually, it wasn't: here is a runt-made-good making a virtue of alienation. Referring to his "circle of friends", he hastily adds, "It's a very small circle," in case we get any ideas about his popularity.