At the height of his 1980s pomp, no rock star talked himself up more assiduously than Sisters of Mercy frontman Andrew Eldritch, a singer who describes himself as "Kierkegaard meets Elvis". Yet the 16-year gap since the band's last studio album suggests his philosophical and musical well has long since run dry.

Tonight's ultra-rare show has dragged the bat people from their belfries to see how their reclusive hero is ageing. Hilariously, they leave none the wiser. Invisible throughout, the Sisters grind out their gothcore anthems from inside industrial quantities of dry ice. After 10 minutes, even the bar at the back of the venue is lost in a peasouper.

It's of greater concern that Eldritch appears not to have altered his modus operandi since 1983. Growling Sisters of Mercy's portentous anthems in a stentorian judder, he still suggests a post-punk Grim Reaper reciting the lesser works of Edgar Allan Poe over a turgid sludge-metal racket. The samey material is not aided by his decision to use a drum machine, reducing the epic cold war anthem Mother Russia to a funereal dirge. He may aspire to enigmatic profundity, but Lucretia, My Reflection simply sounds like an exercise in empty bombast.

The pace picks up marginally for 1982's Alice, a song that reeks of patchouli and kohl and triggers a Pavlovian response among the female crowd members, who launch into snake-armed dances. If Sisters of Mercy had more tunes like this, they might have equalled the world domination of their romantic contemporaries Depeche Mode.

Sadly, it's a rare flash of brilliance in a night that is otherwise a crashing disappointment. Where we craved a guilty pleasure, Sisters of Mercy prove a mere endurance test, a gothic-tinged period piece that's as musty as a museum.

· At the UEA, Norwich, tomorrow. Box office: 01603 508050. Then touring.