Kim Gordon, first lady of grunge and matriarch of Sonic Youth, is playing Lolita. Wearing a fringed flapper dress that sparkles with every sway, she slowly grinds to the warped guitar notes played by husband Thurston Moore. Gracefully lifting her hands above her head, like a ballerina who has ditched the barre for a seedy strip bar, she offers herself to crowd, defying them to try their luck. Kim Gordon is over 50 years old.

Like their leading lady, Sonic Youth have remained captivating for the past 23 years. Fed on a diet of Patti Smith and the Velvet Underground, their art-scene roots, pure melodies and affection for white noise have saved them from being half-remembered influences, a Teflon-like coating of untouchable cool, vacuum-packed around their 19 LPs. The latest, Sonic Nurse, sees their self-indulgent tendencies stripped away in favour of tenderness, the spiky chords swathed in warmth.

The mood is one of trepidation: will tonight be two hours of experimentation - or cult classics? In fact, we get the new LP almost in its entirety and a couple of oldies.

But no one is complaining. As if energised by the new material, Gordon and Moore favour showmanship over studied sullenness. "This is from Sonic Youth to Jordan!" says Moore, dedicating the short, sharp, shock of Brother James to the topless model.

Pattern Recognition sees Moore playing his guitar windmill style, before gently rolling it around his head, his hands negotiating the squeaking notes. Skulking at the far corner of the stage, he climbs on top of a bank of speakers and dangles his guitar towards the floor, as if using it as bait in some bizarre onstage fishing ritual.

Both the riot-inducing punk and the discordant pop are thrilling, the band enjoying every chaotic second. Although Teenage Riot should sound undignified played by such old hands, the fact that its slacker spirit remains intact is testament to Sonic Youth's agelessness.