Yo La Tengo

Gorky's don't work tonight, charming as they can be. They're already onstage at 8.05pm and they're under-selling that complex, acid-fried indie prog ambition. Not exactly boring but not setting themselves on fire either. Maybe the problem is this place, or the band they're supporting. The Corn Exchange and its rather aloof crowd of south coast scenesters is a bit like a sports hall filled with polite parents. There's almost an air of slight embarrassment about the evening. Meanwhile, nobody does 'unassuming' like Yo La Tengo and I find myself imagining Euros and his crazy Welsh kids deliberately holding back from wreckless abandon in order to avoid distracting from Ira Kaplan's quiet genius. Surely not. It picks up towards the end, hints of steep incline rural brilliance. This isn't decline, I'm telling meself, Gorky's will live to fight another day.

Then Hoboken's finest wayward children, dead rat Sinatra notwithstanding. Tonight Yo La Tengo eschew underwater film soundtracks and oddball collaborations, prefering the simple, satisfying bash through some choice moments. Kicking off loud and wobbly with 'Sugarcube', the three are settled and on excellent, focused form by the third song. It can vary - Yo La Tengo should be seen whenever they tour - but this one's a show for quiet emotion and lengthy jams. The wrung-out noise assaults aren't mixed well enough and the richness of Kaplan's heavier guitar work is sometimes lost, so the stakes are raised when they quieten down. In fact when they take requests during the encore, he says "we've rocked out enough" and they concentrate on delicate Georgia-led pop.

Highlights. 'Nuclear War' stretches chanted loose funk (with two drummers) over a ten minute canvas. 'Little Honda' goes nuts in the middle but manages to find itself again. 'From Black To Blue' is wonderful. I felt the lack of 'Stockholm Syndrome' and 'Autumn Sweater' but that's churlish.

However, it's not a happy ending, walking away from the Corn Exchange. The thought of this otherworldly trio, pitching up in roundabout-swathed Basingstoke tomorrow night to play inside the concrete Anvil is demoralising. Like a classic magic trick explained, Yo La Tengo are reduced to absurdity by impoverished surroundings.