There's something heartening about seeing Gary Numan still head-banging away to 'Are Friends Electric?' After some spectacular success in the early part of his career (three number one albums before he was 21 - Craig David who?), the already insecure young Numan went on to suffer more critical slings and arrows than all five Spice Girls combined.
Now, his brand of alienated techno-doom has found itself, albeit tangentially, back in step with something approaching the mainstream. With Marilyn Manson, Trent Reznor and the rest of the US metal-goth mafia happily professing their debts of inspiration you might expect Numan's audience to be picking up a few nu-metal converts, but it doesn't seem to be the case yet. The hall is peopled with fans who have clearly grown up alongside Numan, and have subsequently, if a little awkwardly, embraced his leather fetish look Ann Summers chic seems to be the order of the day for many of the thirty-somethings present. Long gone are the quasi-New Romantic trappings of yore.
He takes the stage in a flood of light with muscular reworkings of late 70s classics 'Friends' and 'Films', guitar swung over his head, his black designer bondage outfit sporting a suspiciously functional looking corset feature. His burly, mohicaned cyberpunk guitarist makes an effective foil with his nice line in Leroy Prodigy dancing, which seems to spark Numan into uninhibited bouts of onstage flailing.
Whereas many recent sets have perhaps relied too heavily on the hefty back catalogue, tonight Gazza's confident enough to feature large chunks from the new album 'Pure' (his 17th) - the brooding 'RIP' and perkier 'Prayer For the Unborn' follow the album's template of whispered verses, backed by thudding rhythm loops and huge Bonham-esque drums followed by anthemic choruses. The formula can be a little one-dimensional, but in short, loud bursts it's very effective.
The inevitable run through the back-catalogue is kept interesting by hammering the songs into the current metallic style 1978's jaunty ode to Onanism, 'Everyday I Die', is transformed into bruising pulse-beat, while a riffed-up 'Cars' resembles the Fear Factory cover version of last year.
The adoration from the crowd is undiminished throughout, but it seems Numan is poised somewhat trickily between his old audience and a future, as yet unrealised one. Can the Marilyn Manson generation take someone over 40 to their hearts?
