It must gall the Undertones that the bulk of the greying new wave iconoclasts' later output outstrips Teenage Kicks in breadth, ambition and execution.
Dutifully disinterred twice, the Derry quintet's imperishable ode to adolescent infatuation sidles awkwardly alongside a slew of svelte pop nuggets culled from a shamefully overlooked twilight period.
Exhibiting a rigour of purpose and musical tightness unexpected in five middle-aged men milking the burgeoning nostalgia circuit, the group douses a fat-free greatest hits set with blistering guitars and volatile rhythm-play.
Original vocalist Fergal Sharkey has eschewed the comeback trail for a record industry career. Throaty replacement Paul McLoone competently supplants uberfop Sharkey's bruised falsetto. His raw, impassioned delivery imbues 20-year anthems with sweaty vitality belying their age. McLoone exudes the wide-eyed "look at me mum!" zeal of a Manchester United fan pulled from the terraces and asked to partner Becks at midfield.
Sibling guitarists John and Damian O'Neil, formerly the core of criminally-ignored country-punk exponents That Petrol Emotion, comprise the Undertones' muscle and sinew. Their spiky interchanges add lustre to spirited but limited three-chord workouts such as My Perfect Cousin and Here Comes the Summer.
The best moments come from the Undertones' final years. A stark Julie Ocean recalls the pained indolence of Dog Man Star-era Suede. The exuberant Misery Me presages the early 1980s penchant for cerebral Goth. Lamentably, a preponderance of the audience are glancing at their watches, stifling yawns, wondering if they'll hear Teenage Kicks again.
