It’s a rather bleak night. The sky is ominously murky – a dark pall is suspended above the city like a black veil – and the impending threat of showers has doused any inclination for live music. Yet, what could be more apt than watching Placebo tout their trademark melancholia on such a dark and dreary night.

We’re late. Two songs in and the spectacle has already begun. Brian Molko casts a lonely figure on stage, cradling his microphone, arching over it as if apprising it of a dirty little secret. Stefan Olsdal is relegated to the side of the stage – any further and he’d be playing from the wings – whilst Steve Forrest exhibits the unabashed enthusiasm of the new recruit. It appears that the honeymoon is not yet over. They play like lone musicians, keeping interaction to an absolute minimum. They barely move from their marks, as if they are each enacting the motions to a different show, one that is playing within their heads.

The maudlin Sleeping With Ghosts resonates throughout the room as Molko punctuates his words with self indulgent hand gestures. ‘So, fuck the government, and fuck the killing, fuck their lies’, he shouts into the microphone as he flips the bird, his rhetoric lost on the young kids wallowing at his feet. ‘Hush, it’s okay, dry your eyes’, he then murmurs in his hypnotic undertone to an audience that is now deathly still.

The setlist oscillates between the fey pop rock of the new album – For What It’s Worth, Ashtray Heart, Julien – and those beautiful yet doleful tunes which never fail to captivate the crowd – Follow the Cops Back Home, Meds, Song to Say Goodbye. It’s not until Every You, Every Me that the crowd animates. The seething mass of tangled forms in the pit jump up and down as nascent limbs are raised in the air. Generation Y has never before shown such drive, except when they’re throwing water bottles onto the stage with their characteristic insouciance. Look, there’s another one.

The band continues to play on faultlessly, they sound tight, no doubt aided by the intimacy of the venue and the extra musicians on hand to beef up their sound. And then, another water bottle. Molko breaks his vow of silence to politely remind the throng that ‘the stage is not a dustbin’ and to refrain from throwing their rubbish at him. Every song that follows is greeted with great mirth, the crowd sings along at Molko’s insistence, arms aloft, erupting when old favourites like Special Needs and Special K are unveiled.

They appear tired, even a little bit listless, perhaps drained by their secret show earlier in the day. They play with a moderate energy, but some songs are left wanting for lack of passion. The stage banter is non existent, Stefan Olsdal is relatively subdued, dispensing with the histrionics that characterised their Hordern show in 2006. ‘I came to see the skirt. Why isn’t he wearing a skirt?’, the drunken bogan beside me asks his companion.

The familiar strum of the Bitter End heralds the close of their set. The crowd sing along as Molko’s vibrato pierces the air. He stalks the stage, wailing into his microphone as Olsdal writhes at the side like a superfluous appendage and Steve Forrest pounds the drums. It’s a blistering performance but it’s over all too quickly and the band swiftly disappears from view. They return a brief moment later to deliver a weak encore with a lacklustre rendition of Bright Lights and Trigger Happy and the show ends with Molko urging us to ‘change your taste in men’. And they’re done.

Molko rushes to front of the stage and claps his hands, thanking the punters who whoop with pure delight. They take their time to indulge those in the pit, reaching out meet outstretched hands which are aching to be touched. The band forms a line, they raise clasped hands and take a bow. It seems to be the only fitting way to extinguish a night fraught with such an overwhelmingly bleak sentimentality.

In spite of the band’s subdued countenance, and a setlist which was a blatant propaganda for the new album, they were still able to effortlessly enthrall the assembled crowd. And yet somehow, if given the choice, I wouldn’t have it any other way because even when they’re faking it, Placebo still manage to give good gig.

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