Thirty years on and still going strong, most people who can remember the Eighties in the UK will have heard of (though may well have forgotten) The Damned, if not from their 1986 hit with a cover version of "Eloise" then from the media antics of Captain Sensible. They started in '76 and accrued acres of cred (their first gig was supporting the Sex Pistols, they were the first UK punk band to release a single, put out an album or tour the US, and some consider them an influence on the formation of goth) but are they resting on their laurels? On the evidence of this gig, I fear they might be.

There's certainly a lot of personality on stage. Dave Vanian on vocals as a suave and distinguished psychobilly Reservoir Dog who doesn't get far into the set before tearing off his jacket, tie and half the buttons on his shirt (I pray that I look half as hot when I hit fifty!); Captain Sensible on guitar as an irreverent joker in sailor suit and his trademark red beret, constantly railing against Trident or threatening to sing his Eighties comedy hit single "Happy Talk" at the audience; Monty Oxy Moron bouncing behind the keyboards in his Hawaiian shirt, overflowing with joyful eccentricity. There are also a couple of blokes on bass and drums, black clothes fading into the background as they keep quiet to let the others banter... and banter seems to be what it's all about. I came for the music, and there are certainly some corking songs on show - most of them old favourites that the audience know and love like "Smash It Up", "Anti-Pope", "The History Of The World Part 1", and the obligatory "Eloise" and "New Rose", seasoned with a couple of new ones such as "Perfect Sunday" and last year's "Little Miss Disaster" which don't disappoint - but the energy is lacking.

Partly it's the backdrop, a big white sheet on which black and white movies are projected (a different one to fit the theme of each song, from famous classics such as "Nosferatu", "Metropolis" and "Plan 9 From Outer Space" to more obscure offerings of ossuaries, devil worship and the like). In theory the idea's a good one, fitting to the title of this 'Dark Arts' tour, and I can't deny that the films are well chosen accompaniments. But instead of adding visual resonance to the lyrics the flickering images tear attention away from the music; at times even the band mostly stop to watch!

Partly it's the banter, a great gig involves the band connecting with the audience between the tracks but when the chat goes on this long the momentum of the music is lost. The reminiscences, the diatribes aimed at Trident, Malcolm McLaren and various politicians, the references to "Happy Talk", the jokes about Monty's family, the comebacks to hecklers, the friendly ribbing between Vanian, Sensible and Monty... in an interview it would all have been great to hear or read, but stood in the Zodiac all fired up from the last song and looking forward to the next it just drags out too long.

Partly it's the band showing some unfortunate prog-rock tendencies. Several minutes in the middle of "Ignite" are given over to Captain Sensible's guitar noodling, which doesn't exactly set the audience on fire, and that's sadly not the only occasion a track takes a break for some instrumental indulgence.

They are halfway through a tour, at that difficult stage where they've lost the initial edge and enthusiasm and haven't yet reached the exhilaration of the home stretch, treading the fine line between practiced and polished performance or comfortable going through the motions, so for that some allowance can be made. And with such a strong back catalogue it's hard to go wrong. But tonight was only a good gig, rather than the great gig the capacity crowd was expecting, and because of that many of us came away disappointed. There was an air of jovial complacence on the stage that made me yearn for the old punk attitude. Here's hoping they regain their form...

As for their support, Goldblade? When I saw them in the back room of the Bullingdon Arms some years back they were lean and hungry, full of edge and energy. Now they seem to have settled on just one song, a three-chord punk number which they perform with minor variations for their whole set, and the singer starts scouting for groupies before they've even left the stage. Holding out the mike for the audience to sing the chorus may work when you're headlining, but here falls flat and silent since everyone's come to see the main act. At least it's pleasantly distracting to watch the toned and shirtless frontman striding about the stage glistening with perspiration; it's certainly more interesting than listening to his songs, though the enthusiasm with which he tries to stir the audience between tracks could teach The Damned a thing or two tonight about pacing and engagement.