It was midnight. For three hours, I had been force-fed three of the most appalling bands ever, culminating in a tragic reincarnation of Peter And The Test Tube Babies.

Concorde 2 was packed with sweaty blokes in Dr Marten's, either bare-topped or wearing, God forbid, tartan.

But, it was the Dead Kennedys. The San Fransisco band who made punk smart by fusing savage political satire to the proto-hardcore thrash of the early Eighties inspiring just about every guitar band since.

So was the wait worth it? As police radio chatter burbled across the speakers, the Kennedys came on stage for their first UK date in 15 years. Or rather, they didn't.

Legal disputes, fallings out and the fact he's just too damn cool meant frontman, song-writer, activist and all-round god Jello Biafra did not join the party.

Worse still, in his place, the remaining members of this seminal group introduced Brandon Cruz - a maniac mix of Johnny Rotten and Freddie Starr.

As the opening bars to Looking Forward To Death crashed, Klaus Flouride, bass, and founder guitarist East Bay Ray looked like they would rather be playing jazz.

But even as the barrel-chested punks went mental, there was a sense it was not quite the genuine article.

Much as we would love to have them back, sometimes it's best to let the Dead Kennedys lie.