What do you give the post-punk, postmodern generation?

Bag up the eternal themes of love, hate and social disharmony and repackage as a wry-rock duo dressed in frilly knickers, stripey suspenders and Pierrot make-up.

Dolls fans don't take drugged-up rent boys spewing "poetry" or grizzly grebos posing with a flash guitar.

Give us theatre, intelligent observation and, above all else, passion.

A sort of music-box cabaret introduced numbers such as Good Day with a deceptive air of innocence and gentility.

Wade in through Amanda Palmer's clever lyrical games, however, and you'll reach the pounding angst of her heavy-handed keyboard and Brian Viglione's ferocious drumming.

Others from the self-titled first album, such as Half Jack, began with eerie, haunted house melodies with short-clipped clauses speeding up to urgent shouting and full-on, throbbing rock-outs.

The sold-out gig was full of requests for the amusingly titled Coin-Operated Boy ("Made of plastic and elastic, he is rugged and long-lasting. Who could ever ask for more, love without complications galore") and The Jeep Song.

But, judging from the new album, Yes Virginia, the Dolls' newer material is as imaginative as ever.

They left the crowd beaming in delight. Saviours of a generation.