The Horrors, Camden Electric Ballroom, Friday 5th June

Not only can I feel the sound bouncing in and out of my ears, but the floor is vibrating and throbbing. On stage The Horrors are still goth, but no longer cartoon goth, more an early Cure, Mary Chain type of goth. Barring Faris, their hair no longer resembles a crow's nest in a force-ten gale. The bass player even wears a shirt that isn't black and dances hypnotically using only his shoulders (you had to be there). Certain gimmicks of the old days linger, the keyboard player as pale, bowl-cutted and quietly frightening as an Addam's family extra.

There was a problem, but I'm yet to work out if this was the band's fault. Their new album, 'Primary Colours' has not left my CD player and iPod for a month, and as a result I know every nuance, every colourful glimmer, every vocal flourish. I didn't expect them to replicate the sound of the record live (a naive hope when going to see any band), but I did expect more than simply a relentless wall of noise, which is what I got.

That's not to say that I didn't enjoy the gig. Their playing was far better than when I saw them at Reading in 2007, and they had that synergy that some bands can almost magically muster, a glorious racket which sounds greater than the sum of its parts. 'Scarlet Fields' sounded wonderful, exploding into a cacophany of colourful synth, 'Do You Remember' drenched in baggy charm. But Faris's vocal could only just be discerned, buried beneath pounding guitar, bass and drums. You could hear that his voice was on the money, but you could barely grasp or hold it in your hearing, like sensing something sinister out of the corner of your eye without being able to see it.

I admired their refusal to dwell on the songs that initially brought them attention: none of the 8 songs they played pre-encore were from the 1st album, though they did pay knowing homage to them at the gig's climax, rattling off 'Count In Fives', 'Sheena Is A Parasite', and 'Gloves' in frenetic succession, Faris shining a lantern into the crowd, tall and wiry, an undertaker on leave.

I felt incredibly old when the lights came on to reveal teens in their fertility-restricting jeans and Topman starter-kits. But to go to Camden expecting anything else would be another act of naivety.