Simple Minds' crowd-pleasing anthems helped define commercial rock in the mid-Eighties, selling truckloads on both sides of the Atlantic.

By the end of that decade, their grand, romantic sound, designed for stadiums rather than night clubs, was as uncool as Roland Rat.

But Simple Minds were in it for the long haul. After a four-year break, they are now promoting a new album, Cry, largely written by original guitarist Charlie Burchill.

Played live, the title track (out as a single) reveals itself as a sensational pop tune. Cleverly worked around a Northern Soul groove, topped by a blinding chorus, it is a completely unexpected treat.

The rest of the new material is much less memorable but the audience didn't mind. It was not what they came to hear.

The atmosphere was subdued until the first of the proud, lush epics that brought Simple Minds their huge following.

The volume was cranked up for Waterfront, singer Jim Kerr successfully urged the crowd to join in, hoisting the mic stand triumphantly and indulging in a trademark shimmy across the stage.

The Glaswegian always had a floating, flamboyant stage presence, and was still able to pull off all the old moves, including high kicks and back-drops.

Thankfully, he had made one important change: Leather trousers and flouncy shirts had given way to tasteful, low-key alternatives.

When he crouched to touch hands with fans near the front of the stage, he didn't seem as dazzled by his own brilliance as he once did.

We also got lesser-known songs from their early post-punk years - songs Jim Kerr had practically disowned by 1985 and which sounded less dated than the overblown Sanctify Yourself, for example.

The first two singles, The American (1981) and Life In A Day (1979), were performed cannily. Their keyboard-led subtlety, inspired by Kraftwerk was, for me, the most engaging part of the entire set.

Suddenly, the clashing symbols and vocal flourishes were gone, replaced by thoughtful, sparse rhythms and tight melodies that got straight to the point.

There were some very dull moments as well, not least during the plodding sentimentality of This Is Your Land and Belfast Child.

But these didn't last long and the overall mood was one of nostalgic celebration.

The band came back for two varied encores. After a couple more new ones, including the drug-themed Spaceface and one unfamiliar punk thrash, a rousing Alive And Kicking provided a sweeping, optimistic finale.

Review by Andrew Fisher, features@theargus.co.uk