Up until lead singer Grant lost his voice, I was wondering what on Earth I could say about Feeder that would fill a 350-word review.

I was considering focusing on spoof Welsh hip-hop support act Goldie Lookin' Chain instead as they have funnier lyrics and more ridiculous outfits.

Feeder songs tend to be bouncy rock written with the three-minute catchiness of pop and the kind of alienated lyrics that appeal to kids.

They're a bit like the Crowded House of rock - as soon as the chorus kicks in, you suddenly remember singing along to the tune on the radio without realising who it was by.

Nothing ground-breaking or really amazing but good enough to keep the sweaty, hormonal frottage of the moshpit going for at least an hour and a half.

Half an hour and five songs in, the kids were having the time of their lives when Grant said: "Sorry guys, I've lost my voice." Disaster. Every fan's worst nightmare. Eighteen quid for a ticket, possibly saved up for out of paper-delivery money, and your hero croaks out.

But like all true heroes, Feeder did their best to make the benevolent force of rock overcome the heinous evil of bleeding vocal chords.

Grant proceeded to make about seven teenagers' dreams come true by inviting them on stage to sing a couple of hits for him.

It felt like the ending to every good American high-school movie, when the kids save the day.

One girl shouted: "Come on guys, we're here for Feeder" - trying to stoke up the crowd's excitement again. A scarily obsessive Feeder geek hogged the mic and sang falsetto like a cat being strangled.

A skinny future-model type in tight jeans let her hair down and shook it about.

At the end, a bouncer told everyone to collect a ticket at the door and the show would be rescheduled. Everyone cheered.

So Feeder may be no Nirvana but they're thoroughly good eggs. They made young people happy and they saved my review. Good show, lads.