Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Astoria, London

If we must have stars

They haven't even released an album yet, and already the Yeah Yeah Yeahs have sold out the substantial Astoria. Why, the last band to rise so quickly to underground superstardom must have been that other set of well-educated New Yorkers, The Strokes. Not that the Yeahs have much in common with them beyond a certain amount of mutual admiration and zero risk of destitution if all else fails. Their singer, Karen O, may be coy about her family name (it's sometimes given as Ohm, but is in fact Orzalek), but her odd combo have got this far on their undeniable merits.

The Yeahs really aren't like other bands, despite their now commonplace minimalist line-up of vocals, crack drummer Brian Chase and ever imaginative guitarist Nick Zinner. Who else would sell handbags at their merchandise stand? (And should we be asking under what conditions they're actually made?) Karen even has her own designer in tow, the unfortunately named Christiane Joy (who drops the "e" on her label in a sarcastic tribute to her born-again parents).

Spraying a bottle of Veuve Clicquot over the adoring audience one song in, Karen looks, as ever, way better than those fans who try to copy her style. Tonight, she models a green singlet-and-shorts set, accessorised by a neckscarf and dashing winged wristbands. (Sadly, most of the girls present aiming for a similar effect still have their mother's words ringing in their ears: "Why are you going out dressed as Cyndi Lauper?")

The Yeahs are terrific, of course. Last year's "Bang" is now a classic, and the gloriously sardonic "Art Star" made an appearance. From the forthcoming album, Fever To Tell, the next single, "A Date with the Night", pulsing like an old Underworld tune, and the glam stomp "Cold Light" stood out. Only the deliberately dated Eighties synth-pop of the sequencer-powered "Blow Hard" seemed to follow trends rather than set them.

It's notable just how cussedly uncommercial they are at times. It's not as if any of their more obvious predecessors (say, Sonic Youth, Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Kathleen Hanna) have ever had much actual pop success. If we must have stars, though, let them be real ones like Karen. Somehow, their shows last year, full of middle-aged men who just melted at her yelp of, "Come on, kids!" in the fabulous "Our Time" (a spoof anthem that has become what it parodied, and which shamelessly copies Tommy James's classic "Crimson and Clover") were more memorable for being empty of students in gauche make-up. But nothing can stop the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' rise now.