NINETEEN years on, there's only one person who seems unconvinced that

Big Star's reunion is rock's least nostalgic comeback event of 1993: Big

Star main man Alex Chilton. ''I hope it's been fairly . . . fairly

kitschy, spewing all this seventies music at you,'' he said doubtfully,

almost apologetically, towards the conclusion of Wednesday night's

triumph.

Formed in the seventies Big Star's music undeniably was, but kitsch?

Never. Other words spring more readily to mind: gorgeous, spare, tender,

innocent, joyous, melancholic, powerful . . . pure electric power-pop

embodying loss and yearning; baroque melody and love-lorn aspiration;

classic rock'n'roll tunes which are simultaneously simple yet surprising

in the directions they take.

And given that 98% of Big Star's audience on Wednesday were born after

the band broke up in 1974, no one could accuse the band of surfing on a

wave of greybearded nostalgia. Nope, aside from their cover of the

politically-incorrect, distinctly of-its-time Slut (''S-L-U-T! She may

be a slut, but she looks good to me''), there's nothing that would date

Big Star.

So praise to Big Star new kids Ken Stringfellow and Jon Auer for

toning down their awe with irreverence; to support act the BMX Bandits

for covering the waterfront from Robert Burns to the Beach Boys; to

Teenage Fanclub and Primal Scream for informing us of Big Star's eternal

worth.

At the night's end, co-founder Jody Stephens abandons his drum-stool

to embrace Alex. Alex shrugs him aside, modesty mingled with

embarrassment. A timeless gesture; a timeless music.