David Marsh @ Tianjin

Like many young Chinese, Fang Fang loves western pop music. The 21-year-old architecture student has built up quite a CD collection - not that difficult when they cost just 30 yuan (£2.50) at the Wang Ding Di music shop, or 10 yuan for pirated copies in the back room (although the holes punched through them by the authorities, in a clumsy attempt to make them unplayable, occasionally succeed).

Live music, however, is another matter. This chaotic, heavily polluted industrial city of 9.5 million people, 100km south-east of Beijing, is not known for its nightlife. Since they closed the Ku Re (Cool Heat) nightclub after a man was beaten to death outside in a gangland feud, the main alternative to the ubiquitous karaoke joints has been playing cards and drinking vodka in Ali Baba's, a small bar popular with expatriate students. So the news that Suede are to appear in Beijing on the Chinese leg of their "A New Morning" Asian tour has led to great excitement in Tianjin. Fang Fang's real passion is for rap, and in particular Eminem, but the veteran Britpopsters are a big enough attraction for someone who has never had the opportunity to see a real live western rock band.

Getting to Beijing by double-decker express train takes little more than an hour; getting tickets for the gig proves much harder. A call to the promoters, Zhu Shu Entertainment, has already established that you can't buy them by post or phone (credit cards not accepted). We are advised to go straight to the venue - the Chaoyang Gymnasium in the exclusive, but not easily accessible, San Li Tun embassy district.

We arrive a couple of hours before the concert after a tortuous journey across the city by bus, tube and taxi to find no box office and little sign of life apart from a friendly Chinese roadie unloading equipment. We mention Suede and he asks my son Dominic if he is in the band. No, we just want tickets. Well, you can't buy them here - you have to go to Zhu Shu Entertainment's offices in Dong Dan district (more or less where we had set out from). He writes out the address and wishes us luck.

A taxi, tube and bus ride later we arrive at a dark and apparently empty office block. A young Chinese couple, the girl dressed hippie-style and her boyfriend sporting a mullet, are standing outside. We join forces and try a side alley, and to everyone's surprise a door at the back is open. It's dark inside, and there's nothing and no one on the ground or upper floors. In desperation, we try the basement and find a picture of Suede on the door. Inside, a group of young women eating Kentucky Fried Chicken and wearing Suede T-shirts are nonchalantly selling the precious tickets. Cash only: 280 yuan, making them one of the few items in China that don't cost much less than in London.

Two hours later, Suede are on stage. Most of the fans who have survived the obstacle course of gaining access to this event are on the basketball court in front of the stage, from which they are attempting to drag singer Brett Anderson. The band's excellent 90-minute set, which is being shown live on 20 TV stations across China, is accompanied by non-stop pandemonium. When it finishes, the PA system plays Moon River and the gymnasium is clear within 15 minutes.

Outside in the bitter cold, a pretty Chinese woman called Judy asks Dominic if she can have her photo taken with him in front of a Suede poster. As they are exchanging phone numbers, Fang Fang carefully removes the poster from the wall as a souvenir. On the slow train back to Tianjin, she practises her English: "I from Tianjin come Beijing see Suede." And with a grin she adds: "Rock'n'roll!"