Tramway opens with what it does best: post-industrial bleakness on a vast, seductive scale. Loosely grouped around themes of change, fracture and distortion, this is an admirably cold-hearted show - icily cool works (in style and humour), with a detached, aloof feel to them.

That's not to say this isn't an engaging show; far from it. Tacita Dean's 60mm film Sound Mirrors couldn't have a more evocative setting, with its focus on obsolete, derelict structures, three prototype air-raid warning devices. Their former function redundant, they operate now only as symbols of change, and to reflect sounds in their vicinity - creatures in the nature reserve, trains passing by. The film could have been made for Tramway.

It wasn't, in fact, but Fornebu Drift by Graham Gussin and Jeremy Millar was, just one of several impressive newly-commissioned works in the show. Filmed in a deserted airport, it silently, elegantly reflects back on the old tramshed it is being screened in.

Mike Nelson's installation is a magical fake place, a made-up derelict interior mimicking Tramway prior to redevelopment. A series of musty, dusty corridors and down-at- heel rooms (the dressing room from hell, a small stage with a spotlight still aglow, a bar with nothing behind it), it is both an evocative reminder of what Tramway was and a playful, fantastical reminder of what never was.

These are the show-stealers, dwarfing the other works physically and conceptually. None of them, however, is given the quiet they need to work their poetic magic, thanks to the omnipresence of video artist Alan Currall with his story-telling fabrications and variety of on-screen personae. His voice and ironic trivia spill out into the cavernous space infuriatingly. "I know you're there," he repeats in one. It's a pity it's so hard to forget he is, too.

• Until July 16. Details: 0141-422 2023.