Watching Aussie three piece Wolfmother is like being taken back in time via one of those BBC2 "We Love The 70s!" style pastiches. Guitar-mangling singer Andrew Stockdale looks like the lovechild of some illicit liaison between Paul Michael Glaser and Rob Tyner, his demonic smile fitting in elegantly with his intrinsically wild hairdo. Fellow band members Chris Ross and Myles Hesketh meanwhile flirt between bass guitar, keyboards and drums, eerily reminiscent of a Doors-fixated prodigy's backline.

Musically they straddle Woodstock-flavoured Donnington catharsis of mostly loud, occasionally meandering but never uninteresting rock with a capital R.O.C.K, that even calls in at Haight Asbury on the incendiary wigout of 'Minds Eye' for some grade A acidic cocktail that sees Stockdale wave his arms in a shamanistic state of insolence only the good and great dare try and get away with. With an army of guitars on standby that probably replicates the warehouse of a Fender factory, Stockdale is a man on a mission to destroy the myth that six stringed histrionics didn't die out with punk and the new romantics, instead preferring to hop between all-out ballsy Sabbath riffage ('Woman', 'Dimension') and Bowie-esque 'Lord Of The Rings' ascensions into the mythical and mystical ('Tales From The Forest Of Gnomes').

Vocally, the frontman's high-pitched serenity isn't far removed from that of Rush legend Geddy Lee, and while it may be considered sacrilege by some to talk about Wolfmother in the same sentence as their obvious peers, the raucous energy and sheer captivation of their live show - and in particular that man Stockdale's "what the hell is he gonna do next?" persona makes them one of the most exciting live propositions seen on these shores since the late, lamented At The Drive-in, back in the day.

Simply an unmissable experience then. Just don't let your old man on to it or he'll be playing the Steppenwolf back catalogue round yours in no time...