Wolfmother

Ballsy, psychedelic blues hasn't been in fashion for a while but tonight Wolfmother defy contemporary trends and turn in the kind of performance that had hippies dropping acid in the 70s like Dubya unloads bombs in the noughties. Imagine a cross between the two and you're somewhere near Sheffield's Leadmill on this fine April evening.

Conjuring every trick from the Zeppelin book of classic rock histrionics and displaying wanton levels of showmanship, Australia's finest export since XXXX (or, at least, The Vines) are a joy to behold. Excessively permed frontman Andrew Stockdale wields his guitar like some kind of demented Antipodean dervish, not caring a jot for the pretensions of some of the more reserved audience members, while bassist Chris Ross hurls himself into playing both his four string and keyboards as though his life depends on it. It might be hideously overblown, but with their level of self-belief it's also totally convincing.

Where Nicholls' outfit lean more towards Nirvana's grungy aesthetic, Wolfmother's influences are as obvious and, indeed, as classic as the Sabbath infused hard rock blueprint their self-titled debut LP follows. With skyscraper sized riffs and hysterical, veering on the falsetto, vocal stylings from Stockdale, the effect is almost like being trapped in a time machine set for thirty years ago – no bad thing, as The White Stripes proved.

There is room for some deviation tonight, in style if not in decade, as several numbers turn into into full-on Floydesque psychedelic workouts. 'Mind's Eye' and Unicorn', both sprawling, five minute opuses on record, border on the tantric here with extended solo passages and some particularly sterling instrumental work from Ross. 'Apple Tree' and 'Joker & The Thief' provide a more immediate fix, but every Wolfmother song has one thing in common: it'll rock your bollocks off. You'll undoubtedly see cleverer bands this year, but you'll struggle to catch something as visceral as this.

Photos courtesy of Gary Wolstenholme