Just as the Rolling Stones repackaged American blues and sold them back across the Atlantic, so San Francisco trio Black Rebel Motorcycle Club (BRMC) have made a huge success out of their take on late-1980s English guitar bands (My Bloody Valentine, the Stone Roses, Loop). When the band first appeared, they galvanised a tired UK scene with a much-needed injection of dirty rock'n'roll.

BRMC are at their best in smaller venues, where the extraordinary volume they generate seems incongruous. Just over a year ago, I saw them in the tiny back room of a New York bar. They were monumental. At Brixton Academy earlier this year, they sounded flabby and bloated, at sea in the vast auditorium.

Tonight they are just about perfect. On paper, perhaps, the BRMC shtick might seem too studied. Anyone over 25 will feel an odd sense of deja vu; the diffident insurrection on offer is very Jesus and Mary Chain. But although BRMC dress in regulation gloomy black, they betray their sun-kissed West Coast upbringing. "You guys have been really good to us, thank you," says bassist/vocalist Robert Turner. Actually, none of the postmodern anxiety on show matters a jot - such is the power of their gloriously filthy noise.

Their best songs repeat simple, predatory riffs to hypnotic effect. The tense verses of Red Eyes and Tears erupt into a chorus of gorgeously spiralling peals of guitar. White Palms rumbles with seismic portent. Betraying more unusual influences, their new song, Stop, breaks into a monstrous, James Bond-ish swagger. Spread Your Love rides a massive glam-rock pulse and another new song, We're All in Love, is distinctly Stonesy, which seems fitting.

Sure, if you stand far enough back you can see the joins, but great rock'n'roll has always been alchemical, elevating. And anyway, you should be down at the front, giving in.

· At Granary Wharf, Leeds, tonight. Box office: 0113-244 6570. Then touring.