Monster Magnet have always displayed an ability to be in the right place at the right time. Formed in 1989, when Nirvana's fury revitalised all things rock, the Magnet benefited with their turbocharged blend of Black Sabbath, MC5 and Hawkwind. When Marilyn Manson drew rock further towards the dark, somebody remembered that Magnet vocalist Dave Wyndorf had described his band as a "Satanic drug thing" and they rode a major deal to success. Now, having refrained from terrorising young people's hearing since 2001, they're back, just as interest in primal rock has been reignited by the White Stripes.

With Wyndorf - a small man who somehow manages to dominate the stage - dressed in leather chaps and iron cross T-shirt, the Magnet could hardly be more rocky if they were dug up from the ground. A mass of sweat, riffs, soil and flailing hair, they look like they sleep in motorcycle leathers and have the Stooges on their alarm clock. Veteran songs like Space Lord smoulder convincingly, and every other word Wyndorf utters is "rock" or "motherfucker".

This is the image Wyndorf has carefully cultivated, and yet the satanic drug monsters have calmed down since releases like Forget About Life I'm High on Dope. These days, the only drug Wyndorf ingests is an aspirin prior to a flight, and on the newer songs he's starting to come over like Victor Meldrew fronting rock's version of a village green preservation society, ranting about "lame fucking music" and the kids of today being too interested in mobile phones and computers.

The vibe gradually shifts from raw passion to that of a barmy museum piece. "Rock is alive!" yells Wyndorf, before making a "sacrifice" and plunging a guitar into the floor. Their impressive collection of rock "axes" may have lost a member, but in Wyndorf's mad world, it will be worth it to save a single rocker's soul from the evils of text messages and nice tunes.

· At the Ambassador, Dublin tonight. Box office: 0870 3506071. Then touring.