Bodies jolt, hands stab the sweaty air and Liam Howlett lurches towards a bank of keyboards, as though about to vault out of his voluntary prison. The excitement is intoxicating, the atmosphere euphoric. If dance music is dead, nobody told the Prodigy.

Architects of a scene so feared laws were made to try to stop it, the Prodigy are the sole survivors of dance culture's first assault on the public consciousness. But the days of raves and superstar DJs are gone. The Prodigy shouldn't be here, playing the first of five sold-out nights - and they shouldn't be this good. But Essex's most subversive sons have always confounded expectation, bringing a scorching nihilism to dance music, and politics and attitude back to pop.

Still, the fact this is a greatest hits tour provokes visions of thirtysomethings in sensible clothing throwing shapes. They're here, emitting life-endangering shrieks to the proto-techno of Charly, but so too are kids who were learning to walk when 1990s teens were willingly losing their minds in muddy fields.

The reason everyone goes mental for every beat is that the Prodigy sound more threatening, unique and relevant than ever. The fury of Breath and Voodoo People is explosive, Out of Space is unexpectedly menacing. Firestarter is played too fast and Spitfire is Prodigy-lite, yet both crackle with aggression.

Sporting Hitler's haircut and his own cartoon expressions, Keith Flint is silly yet unnerving. Maxim adds deep shades of darkness to an incandescent Smack My Bitch Up, but it's the arrival of Leeroy Thornhill - who quit the band in 2000 - that turns a riotous occasion into a special event. His elastic limbs move gracefully to the classic chaos of No Good (Start the Dance) as he writhes around dance culture's grave. Against all odds, the Prodigy can't be beaten.

· Further performance tonight (December 5). Box office: 0870 771 2000.