You could get the wrong impression of Michigan's Wolf Eyes if you only listened to their records. They are firmly in the realm of pure noise, consisting of feedback, clatter and hiss (melody is absolutely out of the question), and it is not unusual to associate this kind of thing with a inclination towards the arty, experimental or even cerebral. But as soon as they appear on stage - three shaggy-haired metallers in Napalm Death T-shirts and an almost visible sheen of tour-bus grime - it is clear they are making no great lunges at sophistication.

It is not even that they sound that different live, although the volume does hover near the ear-splitting mark more often than on their last album, Human Animal. But simply having visual cues as to where these awkward, alien noises are coming from is helpful - it is almost a surprise to see guitars being played, even if one of them has only one string and seems to be made entirely of cardboard and gaffer tape.

Now and then the hint of a rhythm will take hold and the opportunity arises for a good old-fashioned wig out, the shaggy mops flailing and the synchronised air-punching giving the whole thing an air of gloriously dumb fun.

Realistically, 99% of listeners are going to find Wolf Eyes' records rather difficult to enjoy. But the heady, visceral benefits of witnessing them making these bizarre sounds with their bare hands could make that number drop to, oh, 97% at least. It's not clever, it's not profound and it's certainly not art - all of which is quite a relief.

· At Whelan's, Dublin, tonight. Box office: 353 01478 0766. Then touring.