Some things never go out of fashion, but heavy metal is not one of them. Indeed, metal has never really been cool at all. This makes Wolfmother's recent achievements - a buzz in the US and UK, chart domination in their native Australia and an Astoria crammed with pretty young things - impressive, particularly as their take on metal is neither the steely scorch of Metallica nor the breakneck rush of Slipknot.

Instead, on their self-titled debut LP, Wolfmother have adopted the oft-derided Zeppelin/early Sabbath blueprint of lyrics about mythological creatures, wild vocal shrieks and twiddly quiet bits. As the Darkness could have told you in 2003, there is a market in guilty pleasures, especially if they rock a bit.

Thankfully, Wolfmother rock a great deal. Their enthusiasm for their chosen artform is everywhere, from lead singer and guitarist Andrew Stockdale's bouncing afro, knocking knees and swinging hips, through to bassist Chris Ross's repeated leaps from drum-riser to keyboard, which he plays at a 45 angle.

The music is highly derivative yet gloriously infectious, full of crunching chords, wailed choruses and atmospheric intros that speak of distant planets and suspiciously long cigarettes. The three piece don't quite have the technique to carry off the more contemplative moments, when the tempo lags and the crowd amuse themselves by flinging themselves at the front of the stage - but they wrap things up with gleeful potency, Colossal and Joker and the Thief stomping out of the speakers while balloons waft in the air and Stockdale sprints about the stage, his guitar held lance-like in front of him.

What the future holds for Wolfmother is hard to predict - acts this retro often stumble after their initial impact. Right now it sounds like pop has not only eaten itself but heartily enjoyed the proceeds.