The Darkness, Concorde 2, Brighton

It's only rock'n'roll but they like it

Three years into their career, there are still some unanswered questions surrounding The Darkness. Are they trained actors in leotards or serious musicians? Are they the best stadium-metal act since Skid Row hung up their cowboy boots, or are they the worst band on earth?

Having finally witnessed them live, I can't say I'm any the wiser. A shaggy-haired quartet from darkest Suffolk, The Darkness sound like an unwholesome collision of AC/DC, Led Zeppelin, Judas Priest and Def Leppard, with the last of whom they have just been on tour.

Their story is the kind that mythical rock bands are made of – they played their first gig at a funeral, and the singer's greatest ambition is to be fired on stage as a human cannonball at Wembley Stadium (Angus Young should be shaking in his shorts). Naturally, American audiences can't get enough of them, and last month they were the toast of the South By Southwest festival in Texas.

Whether it's testament to the band's wayward genius or the imbecility of the music business remains to be seen, but The Darkness are now at the centre of a bidding war between two major labels. Their set is as much about spectacle and showmanship as full-on guitar assault, and the singer, Justin Hawkins, is a born show-off.

It takes all of five minutes for him to whip his shirt off, revealing a tattooed though not especially tanned torso. Another 10, and he's playing guitar from behind his head and doing death-defying star jumps off the speaker stacks. The stony-faced bass-player, Frankie Poullain, parades a pencil-thin moustache and a bandanna, while Hawkins's kid brother, Dan, wears his Thin Lizzy T-shirt with palpable pride.

As for the music, The Darkness know a classic rock riff when they hear one. Their songs come with titles such as "Love on the Rocks with No Ice", with Hawkins singing in the kind of shrieking falsetto that would make Robert Plant's hair stand on end. The crowd is a mixture of teenagers who've come to witness the latest permutation of the rock revolution and old duffers in faded Whitesnake T-shirts reliving their youth.

Half-way through the set, Hawkins disappears off stage only to return in a zebra-print leotard. Imagine Freddie Mercury c1973 in a Goldie Hawn wig and you've got the picture. The Darkness: idiots or savants? Don't ask me, but they're a cracking night out.