AND you thought rock `n' roll was dead. At the Mean Fiddler last night, rock `n' roll was not only alive, it was kicking up one hell of a shitstorm. It was the first of two rescheduled gigs by Iggy Pop, and it fulfilled all its promise of madness and mayhem.

The artist formerly known as James Jewell Osterberg is now 50 years old, but he still has the abandoned attitude of a juvenile delinquent on speed, and he doesn't give a flying f... about appropriate adult behaviour. Basically, this guy is totally out of control, and to see him in action is to witness what rock `n' roll is really supposed to be like.

As soon as the Ig bounded onstage in nothing but boots and leather trousers, we knew we were in for it. The Mean Fiddler was filled to breaking point with eager punters and the temperature had already reached tropical levels. Then, as the band let off the first grinding guitar attack and Iggy began to flail around the stage like a mad white dope on punk, the mercury went straight through the roof.

"I got a right to rock `n' roll!" grunted Mr Pop, in defiance of all things staid and safe, and it wasn't long before he also exercised his right to toss the mike stand like a javelin and dive into the crowd like a suicidal Olympic swimmer.

Things settled a bit for the low rent funk of Sister Midnight, one of Ig's top druggie tunes, but everything went ballistic once again for Wild Child. Nothing could prepare us, however, for I Wanna Be Your Dog, a punked up paean to the act of cunnilingus; and, as the band tore into the lascivious guitar licks, Iggy began to tear up the stage in a show of sexually charged frenzy. Down, came the guitar amp, splat went the drum kit, and only the strength of three technicians saved the sound desk from total destruction.

Worse headaches were still to come for the Fiddler staff when Iggy invited the crowd onstage to sing along with The Passenger; and, as the crowd moshed and crowd surfed to Lust For Life, you began to worry that someone's affair with this mortal coil might soon come to an end.

Luckily, nobody was injured, and Iggy finished two encores, which included No Fun, Sweet Sixteen and Pussy Walk. By the end of the gig he had broken every rule of safety and crowd control, but he had followed every golden rule of rock `n' roll to the glorious letter. And, just for good measure, he climaxed with a good, old fashioned flash of the Osterberg crown jewels, letting it all hang out with animal abandon. Now, that's rock `n' roll.