Introduced by Jarvis Cocker as "true rock royalty", few would argue that the curator of this year's Meltdown and erstwhile singer with Pulp, had a point vis-à-vis The Stooges, who unquestionably set the template for punk with their first two albums, 1969's self-titled monster and the following year' s Fun House. So, when "royalty" met Royal Festival Hall, only great things could happen and, for the most part they did.

Iggy Pop celebrated his 60th birthday in April, but he has the mind of a teenager (specifically, a teenager who has recently discovered the joys of swearing) and the body of a 30-year-old. Thin as string and topless all evening, his ribs bulged, his washboard stomach rippled and he moved with the skewwhiff grace of Max Wall.

Two songs in, what had been a lusciously shining, carefully conditioned coiffure which uncannily resembled Gwyneth Paltrow's, was sweat-soaked and looked uncannily like Timothy Spall's somewhat more maverick hair arrangement as Pop attacked each song with astounding, dervish-like gusto, pausing only to slither across the amps during the opening Loose. Around him, bassist Mike Watt, guitarist Ron Asheton and saxophonist Steve Mackay stood statuesque and Asheton's drummer brother Scott was so un-rock'n'roll, he wore gloves.

Last night, possibly for the first time, a Royal Festival Hall performer dived head-first into the audience. Pop enjoyed it so much, he did it again. Moments later, with the show still in its infancy, a curt "get up here" heralded a benign stage invasion as Pop hollered No Fun from somewhere in the mêlée, which, splendidly, included an elderly gentleman in fully buttoned shirt and tie. Once No Fun had concluded, Pop ushered the invaders off-stage and continued without further ado.

After such an astonishing opening, it was inevitable some momentum would be lost. Music as raw and primitive as The Stooges' does not withstand forensic examination today any more than it did in 1969. Making a new album was always fraught with danger and while The Weirdness certainly howls, the shock of The Stooges has long gone.

Padding out the final third of a 75-minute show with The Weirdness selections was a peculiar move, despite the calculated mayhem of I'm Fried and the sardonic Trollin' and closing with Little Electric Chair, a Stooges collaboration from Pop's Skull Ring album was an act of unfathomable mini-madness. Still, nobody tells royalty what to do.

• Meltdown runs until Saturday. Information: 0871 663 2509.