For those of you who complain that rock and roll is getting too mature and serious for its own good now that it's hit middle age, may we recommend taking in a performance or two by the Headstones.

The Kingston-born four-piece embodies every debauched, adolescent-male fantasy about rock music that's ever caused parents to wring their hands in despair. Loud, hard-living, boorish, vulgar and gleefully aware of it all, they were born to be Satan's house band -- and, at their best, they're pure, mindless fun.

Friday's packed concert at Barrymore's might not have seen the Headstones at their peak, but after a few beers it was certainly enough to send you home feeling jacked up, rowdy and ready to smash some furniture. And, really, what else do you want from a rock show?

The man who deserves much of the credit for giving the band its obnoxious charm is, of course, spiky-haired frontman and sometime movie star Hugh Dillon. He's a real pro. Whether he's swaggering on stage with a few pints for the audience in hand, spitting into the pit or making phallic gestures with the mike stand, every move is calculated to drive the hordes of drunken Valley boys and slumming sorority chicks in the crowd wild with the naughty thrill of it all.

In fact, in retrospect, it's easy to see why he was so effective as Joe Dick in Bruce McDonald's punk-rock odyssey Hard Core Logo earlier this year. He'd already honed the persona to perfection during five years of hard touring with the Headstones.

The music -- new material included -- is still a gruff, four-chord blend of sped-up cock-rock riffs, barroom punk and hard-done-by storytelling, familiar but imbued with enough raunch and volume to elevate it above the forgettable.

Hundreds of live shows have also turned the band -- guitarist Trent Carr, drummer Dale Harrison and bassist Tim White -- into a fearsome unit. Rather than mellowing the longer they're together, they seem to be sharpening up their sharp edges and regressing into a more elemental state.

They wisely saved their strongest material -- It's All Over, Unsound, Cemetery (still the best song about necrophilia ever written in this country), When Something Stands For Nothing -- for an end-of-show burst before stalking off stage and leaving the highly stoked crowd unsated, forced to venture out into the cold night in search of something else to keep the buzz alive until the next Headstones fix rolls into town.

Withdrawal's gonna be tough.

SUN RATING: 3.5 OUT OF 5