Tuesday, 20/01/09 Franz Ferdinand, Of Montreal @ Heaven, London

The strangely sanitized-smelling setting of Heaven nightclub welcomes Franz Ferdinand back into the fold – and it's soon business as usual for the returning arch art pop act.

Before the hordes of Franz Fucking Ferdinand t-shirt wearers can catch a glimpse of their heroes, the considerable prospect of Of Montreal is on show. Show is an apt description for this colourful troupe, the visual aspects of their performance more than matching their musical meanderings.

They open with thundering guitars and tight, rigid drumming, the indie Barney Rubble on guitar and the wonderfully unglamourously-named Kevin Barnes exuding outrage and cool on vocals. It's sonically confused, flitting from sparkly disco to flailing solos, but engaging nonetheless.

However, concentrating on the experimentation in the sound is difficult due to the controlled carnage occurring behind, with actors in pigs masks and leotards performing intermittently. Many miss the drums being dismantled as Bunny Ain't No Kind of Rider's rhythm reverberates– giant alien heads can be distracting.

After a while, it's hard to work out what they are, with numerous identities hurtling together into one set. Nevertheless, they did themselves no harm tonight and many will have been converted to their cheerful contradictions.  

When Franz Ferdinand arrive, their punctuality fitting the tightness of their jeans and riffs, their intentions are clear. New tracks zip snugly into the set, with opener No You Girls getting toes squiggling as well as Do You Want To manages. There is quirky dancing, elastic drumming and pinging guitars – it's like they never left.

Then, hang on, what's this – the rumours of a more synth-driven sound are true. Turn It On grooves on a sleek bass, but it's the finger twiddling on the keys, plus the stark absence of two guitars that dominates. It suits them as well as the sweaty surroundings, adding a danceable funk to their teeth-grindingly taut sound and making the tracks with competing axe work sound all the more vital.

Alex Kapranos is as enticing as ever, geeky but supremely confident, sipping red wine after gasping at his inhaler. His lithe moves and suggestive delivery keeps oldies like Michael and the impossibly stompable Take Me Out sounding fresh, while he revels in the sensual mystery of What She Came For.

The drum-fest of Outsiders works better in an intimate venue, while Ulysses is more anthemic live. It's 40' that brings the showman out of Kapranos, call and response working a treat, before the happiness of balloons descends on the masses for closer This Fire.

It still sounds like Franz, as fast and fun as it is superfluous - but there's room in music for that. As one drunken punter melodramatically exclaims outside, balloon in hand: "Screw the credit crunch, that's the first time I've been happy in ages".