Live Review: MGMT & Franz Ferdinand

The Splendour hangover is in full effect this cold Melbourne evening. Indeed, many in tonight's audience look as haunted as the rapidly inflating alien on the stage. As far as doubleheaders go, tonight's heavyweight match-up of MGMT and Franz Ferdinand is one for the ages.

Throwing the first jab is MGMT, a band largely committed to hazy Pony Bar memories by this writer. Appearing underneath a layer of purple-lit smoke, the band take us on a trip (pun intended) through their newer offerings and all the way back to their game-changing debut Oracular Spectacular. Lead singer Andrew VanWyngarden's vocals are initially somewhat lost, though things seem righted for Time To Pretend. The song's elegant weariness that both embraces and rejects the trappings of a rockstar lifestyle is performed with a knowingness that only a decade's hindsight can bring. She Works Out Too Much from MGMT's latest record, Little Dark Age, is performed by VanWyngarden while astride an exercise bike. It's a fun eye roll and as enjoyable as much of the new material performed tonight (that is, very). "Melbourne, why is it so cold here? We thought it was closer to the sun or something?" he asks. 

Weekend Wars builds to a glorious crescendo, and Electric Feel gets things loosened all the way up thanks to the glorious synth noodlings of Ben Goldwasser. Kids is enormous, as expected, however closer Congratulations is an odd choice. "We wrote this song in Melbourne, ten years ago. That's weird," notes VanWyngarden, and while it's a decent enough song, it signals a stampede to the bathroom. Regardless, MGMT's set is a dreamy and delicious, trippy slice of weird. 

Cigarettes are stubbed out and bar lines abandoned as the lights drop again. It's Franz Ferdinand's turn to return the punch, exploding with energy as they open with The Dark Of The Matinee. Complete with high kicks, the song captures the ennui and boredom of clandestine teenage makeouts, when passion was secreted in doorways, alleyways, and well, matinees. Lead singer Alex Kapranos is charm personified, a showman guiding the audience exactly where he wants them, nestled in the palm of his hand. No You Girls, full of twangy guitars courtesy of Dino Bardot, starts the real dancing.

"We're Franz Ferdinand from Glasgow, Scotland," says Kapranos, before slotting into Always Ascending. The new tracks fit seamlessly alongside the classics and Kapranos dad dances across the stage. He's all swagger, with the purr of a 1930s radio announcer. Do You Want To with its football chant of a come-on has the crowd dancing like hyperactive toddlers at a red cordial party.

Michael sounds as fresh and sexy as it did almost a decade ago, though the lyrics are somewhat scrambled. Whether it's from boredom of repeat performances or simply a slip it's not too big a deal. Lazy Boy is a little meh, certainly there are better songs in their back catalogue (Jacqueline with its throbbing bass line and surf-rock urgency would have been this writer's choice of stand-in).

Take Me Out prompts a wall of phone screens to fly up, though the temptation to dance is too much and they are discarded in favour of dance-yelling. Closer This Fire is superb, Kapranos commanding punters to hit the deck before another searing chorus sees a froth of limbs fly up.

It's a polished and wickedly fun set. While Franz Ferdinand have long discarded their matching suits and sharp haircuts, the blood still pumps strongly through each of their songs. Listening to some of these songs almost a decade later, it is dizzying to note just how ahead of the curve the band was in its infancy, and their continued innovation. In a live setting, they are near unbeatable.