So, the latest thin white hopes take the stage. Named after the unfortunate Archduke of 1914-18 fame, Domino's Glaswegian four-piece sound a bit like early Talking Heads, presumably inherited their uncle's early Postcard 7"'s, and sartorially ape the audience at a Smiths gig circa 1984. We're talking serious charity shop fashion and Edwyn Collins barnets here.
The bass player remains lost in a vacant stare. His bandmates are sharp-cheeked and play even sharper chords, while a backdrop of cult film footage - incorporating excerpts from 'The 1,000 Fingers Of Dr T' and the party scene in 'Midnight Cowboy' - signals their intention and pretension from the off.
God, this could all be so horribly wrong - a homegrown reaction to the NYC punk-funk scene or perhaps some sort of ill-conceived art project. A goldfish suspended in formaldehyde. So why is it that, standing in the ICA in 2003, Franz Ferdinand sound so perfectly right?
Maybe it's down to sheer infectious enthusiasm. Enthusiasm to get the crowd dancing - albeit in a floppy fringed sort of way - and to get their message across. The songs, mostly built around the 4/4 of the dancefloor, shift between melodic surge and angular breakdown. The lyrics belie a surreal wit. If this is disco then it's a clever arty disco.
They toss in the brilliant 'Tell Her Tonight' early on. 'Shopping For Blood', 'Better On Holiday', and another number built around the mantra "This fire's out of control, we're gonna burn this city down" follow. All are driven by the same loping bass and funky kinetic drums. Guitars and vocals clash into one another.
If anything, it's not quite deranged enough. Franz Ferdinand are tight where, say, The Mondays were sloppy. Over-reliance on the same choppy beat and atonal interludes become slightly over familiar over the course of a set. And maybe there's a reluctance to extend the rhythms that bit further - to let go and surrender. To groove. Still, these are early days and minor quibbles. There are enough promising shoots already and these buds need no nipping. They already piss ambition and ideas all over the moribund likes of Athlete or Starsailor.
The magic comes frequently enough. Certainly current single 'Darts Of Pleasure' - a definite inclusion for any future 'The Best Indie Disco In The World Ever'- has style in spades. It's the final track the band play tonight and it sounds as gloriously and shambolically triumphant as Pavement's 'Summer Babe'. Young Glaswegians playing drunken Chic covers.
"You are the one to remember, you are the latest contender," runs the memorable opening line. On tonight's showing Franz Ferdinand will be much more than that.
Champion sounds.
