CHRISTIAN EWEN

BEFORE we get to the main event, a special mention goes out to the support act Fiery Furnaces, a fascinating sonic mess akin to Patti Smith careering headlong with The Inspiral Carpets after a seriously bad night on acid.

Although a worrying statement to make, this is my best attempt at even coming close to describing their truly astonishing sound. Songs about dogs and tropical icey ice (?) rolled off the Patti Smith clone's tongue with alarming conviction. I was dumbfounded as they played about 12 songs without stopping for breath. Was this the best or worst group I'd ever seen? I couldn't be sure but they certainly warmed up the stage for Franz Ferdinand.

Franz Ferdinand can do no wrong at the moment. Nationwide domination and unprecedented chart success has been a breeze for these blazer-clad kings of cheap chic.

Camping it up on stage and with a sizeable degree of smugness thrown in for good measure, the band reeled off a note-perfect setlist featuring their debut album's best moments, such as Jacqueline, Tell Her Tonight and the ubiquitous Take Me Out.

Take Me Out predictably went down a storm with the dancing girls, as did the terrific Shopping For Blood and their finest three minutes thus far, Darts Of Pleasure.

It was a groovy evening out for sure and Franz musically couldn't be faulted. I was concerned though that at 22-years-old, I felt like one of the oldest people there and devoid of all energy. Like a tired old man, I stood back sagely stroking my chin, nodding in appreciation while the youngsters up at the front pogoed away with boundless enthusiasm. To be a gig-going toddler again eh?