Django Django @ SWG3, Glasgow, 26 Mar

Towards the end of their set, Django Django vocalist Vinnie Neff encourages the crowd to drop to the ground. It’s the kind of gig gimmick you’ll have seen before, and makes sense for a band who thrive on propulsive dance and euphoric choruses. The crowd’s not really feeling it, though. You can feel the collective sigh as a room is forced to bend their knees and wiggle their butts. The sizeable number chilling back at the bar escape the moment. About half of us give up before the chorus even hits, awkwardly standing, fully aware that our bums are visible to the rest of the room.

The trick might have gone over a bit better if it wasn’t a Monday night. The set was meant to take place on a Thursday at the start of the month, but the Beast from the East had scuppered that, so Django Django are left with a room of irritable Garfields, half-heartedly squatting in their work clothes.

But maybe it’s not just the day of the week. We find out after the gig that The Vegan Leather had attempted this bold feat at their support set for Phoenix over at the Barras, and it went over well. There, the crowd went down in unison, and gleefully bobbed up when they were supposed to, even though many would undoubtedly be new to the band’s music.

The issue might be more to do with Django Django’s stilted energy tonight. The indie-dance act know how to write a good tune, and their grooves have been detailed and colourful since their 2012 debut. Their new album Marble Skies carries that spirit, though their dusty desert psychedelia is admittedly growing stale. The band open with its title track, a Beach Boys channelling synth-jam. It’s fuzzy and bright in all the right places, but the grit that’s there on record isn’t translating. The jangly guitars and bouncy bass feel muted, while Neff’s boyish delivery doesn’t have the heft to give the epic effect he’s trying to translate.

The problem is worse on a song like Surface to Air. The 'hipster dancehall' vibe of that song is charmingly awkward, but with Neff standing in for the album’s original vocalist, Slow Club’s Rebecca Taylor, it’s just plain awkward. Watching him gyrate to what is quite a flaccid beat kills the momentum the band have been working at so far.

The second half is much stronger, with the band settling into more comfortable territory. Comfortable doesn’t mean safe, either – Waveforms hits hard, with its extended tribal drum outro. The band add rhythms on the fly while staying true to the song’s sunburnt charm. On Default, perhaps their best-known single, Neff dirties the typically lock-step riff at its core with punky improvisation and a looser feel. It goes over a treat, as does their expressive, stretched-out jam version of WOR.

Sadly, the moments that don’t connect weigh the performance down. I hate Mondays.