By RUSSELL BAILLIE
Usually Brit-rock's next big things become last year's good-idea-at-the-time and the whole hoopla passes us by, colonial pulse-rate untroubled.
But not in the case of Franz Ferdinand, Glasgow-bred art-rock wonders who turned up here as their self-titled debut album clocked up a healthy sales graph locally.
All because of
its transgenerational appeal - it's selling to those who remember when New Wave was "new" and being burned by those who might find the sound of Franz Ferdinand, as the contemporary adage goes, just gay enough.
They might have only one brilliant album to their name - a moniker which comes from the heir to the Austrian throne whose assassination led to World War I - but they made the most of that in a sparkling and twitchy performance before a sold-out St James.
In support, goodshirt proved a neatly complementary foreword, performing an absorbing set that was big on hits and near-hits and the physical exertions of frontman Rodney Fisher.
With just an 11-song album to their name (not counting sundry singles, B-sides and EPs), Franz Ferdinand's set was always going to be a brief fling.
But it felt as if we'd caught them before the novelty of playing those near-dozen tunes had worn off.
That was apparent from the power-surge of opener Cheating On You through the king hits like Jacqueline with its louche intro leading into its thrilling twin-guitar twitch, or Take Me Out and its tempo-shifting singalong.
Throughout Franz Ferdinand seemed a band of not one but two frontmen - the handsomely aloof Alex Kapranos, aided and abetted by the shimmying, hand-clapping guitarist-keyboardist Nick McCarthy.
And neatly powering the attack of nervy pop were the taut rhythm section of bassist Bob Hardy and drummer Paul Thomson who give Franz Ferdinand its askew but infectious sense of groove.
It all made for a short sharp but thrilling set where the only worrying bits were how ABC/Spandau Ballet some of the as-yet-unreleased songs sounded.
But by the time This Fire was igniting the encore, Franz Ferdinand had already proved that album of theirs wasn't a studio fluke. And that live they're a delectable thrill.
