They certainly looked the part. Jon Fratelli, Bob Dylan clone, singer and guitarist; Barry Fratelli, a chunky bassist who keeps himself to himself; and Mince Fratelli, a vest-wearing, hairy drummer who treats his kit as if it is a punchbag. All things considered, it is unlikely they share parents.

They had the music, too, even if occasionally, most notably on Flathead, these Glaswegians threatened to turn into Arctic McMonkeys. Moreover, Jon's voice has a similar catch to Alex Turner's and both bands, for all their basic sound, are tightly rehearsed.

Even so, the Fratellis' palette is broader. There were hints of psychedelia dotted throughout, while Whistle For The Choir and Ole Black 'n' Blue Eyes were as poppy and lyrically acerbic as a more clattery Beautiful South, and Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night inspirationally merged Bo Diddley with The Clash.

Yet, for all their magpiehopping between genres and the sheer delight their mixing and matching brings, The Fratellis struggled to project. Jon's banter was unintelligible and they failed to connect with an audience which moshed as if lives depended on it at the front, but tapped their toes non-committally towards the back.

Indeed, despite the richness of their music, the trio's sole encore was demanded more by rote than genuine desire for more. If they can step out of themselves, there's so much more to come.