When Klaxons waltzed off with the Mercury Prize for their debut album three years ago, they looked like a band for whom anything was possible.

Having already transcended the nu-rave scene they invented as a joke, this trio of wild, future-obsessed imaginations could have conjured a next move that was truly remarkable.The trouble is, endless possibilities can also mean creative paralysis.

The band admitted to having one set of new songs rejected by their record label last year and since then have seemed less sure of themselves.

At their live London comeback, in what bassist Jamie Reynolds called “our spiritual home” of Shoreditch, they regained some power by shouting louder. Their second album, released next month, sees them turning up the guitars with the help of big-name heavy-metal producer Ross Robinson.

The first song of the evening, Flashover, made up in bombast what it lacked in tunes, galloping drums and violent bass forming the musical equivalent of a heavy blow to the back of the skull. Surfing the Void was equally brutal, but not a huge departure really.

Earlier tracks such as Magick and Atlantis to Interzone were also distinctly unhinged, the latter’s rave stabs and punk guitar sending the crowd collectively spare as an encore.

Image-wise, little has changed. The band who once duetted with Rihanna at the Brit Awards still bring a welcome dose of fashion madness to the everybloke world of indie rock — part space pirates, part knights of the Round Table.

The nonsensical sci-fi lyrics have continued into the new material too. “Numberless names with the force of the ninth wave/Keep to the call that’s repeated in the outer regions,” rambled forceful new single Echoes.

Somewhere along the way, though, the dominant sense of fun seems to have been lost. While their biggest hit, Golden Skans, still sparkled, The Same Space and Venusia thudded where they might have soared. Klaxons are still watching the skies but are currently frustratingly earthbound.