Manchester has a long tradition of producing music of great emotional or sociological significance that sits awkwardly with its creators' public faces. The classic example is New Order. Even now, critics go along armed with questions about psychology, Dostoevsky and Kafka only to be met with sniggering tales involving genitals, vomit, beer and curries.
Manchester's latest hotly tipped band, Nylon Pylon, have often been compared musically to New Order. Stumbling on to the stage to unveil their statuesque soundscapes, they greet the audience with a blokey: "Come closer. Would you like to tek a seat?" The contrast between the way they sound and the way they look could hardly be more pronounced if they had come dressed as clowns and read from the Bible. It looks like they spend the period preceding the gig putting glue in their hair.
Even the equipment seems to be suffering some sort of personality crisis. A futuristic laptop sits next to an almost prehistoric drum kit. "Danny spilt beer in the computer last night," explains singing guitarist Bruce Carter, pointing the finger at the guilty keyboard player and adding to the impression of a band of Stan Laurels.
However, the music invites you to take them seriously. They create enormous grooves peppered with instantly memorable memories, somewhere between Underworld and Doves. The New Order comparisons are misleading, although lyrically, the band have a similar knack of making apparent gibberish sound like melancholy holy tracts. "The streets are disappearing," cries singer Richard Stubbs at one point. "I try to be poetic, but all I do is bark" comes later. Whatever it all means, the effect is strangely thought-provoking and compelling.
Their quality control radar needs some adjustment. The World Is Spinning and the stunning, slightly reggae Disappearing use electronics and guitars hypnotically, but other tracks are less interesting Manc funk. Indifference pastiches the masters of pastiche, the Dandy Warhols. Thankfully, the good songs tip the balance. Possibly the best of them is the dazzling closer, Music: Noise, which arranges a hitherto improbable marriage between Killing Joke's fury and Brian Eno's electronically symphonic Another Green World.
As cheers ring out, Carter comically pirouettes off the stage. Their career seems precariously, fascinatingly balanced between triumph and ignominy, which is itself a definitely Mancunian state of play.
· At King Tut's Wah Wah Hut, Glasgow, on Tuesday. Box office: 0141-221 5279. Then touring.
