Those who do not know their history are doomed to have it sold back to them in an inferior form. Montreal-based duo Chromeo display their DNA so blatantly it is almost obscene. Yet most of the capacity crowd are probably too young to remember the specific make-up of this music: early 1980s synth-funk, Hall and Oates circa Maneater and the Prince-related diaspora that includes Vanity 6, Mazarati and Jesse Johnson - all processed via Daft Punk's Discovery.

Despite singer and guitarist Dave 1's appealing nerdishness, and the efficient, sequenced machine funk - decorated with some live guitar, slap bass and, tellingly, a lengthy, sampled saxophone solo - the pair never seem more than charming chancers. Dave 1, in nebbish-y little hat and glasses, takes the bulk of the vocals, but doesn't have anything like the voice to match those of his heroes. P-Thugg, a looming hulk in hip-hop threads, gets to sing sweet and high sometimes, but is always processed into a vocoder-ish buzz.

There is no soul here, nor any real wit. Chromeo are too arch: a snippet of the opening of Dire Straits' Money For Nothing ("I want my MTV") resung as "I want my Chromeo" epitomises their brittle pastiche. There is something sneering, too, about songs such as Needy Girl and Mama's Boy. Girls in Chromeo songs tend to be perfect or a bit annoying, suggesting the unreconciled misogyny of adolescent boys.

Flippant, flash and with little beyond surface appeal, Chromeo are that person in a club with whom a brief flirtation can be fun, but anything more is always a disappointment.