Let's Eat Grandma @ Stereo, Glasgow, 4 Apr

If you're making oddball art, you've got to commit. The support tonight, dark synth-pop outfit Kelora aren't at that commital stage yet. They're wearing goofy costumes. (Mostly white fluff. It could be moss? Are they abominable snowmen? It's hard to tell under the lights.) They're singing off-key on purpose, with voices that barely raise above a dull moan. They're playing sour, low-key songs that don't pop out with any bold melodies or textures. And to be honest, they look like they've been forced up there. Half an hour of monotonous tunes later, the group waddle off in their moss without much fanfare. Not every band needs to be confident or flashy, but if you're brave enough to be a musical weirdo, you need to sell it.

Let's Eat Grandma have earned that weirdo status. The Norwich duo are gloriously theatrical performers. After pressing play on a drum loop on Deep Six Textbook, Rosa Walton and Jenny Hollingworth dance through a children's handshake with stony faces. Nothing but a goofy Yamaha preset rings out. Then both slump over their keyboards, hair drooped over their faces, dramatically posing with each languid note. It's a stunning, skeletal song lifted into the ether with a nostalgic sax solo that's newly awakened in the live setting. To play such a bare song and have it filled with personality is a testament to their skill.

It's the only song they play from their cult debut, I Gemini. Most of the set is made up of new material, which takes a surprise pivot into sugary-pop textures and cleaner production. For a band championed as the antithesis of the Top 40 by some, it's a move as bold as any they've taken thus far. They open with Hot Pink, their bombastic SOPHIE-produced single, which heightens pop's brashest textures to throw the genre binary out the window. 'What you trying to decide? / If it's a girl or if it's a guy?' they yell, bratty voices fusing with the hard-nosed metallic beat.

Falling Into Me is a lavish prog-pop jam, heightened by endearing choreographed dancing. The duo aren't pop divas by any means – the way they struggle to untangle their microphones before each chorus shows their nerves – but they've fully committed to their style, and that makes a big difference. The live drummer they've recruited is another clever evolution, adding heft and weight to their typically barebones sound.

The duo finish with Donnie Darko, an unhurried gem that makes the most of their flair for the dramatic. They begin lying on the ground, and by the end, Hollingworth is running at the crowd, wielding a plastic recorder for a wonderfully messy solo. Like much of their music, the moment is a stroke of genius that taps into forgotten relics of British teenage life. With their cheesy music-room keyboard presets, and a toybox of instruments, they've already crafted the album that everyone who took GCSE/Higher music wishes they'd made. Their set tonight is only 45 minutes, and with the best of that album left unexplored, it's clear they're already onto new things – a suitably oddball move for a band that could go anywhere.