Sylvan Esso @ SWG3, Glasgow, 12 Nov

Good gigs are pleasingly frequent – an act with nice songs, a professional attitude and a competent sound tech will generally leave you pretty happy. But truly great gigs can be harder to come by, as you need every element of the experience to line up perfectly.

First there’s the support act, who should ideally frame things up nicely for what’s to come while offering enough intrigue to keep the crowd onside. Bayonne, with his glitchy multi-instrumental R’n’B, does just that – watching a man with a tremendous moustache play a drum machine, a keyboard and a standing drum kit within the space of thirty seconds will never be anything less than entertaining. Roger Sellers thumps his instruments, croons his heart out, and occasionally throws out a spot of Samuel Herring-esque hand-waving for good measure. Sellers’ headphone monitors add to the ‘bedroom producer run amok’ feel of his set, but as pre-parties go, it’s a cracker.

The next thing a great gig needs is the right venue, and the long, low concrete walls of SWG3 are ideal to keep the energy and electronic chirpiness of Sylvan Esso contained. After the literal tune-up that is What Now opener Sound, Amelia Meath and Nick Sanborn head into party mode. It’s a setlist drawn evenly from their latest LP and their self-titled debut, but crucially it leans towards the dancier elements of their output. And yes, that is a fancy way of saying that tonight is heavy on synth-pop bangers.

Kick Jump Twist is a wubby, wobbly treat, Hey Mami’s synth bassline absolutely thunders off the walls, and Just Dancing is impressive in its heftiness, accompanied by some wild crimson strobes. These songs were always well-constructed earworms, and Meath’s vocals are just as floaty and impressive as on disc, but live these beats pack a serious dancefloor punch.

And then there’s the crowd, which throws out a frankly outlandish level of energy and goodwill for a freezing Sunday night. There are waves of post-song applause that leave the duo genuinely speechless (in any case, they’d struggle to get a word in), and plenty of unironic waving of glowsticks and flailing of arms. The response to Meath’s call for wolf impressions to kick off Howl is faintly terrifying in its volume and accuracy, and even the inevitable ‘Here We Fucking Go’-ing works, prompting a few bars of improv rave beats from Sanborn.

The bright lights, the booming bass, Meath’s eccentric dance moves, a brilliantly-paced setlist and a venue packed with lovely people; you really can’t ask for much more. That Sylvan Esso finish with a song called Play It Right sounds like a clever gag crafted for this exact situation, but that’s the thing about truly great gigs – they don’t come along every day, so when you find one, it almost seems too good to be true.