Selector Dub Narcotic @ Nexus, Manchester, 21 Oct

2016's been a right old twat of a year, hasn't it? Just ask Calvin Johnson. In February of this year, it was reported that K Records, the legendary independent label he founded in 1982, was in debt to the tune of thousands of dollars (in June, Spin announced that Kimya Dawson was owed over $90,000 in royalties, with Mt Eerie's Phi Elverum owed $63,000). Subsequently, the label's in-house studio Dub Narcotic went up for sale, with the label desperately trying to fix the situation. Indie rock, it seems, just don't pay out no more.

Still, that's not deterred Johnson from the business of making music. After a decade of little more than rickety rockabilly and raggedy crooning under his own name, the former Beat Happening frontman returns in the mood to party. It's just a shame that few are present to hear his exuberant cries to this end.

Perhaps it's a sign that his star has finally fallen, maybe it's just an unlucky show, but tonight Nexus feels extraordinarily empty. Less than 30 fans squirm uncomfortably on sofas at the back of the room, leaving a gaping chasm between the audience and an admittedly unaffected Johnson. "This party is just getting started," he assures us, but in truth it never really does.

Let's be clear: Calvin Johnson remains an astonishing performer. Gifted with a baritone voice that instantly commands attention, and an oddball stage presence capable of invoking both sincere admiration and confused awkwardness, he dances (some might say prances) around the stage with infinite conviction; sometimes gyrating strangely, others simply dad-dancing without a care in the world. It's all to the tune of primitive, disco-inflected hip-hop backing, which sees the 53-year-old rapping and yelping like a kid who's just discovered his voice and wants the world to know. "I'm the kinda guy who says, 'Who let the dogs back in?'" he remarks, brilliantly, and that wry, weirdo sense of humour almost helps everything fall into place.

Still, the awkwardness is the dominant factor. For so long, Johnson's gleefully played on that factor during his solo sets, toying with the audience's attentions for his own amusement, which sorta works in hushed acoustic shows. When you're trying to set the dancefloor alight, it becomes excruciating – although a blazing inferno would at least feel like more satisfactory reason for the empty space in the room.

There are moments when tonight feels like the greatest show of all time, and others where it legit feels like a horrible waste of everyone's time. It's a five-star and a one-star show, and while the reasons may not entirely be within Johnson's control, you'll excuse us if we split the difference.

Selector Dub Narcotic's debut album is great fun; a shonky disco-rap collection designed for dancing around your bedroom as though no one's watching. Tonight, however, that's precisely the worry: barely anyone is.