Photos courtesy of Minh Tran, there are more after the jump.

There’s something disarming about embracing—or perhaps even reveling in—one’s own nerdyness. Hot Chip do just that. Far from cool guys, the London five-some are anti-hipsters. They are unabashedly white—in the way the dress, sing and dance (the diminutive lead-singer has “white guy” dance, complete with knee-bobbs, static arms, and cemented hips down pat—so much so, it should be a joke). But it’s not.

But therein lies the draw. By just embracing their geeky tendencies, like dancehall inflected mini-raps, khaki soul, and pseudo Afro-beats, Hot Chip head straight for the pleasure center. The notably young crowd is all smiles, basking in the sunny pop. It’s feel-good music if there ever were. And if it’s cheesy enough to laugh at—which at times it is—that’s OK. The band is laughing too (at least, they better be).

Hot Chip's electo-heavy sounds are propped up by a few live instruments, though key lines are often pushed through backing tracks (and I've got dimes to dollars the bass player is doubling lines from the laptop). Still, the communal flex on stage adds something to the presentation. That said, Hot Chip's stage presence is weak at best. For a dance band, you'd think they'd move around at least as much as their audience, but that was rarely the case (see: whiteboy dancing). During one song, however, the band, with a guest shaker player (?) coalesced into a bobbing trancelike circle. And when the lights matched the music, the effect was even stronger, but unfortunately it didn't happen enough.

The group's lighthearted, dance-party approach hasn't kept a number of fans from discovering some deeper meaning. I passed an old friend, deep in dance. "This is like church for me," she said. Others, however, seemed simply lit from the sugar rush.

The encore began with a ballad of sorts. I kept expecting it to be an intro, and that the pop song would stick it's head up, but it never did. Again, the unabashed geekyness took hold, this time in some wonderbread British falsetto recalling Annie Lennox or some such oddity.

During the band's final number we jammed ourselves closer in. The lights were synced with the music, an almost rave-like number. And with eyes shut you still see the strobes flash on the beats. It was almost a trance.