You don’t go to a Hot Chip gig in search of classic rock. Yet deliberately or not, the London five-piece – expanded to a visibly industrious seven-piece on tour, shadowy figures flitting between synth stacks and guitars – frame this thumping set with a couple of nods to the greats. They emerge from the darkness to the strains of Brian Wilson’s ’Til I Die, a deceptively melancholy start.

Their imminent sixth album Why Make Sense? has been trailed by stories of self-doubt and anxiety over the band’s continued relevance. Perhaps a little self-interrogation is no bad thing. It’s been almost a decade since Alexis Taylor first sang so insinuatingly about “the joy of repetition” on Over and Over, a song that cemented a certain image of Hot Chip as spod-ball masters of eccentric, addictive dance-pop with a pleasingly handmade quality. How, then, to push things forward?

Traces of soul-searching are detectable in the new material they play. On opener Huarache Lights, there’s a robo-refrain that goes “Replace us with the things / That do the job better.” But there’s also bullishness. “Fear doesn’t live here any more,” goes the chorus of Easy to Get, a moreish, squelchy lollop that loosens up the sold-out crowd. By the time the warped, hopscotch chant of Flutes morphs into Over and Over, the room is in motion from the compressed front row all the way to the back bar, one chap skanking in the same absurdly jumbo sunglasses Lenny Henry used to wear on Tiswas.

It’s a persuasive barrage of toybox funk and Etsy-ready bangers, an emphatic reminder that when Hot Chip are in full flow, no-one can touch them. And they retain the ability to surprise: for their ultimate encore, they unexpectedly spruce Springsteen, underscoring an impassioned version of Dancing in the Dark with renewed snap and vigour. We’re lucky to have them.