Shuffling onto the Astoria stage 10 minutes early and straight from the bitter cold streets of London, the band catches the audience by surprise. The lead singer is still wearing a thick brown scarf and the keyboard player is sporting the latest in recycled Afghans. When this is combined with a horn player in a cowboy hat and a smattering of flares; the end result is the coolest looking ragbag hippie band this side of the planet.

The Astoria is trying hard to become a major UK rock venue but unfortunately it is still very much a gay disco, with poor acoustics and more suited to the likes of Boy Bands than alternative rock. This cultural confusion is reflected in the deranged assemble called an audience. There is a disturbing mixture of spectacle clad nerds complete with acne, 60s strides, feather cuts and cardigans, rockin middle aged would be intellects, misplaced gays in latex and pubescent teens sporting shrunken t-shirts and midriffs. Add a helping of foreign tourists who have heedlessly bought tickets from touts and who are now forlornly looking for Warhol paintings and we have all the ingredients required for the Bohemian melting pot, which is The Dandy Warhols.

The elegant album Thirteen Tales from Urban Bohemia was conceived as a serious work of art and the gig follows suit with a set list which is sculpted into a form, which teases and torments a range of emotions from the laid back pop joy of Godless to the primeval avowal of Nietzsche. The Dandy’s know how to please as well as tease and Courtney strips his top off to during the classics, Bohemian Like You, Shakin or Not if you were the Last Junkie on Earth, (a song so inspiring that it has the T-shirt seller lighting up the largest herbal remedy in the room).

Horse Pills begins with a chugging acoustic guitar solo before it is beautifully transformed into a fractured blast of post 70s punk, including a kicking rap solo reminiscent of Iggy on speed. Get Off charms even the lost German tourist looking for Bauhaus and the Boys Better kicks off with a lick stolen from Waiting for the Man, features a back projected psychedelic go-go dancer and is spectacularly consummated with Peter performing Townsend like windmill strikes of his guitar.

By the time the audience are escorted to the stunning Minnasoter they have been subjected to some sublime moments of ambient self indulgence but such is the quality of the performance, the band are forgiven and warmly applauded. As the end draws near Courtney proclaims, “OK one more ditty and then were out of here” and the band slide guitar and all, launch into a country rock version of, Big Indian.

Not know for playing encores Courtney reappears alone on stage and plays a lingering solo version of the Your Ghost a song he describes as, “my Kristin Hersh song that I play when going to the bathroom”? Chilled out in praise he is rejoined by the remainder of the band for an electric rendition of Genius, a flamboyantly faking AC/DC Hells Bells and a show stopping Stones, The Last Time.

It is hard not to compare everything the Warhols do to The Velvet Underground, The New York Dolls or Iggy. Rather than this as being a negative observation, the fact is that this vibe is where these acts would be in 2001 had they stayed; a–together; b-creative and c-young. In our ephemeral society it is hard to imagine the Dandy’s reaching the immortality of any Warhol’s factory produce so view this wondrous piece of art while you can.