Karl Bartos has had a chequered history since Kraftwerk. At best he’s produced tough electro funk (with the likes of Anthony Rother) and beautiful electro-pop (with Bernard Sumner and Johnny Marr’s Electronic project). But his worst material, some of which came on show tonight, is at the other end of the spectrum.

It’s a Thursday night and Bartos is the support act, so the night kicks off at 6 pm. Although The Roxy is a big club, it doesn’t feel that big: the wide stairs and high ceilings are balanced by plenty of dark corners, basic lighting, comfortable seats and a distinct absence of polished surfaces. Plus the sound system is huge and the dance floor too.

The crowd is split. On one side – actually the front, since the gig starts so early, it’s mostly Kraftwerk fans there to catch him – you have the black-clothed art crowd and scruffier electronic music fans. Behind them, the Czech Powderfinger, Tata Bojs, attract a more middle of the road crowd. It’s a pretty weird paring actually.

A snappily brown-suited Bartos takes the stage, along with a couple of guys he probably drafted into the band at a Star Trek convention. A digital voice loops the numbers from One to Eight, while a booming electro beat shakes the club into action. Fans yell. The Tata Bojs fans move a little further back towards the bar.

I expected a predominantly solo show, but it was about two-thirds Kraftwerk. Tight live versions complimented by minimalist visuals of abstract geometric shapes and simple messages.

Bartos leans over his rack of synths like a ‘50s pugilist crossed with Mick Jagger. But he’s really a little old for that sort of thing and there’s something strange about watching a 60-something guy ranting about returning a videotape over electro at 8:30pm. He would do best to drop trashy euro-songs like ‘15 Minutes’ from his repertoire, and the vocodered industrial goth vocals from his sidekick were pretty painful too.

On the other hand, Telephone Line is one of my favourite Kraftwerk numbers, and Bartos kept it icily beautiful. Tour de France was kitschly cool; he even sung a couple of Bernard Sumner’s songs from Electronic. A couple of hours later the bumping analogue funk run through of Trans Euro Express would have sent the crowd wild. Unfortunately it was still only ten to eight!