AS THEY head towards the end of a year in which their fortunes have been utterly transformed, Scissor Sisters are clearly taking nothing for granted.

Their debut album, which has sold close to a million copies in Britain since it was released in February, has returned to the Top Ten this week. But still the six-piece group from New York were hardly able to contain their excitement at being called upon to headline such a prestigious venue as the Albert Hall.

Parents and friends of the band had flown over from America to attend the show, and the sense of occasion was palpable. “Is the Queen here?” asked the singer Ana Matronic. “Actually, I can see there are lots of queens here,” she said, archly. The lead singer Jake Shears, resplendent in an alarmingly tight pair of gold lamé trousers and a gold waistcoat, smiled indulgently.

Part of their delight at the reception they have received here is no doubt due to the fact that Scissor Sisters remain virtually unknown in America. They emerged initially as part of Manhattan’s electroclash scene, a “movement” whose painfully fashionable appeal failed to extend beyond the arbiters of taste in the media. Quickly distancing themselves from their peers, both musically and geographically, they arrived in Britain with a populist manifesto that wrapped influences from the Bee Gees to Elton John in an all-action, disco dancefloor package.

The Albert Hall stage was a vision of decadent grandeur and urban sleaze. A huge chandelier was hung overhead and elegant drapes behind, while a variety of neon signs advertising “sauna”, “live sex show” and other delights beckoned from the sides. Disco lights flashed and the crowd rose to its feet with a tremendous roar as the band struck up the vaudevillian piano-chord intro of Laura.

While everyone in the group contributed to the party, all eyes were on Shears and Matronic, whose stage partnership recalled that of Fred Schneider and Kate Pierson of 1980s cult heroes the B-52s. With his effortless falsetto range, Shears would often sing higher than his female accompanist. But while he took the lead in numbers such as Better Late and Tits on the Radio, it was Matronic who was very much the mistress of ceremonies as she urged us to let “the holy spirit of disco invade your soul and free your crotch”.

Light from a glitterball swirled around the hall during their eccentric disco take on Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb, and the encores produced a strangely syncopated cabaret version of Franz Ferdinand’s Take Me Out. A stage invasion of bizarre “scissor people” — some on stilts, one in a kind of yeti costume — signalled the end of a colourful and energetic show that was nothing if not tremendous fun.