One of the many great pleasures of living in Vancouver is the ability to get close-up views of artists you wouldn’t be able to get in other cities. Case and point, last night English Electronic Dance Music pioneers Orbital dropped into the unlikely location of Vancouver’s swanky FiveSixty nightclub to deliver an old fashioned rave and roll masterclass.

It would be unfair to speculate why this concert was moved at the very last minute to this smaller space from its original venue at the Vogue Theatre. Whatever the reason, no one was complaining about swapping a stuffy old theatre for an intimate, throbbing nightclub.

The very idea that Orbital were playing anywhere this cosy was reason enough to celebrate. Back in the UK the duo are more likely to be performing in front of thousands. Their last major appearance saw them play in front of 80,000 people at the London Paralympics Opening Ceremony with Stephen Hawking (honestly) on vocals.

Orbital’s longevity in a genre that reinvents itself on an annual basis can be put down to two things. Firstly, this is a band that makes music complex and subtle enough to enjoy even when no one’s dancing. And secondly, this is a band that really plays live.

Not that anyone at FiveSixty understood what Phil and Paul Hartnoll were doing on stage behind their bank of electronics last night. But they were definitely doing something, deconstructing and restructuring their records entirely in the quest for the perfect 21st Century dance party. Such lofty aims come with an occasional problem.

“You’re going to have to wait one minute,” sighed Paul, as the music ground to a halt five minutes into the show. “Honestly, technology!” he harrumphed ironically, as a tech’s head emerged from behind their equipment and started tweaking a laptop.

That interruption was the only hitch of a night that took in sampled contributions from English philosopher Bertrand Russell, Belinda Carlisle and various unknown opera singers.

The music, once called rave, then techno, was doing its best to defy categorisation. The band’s biggest hit, “Satan,” was reborn as the darker and more ferocious “Beelzedub.”

“Wonky” made its recorded version look positively conservative. “Dr Who,” one of the most ingenious cover versions by any band anywhere, was barely recognisable from the beloved original theme tune. “Chime,” the song that launched them 23 years ago, was updated to belie its history in the distant musical past.

The Hartnoll brothers were clearly enjoying themselves too. Both in the 40s now, and terrible dancers, there was a spontaneous magic to their unchoreographed gyrating and arm waving, as if they were somehow surprised at what was coming out of their machines too. There were more than a few fingers pointed and frantic glances exchanged between the two of them too. Presumably accompanied by words along the lines of, I don’t know what that button does mate, but one of us better press it soon.

The only thing missing from this great Vancouver night was young people. It didn’t matter. Judging by the band and the joyous crowd bouncing along to every track, it appears that truly great nightlife begins at 40.