The ambience of a venue like the Prince is missing when the people are missing. When the first DJ of an all-electronic line-up is just spinning forgettable drivel, you go out on the balcony instead. The balcony full of the early birds of Melbourne’s uber-hip indie scene, where what you wear can be almost as important as what you listen to, soon the tunes of second DJ, E.L.F., beckoned.

Spinning some old classics of Hey Mickey, some Basement Jaxx, and more conventional house, people started moving. This guy had a pretty sweet job. Put on a track, sing along into the mic off-key like a weirdo on the train, wind the crowd up, and play more tracks. Cut Copy and the Presets’ latest sealed the deal, getting everyone into the electro-indie-pop mood, ready for Muscles.

Sweaty opened the set, with the 700-strong uni crowd shouting the mantra of “peace, love, ecstasy, unity, respect”. Sounded a lot like a cult chant, and given the grin on Muscles’ face, the irony is welcome.

‘Woo’s kept coming through the whole set as Muscles held the fort, playing keys live over backing loops, singing his heart out, enjoying the show. The vibe in there was akin to a blue light disco with tons of kids getting excited about ice cream, milkshake and lemonade flavours, with crazy songs with easy, yell-able refrains. Muscles seems to craft his songs with a balanced mix of complex, climaxing music, with esoteric verses but simple themes like food, friendship, and conversation.

The punters went crazy with the “oohs and aahs” of Ice Cream, the psychedelic house of Lauren From Glebe, and Super-Nintendo bleeps of Futurekidz. Not to mention new single The Lake, and old-school-where-it-all-started gleeful lightness of One Inch Badge Pin.

Muscles, in an interview in Mess + Noise before he’d released anything commercially, said that his aim was to be the biggest pop star in the world. Or something like that. He’s got a good start so far and seeing him at work in a venue like the Prince could possibly be one of those things you boast to your kids about. Like if you’d stumbled on the Beatles in Hamburg singing Sie Liebt Dich. Or not. Muscles sounds nothing like them.