As smart and perceptive as the Scottish indie rockers Belle and Sebastian are, you’d think they would know how popular they’ve become. But after seeing over 2,000 fans singing along and dancing in unison to their 6 year-old tunes, the numerous members seemed flabbergasted at how many people had even heard of them, let alone have fallen in love with them.

But fallen in love, we have. Indeed. Rising from the post-ironic, emo invasion of the 1990s, Belle and Sebastian have cultivated an intense following thanks to their prolific output (4 LPs and 5 maxi-single EPs in 6 years) and original sound. Blending the folksy heartache of Nick Drake with the trumpet-blaring pop rock of 1960s L.A. band Love, frontman Stuart Murdoch and his rotating band of co-conspirators have transcended even sarcastically hip New Yorkers The Magnetic Fields in sheer volume of dark love songs, bitter ballads, and self-referential epics.

Although not overwhelmingly different or transformed in person, Belle and Sebastian prove that the magic happens in the moment, not after months of studio production. As many as 13 musicians crammed the stage of the Wiltern at any given time, using strings, horns, organs, and guitars to back Murdoch’s luscious vocals. And if that wasn’t enough, he brought up fans on stage to sing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” or to just dance in the background. The show, like the band’s music, was never rowdy, out of control, or spontaneous — but it was fluid, classy, and a hell of a good time.

Rather than dwelling on the down-tempo numbers from their most recent (and weakest) full-length album Fold Your Hands Child, You Walk Like a Peasant, Belle and Sebastian wisely chose to play selections from their entire canon, singling out anything that would go over well live. Those included the infectious single “Dog On Wheels,” early anthem “If You’re Feeling Sinister,” and their two crowning achievements, “Dirty Dream Number Two” and “The Boy With the Arab Strap,” the latter of which t urned the horn-rims and cardigan set into bopping and swaying acolytes. The band ended their nearly 2-hour show by rearranging the stage and going balls out with their most thrilling and unusual single to date, “Legal Man.” As Murdoch and his backup singers (and half the crowd) belted out the refrain “Get out of the city and into the sunshine,” there wasn’t a depressed heart in the building.

For a band from gloomy Glasgow famous for lines like “Is it wicked not to care when you’ve wasted many hours talking endlessly to anyone that’s there?,” it’s a testament to their skills that the could manipulate the crowd with such control and variety of emotion.