“Are you sad there’s no bubble machine?” asked Casey Spooner, the front man and more visible half of the art-rock duo Fischerspooner (the other half being musical-wizard-behind-the-curtain Warren Fischer) from the Canal Room at a concert earlier this month. Getting no definite answer from the crowd, he said, by way of explanation: “Seven years of bubble machines – it’s time to move on.”

Trifling though it may seem, the bubble machine – or, more accurately, everything the bubble machine represents – is central to Fischerspooner’s career prospects. Four years ago, the duo (and accompanying performance-art troupe) emerged as the leading light in the blindingly bright electroclash movement. The Williamsburg, Brooklyn-bred scene – which also included the likes of Peaches, Miss Kittin, A.R.E. Weapons, and Felix Da Housecat – forged a razzle-dazzle style out of 1980s synth music, dance energy, a trash-chic aesthetic, and outrageous, theatrical shows.

But Fischerspooner was the razzle-dazzles of the bunch. Their performance-art installations at Deitch Gallery were the stuff of downtown legend. Their first song, “Emerge,” was a pitch-perfect dance-floor classic that shamelessly scaled one emotional peak after another. It seemed to signal the emergence of a boundless talent, and the music industry treated the duo as such. NME hailed Fischerspooner as “the best thing to happen to music since electricity.” The British dance label Ministry of Sound signed them to a reported $2 million deal.

What a difference four years makes. When the popular enthusiasm for electroclash failed to match (or even approach) that of the press, it foundered – and vanished as suddenly as it had appeared. Former electroclash darlings found their new albums ignored by the same press that had lavished them with attention before. The crucible of electroclash, the Williamsburg club LUXX, closed its doors.

Which brings us back to the bubble-machine question: Can Fischerspooner make it without the momentum of electroclash propelling them?

They seem to have embraced the challenge. Though still dance-y, the new album, “Odyssey,” takes their music in a more acoustic direction, looking to psych and classic rock for inspiration. Their debut, “#1,” had only one natural instrument on it: a cymbal, and even that was reversed; now the ratio of analog to electro is about one-to-one. But Fischerspooner may have gone too far: They’ve also done away with their over-the-top stage show.

The transition from rock spectacle to more-or-less conventional rock band is a tricky one, and Fischerspooner stumbles making it. The costumes at Canal Rooom are still stylish, if more subdued: bespoke 18thcentury military jackets – white with stiff collars – and Day-Glo scarves. But instead of a 20-person, Cirque-style spectacular with confetti cannons, dancers, and smoke and wind machines, the show is now a fairly standard rock one. Spooner performs with a backing, five-man band. Projections of the old video performance pieces over their heads only serve to remind the audience what it’s missing.

Musically, the approach yields mixed results. The songs have a rougher, weightier feel to them, which helps the mid-tempo numbers. “Happy,” the opening song, achieves a nice balance between a slinking electronic buzz and piston-fire drums; the brawny drumming saves many a song. After some undulating keyboards and GameBoy chimes, “Kick in the Teeth” settles into a rollicking, Happy Mondays-sounding groove. “I’m looking for a pill / something to ease my will / maybe a kick in the teeth.”

But the live sound comes up short when it reaches for extremes. The chill-out songs – “Everything To Gain,” “Ritz 107” – are a mess, their clean surfaces muddied by sloppy playing and an uneven sound mix. Every time one came on, it slowed the show to a crawl. Spooner actually sings now, unlike at the old shows. At one point, he assured the crowd, “I’m not lip-synching, I’m not.” He needn’t have – you could tell by his flat, colorless delivery.

As the energy ebbed, so did Spooner’s enthusiasm. He has a mood-ring quality about him, feeding on and amplifying the temperament of the crowd. He started out needy, sensing uncertainty in the room: “I’m a little nervous, does it sound okay?” he asked. When the set failed to elicit the old ecstatic highs, he became pouty. “I’m in such a bad mood today,” he said, after halfheartedly marking his dance moves like a spoiled child.

“It’s a little quiet out there, can you get more excited?” he complained a little later, as though all he had to do was ask. It might have been a good time to break out the bubble machine.

May 19 and 26 at 9 p.m. (285 W. Broadway, at Canal Street, 212-941-8100).