Enfin, or for those not fluent in the language of love: “It’s about damn time.”

For a band nurtured in the same Parisian cradle as the likes of Air and Daft Punk, Phoenix has been something of a late bloomer. While their musical brethren had redefined the electronic scene by the decade’s midpoint, Phoenix was languishing in the obscurity of hipster playlists, searching for their definitive sound.

Critics leveled it all against this middle-child of French indie. Was it disco revival or electronic indie? R&B sympathies or robotic tendencies?

Despite the ambiguity of it all, hipster scum have remained loyal, gloating for years and creating predictions for the band based on the sheer brilliance of unsupported album gems like “If I Ever Feel Better” and “Everything is Everything”: Phoenix is going to blow up.

Fourteen years later, the band has provided more than a little justification. (Insert “I told you so” here.)

On Tuesday night, Phoenix found itself in front of a sold-out crowd at the majestic Fillmore, riding the monster wave that has emerged from the release of their chef d’ouvre: “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix.” It took them a while, but four albums later the Versailles foursome had perfected the electronic rock formula; their show, which sold out in three minutes, boosted scalped ticket prices to $300 each and ended with the crowd storming the stage, was a only a reminder of this fact.

After a listless opening performance by San Diego punks The Soft Pack – a performance only worth noting because the band had a standing drummer – Phoenix entered through the smoke with lead singer Thomas Mars immediately breaking out in “Lisztomania” to test the waters. The crowd responded, overpowering Mars with a voice of its own and shaking the building, which lurched on its aged San Franciscan foundation.

The high energy and anticipation took the band by surprise and they tread cautiously in the search of their comfort zone. At a reserved pace, Phoenix pumped off songs from their two most recent albums until a technical difficulty forced improvisation. With the drums incapacitated, Mars changed the setlist – and the mood – on the fly resorting to a mellowed-out version of “Everything is Everything” as roadies patched up the wiring.

Despite the throwback, there was no doubt that Tuesday night was one to showcase everything “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix” had to offer. The band fired off four songs from their latest album, ending with an extended version “Love Like A Sunset.” For the majority of the song, Mars crouched down on the stage hidden by darkness as bandmates Laurent Brancowitz and Christian Mazzalai embarked on an intricate – and at times awkward – dueling guitar sequence. Mazzalai proved particularly gauche – yet nonetheless entertaining – staring bug-eyed into the crowd, protruding jaw and all, as he ripped off guitar scales with a swag-laced smirk.

The instrumental interlude worked wonders for the band and, more than halfway through the set, they shed their reserved exterior. With newfound confidence and a license to jam, the band busted out disco bass lines for “Run Run Run” and unleashed a robotic sample as a tribute to their early years of experimentation. “Funky squaredance, funky squaredance, funky squaredance,” echoed a voice a la Daft Punk, before Brancowitz and Mazzalai took control and transformed a nine-minute oddity from the album “Untied” into an on-stage masterpiece.

The end of the setlist only served to briefly curb the band’s momentum, as they picked up right where they left off with the encore. “If I Ever Feel Better” was impressive, as the band proceeded with a hard rock interpretation of the song, leaving Mars to loop certain verses with the audience mouthing along. And while the band’s last song was largely predictable, “1901” was still a spectacle as Phoenix drew out the song to a dramatic crescendo. With perhaps the longest microphone cord ever, Mars ran into the crowd to profusely thank the Fillmore crowd, before returning to stage for some memorable last minute antics.

Grabbing outstretched arms, the lead singer began to pull audience members on stage while continuing the repeated chorus: “Fold it, fold it, fold it, fold it.” Following suit, the crowd rushed to the front, breaching the stage as if they were breaking through the Maginot Line.

With the enthused crowd members forcing the band to retreat to the safety of the raised drum platform, it was safe to say that the French band had finally found their niche in the music world. Enfin.