While the legacy of Kurt Cobain continues to loom large, one of the greatest gifts that he left behind was turning his fans on to the charms of The Vaselines. The Glaswegian band may have never reached most American ears were it not for Nirvana’s covers of “Molly’s Lips” and, more significantly, “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam,” and certainly wouldn’t have been playing a show in Brooklyn on a cold January night in 2015.

First up, though, was Amanda X, a Philly trio, who released their full-length debut, Amnesia, on the venerable Siltbreeze label last year. The band’s short set was at turns spunky and moody, and recalling Cobain favs like The Raincoats and contemporaries like the Breeders, seemed very fitting for the occasion. Indeed, the wiry (and Wire-y) guitar lines of the pink-coiffed Cat Park were very much rooted in the tradition of such predecessors, but played with plenty of youthful vigor while her cohorts on bass and drums plucked out suitable frenetic rhythms behind her.

Taking the stage soon after with very little ceremony, The Vaselines, comprised of principals Eugene Kelly and Frances McKee flanked by three youngsters, started things off with “The Day I Was a Horse,” from Dum-Dum, their sole album from their initial run in the late ’80s and early ’90s. It was indicative of their focus; despite touring in support of a new album, last year’s V for Vaselines, they played nearly the entirety of that record, as well as the two EPs they released during that period, while throwing in only a handful of cuts from the new LP and another handful from the other album released since their reformation in 2008, 2010’s Sex with an X.

That ratio of old to new worked well, though, with the newer material blending seamlessly into the set. Indeed, “I Hate the ’80s” from Sex seemed like a classic already. Similarly, “The Lonely LP,” from the new record, sparkled with the same charm as the band’s best. And really that is what marks The Vaselines’ music, and perhaps even more so, Kelly and McKee themselves: a pervasive charm. Throughout the night, the pair’s bawdy between-song banter was just as entertaining as the music. McKee joked about Kelly’s sexual prowess, or more often than not, his lack thereof, and they laughed about not knowing about key changes and the couple of wrong notes that were played during the set. Of course, the jangly refrains of highlights like “Slushy” and “Son of a Gun” possessed a visceral thrill as well and it contrasted with the restrained demeanor of the band—well, restrained when they weren’t making quips about blowjobs. Anyway, with the show being so pleasurable on several levels, it was a little disappointing when they wrapped up with an encore of “Dying for It” and “Dum-Dum.” But then there is something to be said about not playing longer than necessary too, and the set’s succinctness seemed perfect as well.