ST. PETERSBURG — Go figure: The best and bawdiest in British rock these days is actually swaggering out of...San Diego?

On a bloody brilliant triple bill at Jannus Landing Wednesday, three hip, cocksure bands gave a tutorial in the myriad shades of UK cool — even though only one actually resides across the pond.

Louis XIV, Hot Hot Heat, the Editors. If you haven’t heard of these guys — and they’re all very much guys, albeit different shades of skirt-chasing dude — you soon will. They draw inspiration from their Anglo elders (Bowie, Morrissey, Jagger), but cater to modern demands of style and salesmanship.

The best of the lot (if not the cleanest, tightest) were the openers, SoCal’s Louis XIV, whose swarthy come-ons and below-the-belt boasts repel as many fans as seduce them. (These guys should never play earlier than midnight; at Jannus, their royal rumble commenced at an awkward 7:50 p.m.) Their schtick is pretending to be ’70s-stuck British glam idols. But let it be known that they’re far too smart to let a gimmick get in the way of greatness.

Led by singer Jason Hill, who goes about his snug-trousered work like a rogue who can’t wait to steal your girlfriend, Louis mixed Stonesian blues (the immoral high of Guilt by Association) with Queenly beauty (the download-this Air Traffic Control). They also had not one, but two violinists onstage, so that tells you something, too.

Touring in support of upcoming album Slick Dogs and Ponies (which you MUST buy), Louis XIV was at times frustratingly sloppy, a far cry from the well-orchestrated mayhem of their albums. But reckless abandon is no doubt part of the point. And when they finally reached the struttery heights of Finding Out True Love Is Blind, there was no doubt these guys are one of the best new groups around.

Canadian quartet Hot Hot Heat is much like the dorky kid who finally has his first beer (or six) and hits the dance floor. They indulge in a rather winning mix of nerdliness and sloppy sincerity. Frontman Steve Bays, who either looks like Bob Dylan or Leo Sayer, plays cheeseball synth with one hand, grips his mike in the other. He’s a bounding, tireless entertainer, as in love with ’80s British postpunk as ginormous rock anthems.

In fact, everything you need to know about Hot Hot Heat can be heard in unrestrained new gem Let Me In (from latest album Happiness, Ltd.), an arena-sized monster that soars as high as anything U2 has chimed in years.

Birmingham, England’s Editors have a reputation as a must-see live band. That’s good, because their albums are often dour and impenetrable, the best of the Cure without the warmth.

But indeed, led by singer Tom Smith, who reminds me of the Tin Man after he gets a heart, the night’s final act was relatively jaunty and precision-perfect in delivering Gothy odes to alienation and disenchantment. They’ll no doubt appeal to sad-sacks in love with the Smiths — and Radiohead fans who still long for The Bends.