Live Review: Beach House, Wintercoats

Wintercoats, it turns out, is actually just one dude (James Wallace) and his violin, which could be a potential snoozefest if it wasn't for the range of sounds and expressions that Wallace manages to evoke. Especially impressive are the percussive and rhythmic elements that he achieves using multiple layered loops. He's an obviously gifted but un-showy performer, though his vocals lack melodic complexity and are a little too soft and overly earnest. The highlight of the set comes when he sings into the microphone in his violin, giving his voice a ghostly, desperate quality. He performs a few instrumental tracks, and these are generally the strongest; the way he structures them to cut out just at the most climactic points gives the set an engaging breathlessness.

Everything about Beach House's show seems to be set up to captivate an audience; the gentle fringed backdrop – which makes it seem like the band are surrounded by giant softly-lit harps – the lighting, which alternates between subtle and spectacular, and the two effortlessly charismatic people on stage (there's also a drummer who looks like they found him playing in a Cold Chisel cover band at The Brunswick, but this does little to ruin the allure). For the first half of the set the band alternate between old and new tracks, opening with Wild off their latest album Bloom, followed by a strong, almost strident, version of Walk In The Park. Victoria Legrand's voice fills every inch of the room and reaches inside every person here in a way that very few other singers could pull off. Guitarist Alex Scally delivers line after line of those extremely gorgeous melodies and a dreamy guitar tone that seduces you while it breaks your heart. The pair are cool in the way only extremely good looking Americans can be, and banter is scarce, but an early jibe at their Melbourne audience refusing to dance gets the crowd onside early. After that all they have to do is say, 'Thanks', and ignore the drunks yowling 'Victooooooooria!' between every song. Bloom as an album misses the kind of sad anthems that the band's second album Teen Dream delivered in spades, and songs like Lazuli and The Hours come with a step down in intensity after the power of Take Care or Silver Soul. However, the way Legrand and Scully commit to wringing every bit of emotion and beauty out of their songs almost completely negates this effect, and the more subtle songs give the audience a chance to catch their breath and be-still their hearts. For the encore they bring out the lush and achingly pretty 10 Mile Stereo and, with a long wistful sigh, it's all over.