Live Review: The Paper Kites, Phebe Starr, Airling

A healthy crowd greets Airling, moniker of Brisbane's Hannah Shepherd (of folk acts Charlie Mayfair and Emma Louise) and partner in crime Graham Ritchie (of Skinny Jean and also Emma Louise). Steeped in pulsating, gauzy synths and bracketed by uncluttered hip hop beats, Shepherd's voice is nestled like a precious stone in velvet. It's beautiful, with a little more body than most female vocals produced so dreamily. The melodies are heartfelt but effortless, and often haunting, like the hypnotic Ouroboros. Some ballads fail to develop as strongly, but Wasted Violets – singled out as a favourite of the headline act on previous nights for good reason – lifts with its wordy rhythmic vocals and plaintive synth hook in the chorus.

Where Airling draw you in and smooth you out, Sydney's Phebe Starr has sharp angles instead of smoke. Brighter and bolder, the slinky beats are traded for straight four-to-the-floor, layered with powerful, belting vocals into chanted, animalistic loops. A diva with a voice and style that evokes her contemporary Kimbra, Starr gives a strong performance but looks a little dwarfed by the space. Her songs are eclectic, from the epic build of Alone With You, to a ballad that wouldn't be out of place in a music theatre production, to an Imogen Heap-territory auto-tuned number. Though talented indeed, Starr doesn't quite own the stage.

While electronics and a synth are part of the set-up, a decidedly more acoustic mood is set with all manner of guitars swapped back and forth between members of The Paper Kites. Melbourne's indie-folk darlings are a study in texture, interludes playing as the band rearrange themselves, the songs floating and flowing into one another. The effect is immersive, though at points the mood sags with monotony, the songs similar as they are in tempo and colour. The vocal performances are shared by Sam Bentley – who sings a solo number to an enraptured silent crowd – and Christina Lacey, offering necessary variation.

There's a mix of old tracks and new: Featherstone, Living Colour, Woodland and beautiful, psychadelic-tinged closer, A Lesson From Mr. Gray. They're anchored by the meatier lead guitar lines and steady drum beat, balancing the dreamy prettiness. This is fine; the packed-out Hi-Fi is not here to party on this Saturday night. This is a gently-swaying, politely-listening crowd, apart from a rambunctious few up the back that draw withering glances with each oddly-timed heckle. The biggest cheer of the night is for the perfectly-written love song, Bloom. It brings together every folk trope around but is sweet and sincere, and the crowd softly singing along is one of the best moments of the night.