Live Review: Cameron Avery, Obscura Hail

A mass of golden hair and a beat up old guitar signals the arrival of alt-folker Obscura Hail.

The stage and band name of NSW born Sean Conran, Hail blends a mess of genres together to create rivers of warm acoustic tunes. Hail's music almost seems to be plucked out of thin air, with songs ending almost entirely differently to how the began. However, with his masterful guitar playing and a spectacular cover of the Postman Pat theme tune, Hail is a versatile and haunting delight to witness.

Deep within the bizarre Bermuda triangle of Father John Misty, Jarvis Cocker and Michael Buble bobs the good ship Cameron Avery. A former resident among the psychedelic realms of Pond and Tame Impala, Avery has cultivated his own "adult contemporary" character, much to the teasing dismay of his rocker friends. With just a couple of instruments and the man himself on stage, Avery demands total attention as he dives head first into an intimate and beautiful offering of solo tunes.

A Time And Place is first to fill the room, swirling in the air as Avery dabbles at the keyboard. It feels like it's been a little while since he's tapped at the ivory, but his demeanour and velvety croon do more than enough to distract from the forgivable hiccups. With such a cozy and personal setting, the affable Avery can't help but banter between every song in his set, and quickly it is apparent that he is one suave, funny, charming heck of a man. It doesn't seem fair that he's a world-class musician, too.

Avery saunters between keys and guitar, throwing up crowd favourites of Dance With Me and Disposable, all the while being the textbook example of what a good solo rendition should be. Stripped back and yet just as full and satisfying as their recorded counterparts, Avery knows every nuance and gradient of his performance - not even stopping in the middle of a song to bless a sneezing punter feels out of place.

Taking a secondary mic from the stage, Avery immerses the crowd in some sensational vocal looping in Whoever Said Gambling's For Suckers, weaving a tantalising tale of neo-noir genius. "I wrote this for the love of my life, but she saw things a little different," he jokes of Wasted On Fidelity, before Watch Me Take It Away and C'est Toi are welcomed with uproarious applause.

What has become clear from tonight, more than anything else, is that Avery is a Swiss Army Knife of a musician. Equally as comfortable in an arena as he is above a bar, the man oozes authentic character both onstage and off. Anyone planning on seeing him should stay well hydrated, as exposure to Cameron Avery will undoubtedly cause mass swooning.