Live Review: Simone Felice, Josh Ritter - Old Museum

There's a slightly homespun feel to tonight's proceedings, the makeshift stage facing rows of chairs placed there solely for this crowd and these performers, yet the ornate side room of the beautiful Old Museum building still contains plenty of rustic charm, a perfect backdrop for the events about to unfold. The composed, black-clad figure of US singer-songwriter Josh Ritter commands attention just by dint of his effortless elegance, the artist proving incredibly engaging utilising just his acoustic guitar and stately voice, his string of numbers such as New Lover, Monster Ballads and the plaintive Another New World compelling in both content and delivery.

He wins over the Queensland throng by congratulating them on their State of Origin success and marvelling at the brutality of Rugby League as a spectacle, his self-effacing manner and thoughtful between-song banter perfectly complementing both his literate narratives, and the way that he wears his intelligence on his sleeve during numbers like jaunty war ballad Harrisburg, Ritter positively beaming as the audience – who've been completely quiet and attentive during the performance – break into rapturous applause at the song's conclusion.  He steps away from the microphone and uses the large room's acoustics to segue Naked As A Window into Galahad – whose hilarious lyrics even force Ritter to momentarily lose his composure – before he completes a fantastic set with the gorgeous Kathleen, clearly a crowd favourite given the reception it receives even from its opening chords.

After a short interlude a hush once more transcends over the room as Simone Felice and his band – multi-talented violinist-vocalist Simi Stone (an alumni of Felice's previous project The Duke & The King), drummer Tommy Goss and guitar/mandolin player Matt Gray – take the stage, and after a quietly rambling intro he eases into the gorgeous New York Times in solo mode, the band coming in softly for the second verse before building up gradually to a raucous climax, the change in intensity perfectly confronting. It's a much different experience than when Felice played on his lonesome last year but no less intimate: the suited singer's hair is cropped closer and seemingly darker but his Zen-like charisma remains completely intact, his smooth voice dripping gently over the crowd like honey as he moves through You & I Belong and the haunting If You Ever Get Famous.

He performs Charade solo until Stone enters with a mid-song flourish of violin before ceding again to Felice's soothing vocals, the effortlessly elegant craftsman then offering a delightful rendition of The Duke & The King's Shaky. He lauds the vibe of both the building and the occasion before taking proceedings to the next level with The Felice Brothers' classic Don't Wake The Scarecrow – which he professes to be about falling madly in love with a heroin-addled prostitute, as you do – which literally gives goosebumps with its power and poignancy, plus the amazing hooks hidden away in the verses.

A rousing upbeat band arrangement of Some Morning Rain gives way to a poignant reading of One More American Song, before a moving monologue about his recently-departed upstate New York neighbour Levon Helm – the “patron saint of The Catskills” – finds The Band's legendary drummer being dedicated the remainder of the set. The end of The Felice Brothers' Radio Song ushers in the return of Josh Ritter, who joins the fray for a version of Neil Young's Helpless (which in places seems to be mashed up with Knockin' On Heaven's Door), Stone's beautiful voice taking over midway as Felice wanders into the seated crowd with his guitar, returning to the stage at the song's completion to link arms with his friends and companions for a well-deserved bow, before wandering back behind the thick black curtain.

Despite the stage now being barren no-one heads for the exit as you can tell this night still has more to offer, prolonged applause coaxing back Felice and Stone who delve into old Felice Brothers' track Your Belly In My Arms, before the full band return to smash out a ramshackle but impassioned countrified rendition of The Boss' Atlantic City, then proffering one more tribute to Levon Helm in the form of Dylan's immortal I Shall Be Released. It's a gorgeous finale, and Felice stays silently bowed onstage as the applause dies away, completely stripping away any semblance of pretence or artifice as he wanders into the crowd, ending a beautiful performance by this serene and prodigiously gifted master of velvet-bound Americana.