Live Review: The Tallest Man On Earth

Diminutive Swede Kristian Matsson, aka The Tallest Man On Earth, made up for his small stature with a big performance in the Opera House's Concert Hall on Tuesday. Playing a broad sweep of songs from all three full-length releases, Matsson held court in dramatic, often hilarious fashion.

He has a freewheeling style of folk not dissimilar to Woody Guthrie or Dylan. His open tuning is a boon to his complex stage personality. He would wheel about in the space and perch on the edge of the stage, peering out into the audience like a young bird about to leave the nest for the first time. Other times he would writhe in front of the giant Steinway, almost reluctant to touch such an expensive instrument.

His lyrics are opaque essays, sung with a textured nasally quality that's charming in its unorthodoxy. The fidelity to his recorded work was high (he usually records live, rather than with separate tracks for voice and guitar, so he's used to playing as he sings), and his voice filled the room, full of emotion and passionate humanity. While a lot of it was too quick and obscure to leave an intellectual imprint, a few lines broke through – a sombre rendition of Where Do My Bluebird Fly offered a few exquisite images that rang clear into the still air.

His performance was not without flaw. He flowed through a couple of verses of 1904 with reckless abandon, not willing to break the spell just to sing the right words. During There's No leaving Now, a single rogue chord rang out that would totally derail someone who cared more for detail. Not Matsson. The bleeding edge between performer and audience is where he lives, and he thrived on the thrill of trying to catch up with himself. We were right there with him.