THIS was, despite the luscious harmonies and addictive hooks, certainly not a night of easy listening.

A band that troubled the upper echelons of the best-of-2009 critics‘ charts, this Brooklyn-based quartet probably provide the definition of cool at the moment. Very indie, ever so slightly geeky and deadly serious about their art, they’re never straightforward, playing hard to get just when the melody hits.

They line up four square at the front of Hall One – drummer stage right, as prominent as his colleagues, a band democracy that continues throughout, three singers swapping lines and contrasting vocal deliveries as they go.

Southern Point starts us off as it does the album, Veckatimest, named after an uninhabited island off the coast of Cape Cod. It’s an LP steeped in a windswept, wave-crashing landscape; on stage each song becomes a mini drama of its own. With a guitar line that’s much more of a rock rattle than on record, it’s a beguiling start.

Next up is Cheerleader: sublime, yearning and haunting. Quickly it’s clear: here is a show about building an atmosphere, collecting layers and textures. On stage, rows of lightbulbs in glass bottles are set against blinding white lights. Light against light, but mostly shade.

Two Weeks sees them joined on stage by singer Victoria Legrand (of support band Beach House) as she does on the record. It’s the centre point of the gig, the place where all roads lead, a wonderful dramatic moment of jagged edges and elusive harmonies. Frozen in red light, it’s a song that moves around corners.

While You Wait For The Others, with its unlikely bursts of Beatles cries, is a wonderful and surprising gem at the end. Experimental yet muscular, this was a band delivering with supreme conviction. I can’t help but think here was the type of music this venue was built to stage.