A capital city mentality encourages disjointed social ties, enforced by the self-involved notion that life doesn’t extend beyond one’s postcode. We lament this solipsistic tendency with travel. In this spirit, cultural transmission becomes the vehicle that transports us to new sonic pastures.

Tilling the auditory landscape with an innovative instance of delicacy is Brooklyn trio The Antlers. Unfolding underneath the bric-a-brac archways inside London’s Heaven, a flurry of fashion conscious creative’s collect in droves underneath the cosmic blue lighting in the stage room.

With a cumbersome plastic pint wedged in one hand, the claustrophobic taste of humid air can be tasted as fresh successions of bodies start to jam into the pit. Against the collective purr from the crowed, The Antlers take stage and gingerly strap their instruments with the apprehension of shy schoolboys.

As if triggered unconsciously, waves of emerald green light begin to rotate behind the stage, and the hyaline sound of glockenspiel marks the introduction to ‘Bear’. Cradling his guitar to his torso, lead singer Peter Silberman tactfully hunches towards his microphone stand and begins to sing with his eyes closed. Galvanizing the air with an impenetrable blanket of calm, his words meander towards the ceiling cavity as the crowed sways with an almost ecumenical sense of pride.

Feeding this atmosphere of austerity, the band segues into ‘Kettering’. A galloping piano melody beats from the speakers, as Silberman’s fragile vocals spill into the air like an arcane incantation. Poised behind his kit, and awaiting the call to alms, drummer Michael Lerner shatters the lake of calm with a militarized drum pattern. As if brought to birth by locomotion, a row of large white lights burn brightly behind the band. Silhouetted and thrust out of their temporary state of suspended animation, the band arch their upper bodies back and forth in time to sonorous boom from Lerner’s bass drum.

Tailing off the evening with an appropriate sense of panache, the elegant sound of a ukulele signifies the opening riff to hit release ‘Two’. Clapping in unison to the predictable execution of the bass drum, the audience drowns Silberman’s voice as they chant the closing line ’87 halves and that’s all that’s repeating!’ with unbridled gusto.

The verdict: a sensational live presentation catering to the to thinking person’s aural palette…tonight, still sonic waters ran very deep indeed.