If one were to approach James Vincent McMorrow's recent sold-out show at the Barbican as a piece of renaissance art - and that wouldn't be out of the question for many of those who sat dumbfounded in the Great Hall on Sunday night - 'chiaroscuro' would be the standout element that would come to mind. Defined as; "the technique of using light and shade in pictorial representation," McMorrow's 15-track set, like all stellar sets before it, contained the perfect amount of disparity, that eloquently both highlighted its brilliance and framed its significance.

As his bearded silhouette shuffled on stage and the opening chords of 'The Lakes' rang out, McMorrow showed his innate ability to make a sold-out auditorium feel as empty and scarce as his music, making each and every one of 2,000 or so attendees present feel like they were the only one. Two songs later, 'Glacier' did the same, showcasing McMorrow's haunting vocal - which is as good live as any I have heard - with a similar chilling effect before the pitch black hall was once again filled with layer upon layer of glistening noise in the most uplifting of ways.

Again this ability returned on the truly evocative 'Red Dust' whose somewhat painful undercurrent ("Sometimes my hands, they don't feel like my own/I need someone to love, I need someone to hold"), was all but forgotten as the crowd fell under the spell of a man at the top of his game. Even the breathtaking stage set up seemed to join this act as McMorrow, in the most down-to-earth of ways, explained: "When I first started making music, I never knew how it would turn out. Now look at me; I'm on the surface on the moon!"

Old tracks mixed wonderfully with new and undoubtedly, the loudest cheer of the evening came as the first chords of 'We Don't Eat' crept out, which was followed by red hot rendition of 'Gold' (of course; against an Icy Blue backdrop) before the set came to an end with lead single 'Cavalier'. A wholly deserved encore ensued and as set-closer 'Digging' came to a close, the evening ended as it began; in the most stunning of ways; visually, musically and just generally.

On the whole, too many things were magnificent to point to just a few and writing this now, I feel like I have done it injustice. To be blown away - or any other superlative for matter - are phrases used too much. So instead I offer an alternative; and although I dislike the indolent use of one artist when writing about another, one of my biggest musical regrets is not seeing Bon Iver in his prime. Walking away from the Barbican on Sunday night though, I somehow felt that some of that regret had been banished. For before me that night was a man of equal stature in a heyday that's sure to last for many years to come - and that is the highest compliment I can personally pay.