Pacing along Islington’s Upper St. past the clocked-off, already well-oiled Friday crowds, we’re itching to arrive inside the Assembly Hall’s ornate four walls and soak up some sublime, understated song courtesy of The Clientele and co. In celebration of the release of their recent compilation, Alone & Unreal, The Clientele have gathered a faithful following together for the evening’s one-off performance. It bears the question of when they may next appear live again and because of that there seems to be a palpable excitement in the air.

Upon arriving we manage to catch The Hanging Stars final song. Replete with pedal steel, ‘House On The Hill’ is steeped in stirring ’60s psychedelia, evoking sounds of both the Delta and the wistful lyricism of England’s Eden. It certainly hooks us in and leaves us wishing we’d caught the full set.

As the foyer starts to fill, the grand theatre is split into two opposing settings, as the bustling noise at the bar comes up against the stilled hush stage side surrounding Mark Fry’s soft, enduring psych-folk. Composed and bard-like, Fry works his way through his cult freak-folk opus Dreaming With Alice. Inviting the audience into his world of pastoral and astral splendour, his music flows with the soothing subtly of Nick Drake or Linda Perhacs and is accompanied by beautiful dappled double bass work and piano.

It’s obvious that indie label faves Fortuna Pop do gigs properly. Joking about only releasing records every 35 years, the recently rediscovered Fry, is an “acclaimed-within-small-circles” slow-burner and he serves as the ideal warm up for The Clientele. Amped up and washed in reverb, one could easily mistake his music for some of Alasdair’s meandering musings. The band ends with the eerie, electrified lurching of ‘The Witch’ and clear to make way for Hampshire’s finest.

On fine form, The Clientele break into the best of their extensive back catalogue. As the grey cityscapes of a dated documentary swim across the back curtains, the crystal tones of ‘We Could Walk Together’ begin. Collectively the crowd seems to withdraw to the rose-tinted sheen of that remote “headphones-on” headspace that their music so effortlessly conjures up. As pink and blue spotlights blot our eyes and a motorway trickles by behind, Suburban Light’s ‘Reflections After Jane’ floats on by. An impassioned rendition of the fan-favourite ‘Since K Got Over Me’ proves an early highlight, as it pours forth with pictures of desperation, isolation and adulation.

Elsewhere in their set slower numbers suddenly seem to convulse as Alasdair switches into frenetic overdriven passages, couples dramatically mouth lyrics at each other and then the band is joined onstage by string-arranger and solo artist, Louis Philippe. He steps up to the mic and the spectral opening of spoken word/soundscape ‘Losing Haringey’ begins. It’s hard to match the quiet majesty of the original recording, but Louis’ assured delivery comes incredibly close.

Recent releases ‘Orpheus Avenue’ and ‘On A Summer Trail’ seem to go down extremely well, with the latter once more displaying their natural knack for dreaming up indie-pop hooks. Before their triumphant encore they lean into a lengthy outro, with Alasdair’s erratic fingerpicked solos taking centre stage.

As the credits roll the band bids adieu with ‘Saturday’, perfectly capturing the atmosphere of the open wintry night that awaits us outside. As if that isn’t enough they then conclude with the forlorn chime of ‘I Want You More Than Ever’. Bringing Alasdair’s glorious guitar tone to the fore, the ghost of melody still hangs heavy as we exit out onto the darkened pavements and head home, past the chip and kebab shops and launderettes to the tube, the evening’s underexposed snapshot fading fast behind us.

David Weir