From Lyttelton with a croon
He came up in Lyttelton, New Zealand, singing country-leaning folk with a velvet, choir-schooled voice. He built early buzz with a tight touring band and then expanded into film cameos and collaborative records. A major turn arrived with
My Boy, where he stepped from torch ballads toward nimble, synth-warmed pop without losing the croon.
Songs you might hear, faces you might see
Expect a set that folds older burners like
Hello Miss Lonesome and
Make Way for Love beside brighter cuts such as
My Boy. You might also hear the duet
Nobody Gets What They Want Anymore, often reworked as a solo spotlight. The crowd skews mixed: indie fans, roots listeners, and Kiwi expats sharing quiet focus, low chatter, and big chorus sing-alongs when invited. Quiet trivia: before going solo he cut his teeth in a local alt-country band, and parts of the
Plastic Bouquet project were tracked during a prairie deep-freeze in Canada. Heads up: particular songs and staging choices noted here are educated guesses, not a guarantee.
Quiet Storm, Soft Shoes
Quiet rooms, full hearts
The room feels like a listening party with manners, more nods than phones, and a shared hush during the fragile parts. You will spot vintage western shirts, neat blazers, and worn boots next to simple knits and denim, a tidy blend of saloon and indie bookshop.
Signals of the scene
When
My Boy lands, a soft call-and-response on the title phrase often bubbles up, then drops back to quiet. Couples sway, solo fans close their eyes, and a few sing harmony on
Hello Miss Lonesome from the back rows. Merch tables lean vinyl-first with tasteful poster art, small shirts in earth tones, and the odd enamel pin nodding to kiwi and rose motifs. The chat in the lobby tends to be about songs and recordings, not celebrity, with people trading notes on versions and favorite deep cuts. It is an audience that prizes dynamic range, so the biggest cheers arrive after the last ring fades rather than over it.
The Sound Built in the Room
Tone first, tricks second
His voice sits between crooner and folk tenor, with clean vowels and a slow vibrato that he can turn on or hide as the song needs. Arrangements start spare, then add bass, brushed drums, and a second guitar that answers his lines rather than crowding them. On the
My Boy songs the band leans into lithe grooves, swapping pedal steel for synth pads and a tight hi-hat to keep things moving.
Small shifts, big payoffs
Older material like
Make Way for Love often gets stripped down onstage, highlighting melody while the rhythm section breathes around longer pauses. A neat detail: he often switches from fingerpicked acoustic to a bright, spring-reverb Telecaster and nudges tempos a touch faster live to lift the room. Harmonies are treated like a second lead, with two voices tucked close so his phrasing can float on top. Lighting follows the music, staying warm and low for ballads, then adding cool washes when the pop textures arrive. The result centers the songs and the voice, letting tone and space do the heavy lifting rather than tricks.
Kindred Roads Beside Marlon Williams
Kindred croons
Fans of
Aldous Harding often cross paths here, since both favor stark storytelling, unusual phrasing, and quiet-to-loud arcs that reward silence.
Why these names line up
If you like
Kacy & Clayton, the shared love of vintage country chords and close-harmony twang is obvious, and their joint
Plastic Bouquet shows the fit.
Angel Olsen appeals to similar ears through torch-song drama and a band that can swing from hush to storm in one breath. Listeners drawn to
Father John Misty will recognize the classic pop structures and dry humor threaded through crooner tones. All four acts cultivate rooms that value detail over volume, making this show a natural neighbor on your playlist and ticket list.
