Live Review: Jens Lekman, Courtney Barnett & Scraps

It's still summer, but Brisbane seems caught between seasons tonight. Rain begins, stops, half-heartedly resumes. Humidity hangs oppressively, but the heat seems almost hospitable in this early evening, even inside The Zoo where Scraps (Laura Hill) makes for a minimalist presence on stage. The music is similarly unobtrusive: spare synth-pop that's distant and quiet despite the volume. Quavering synth pads follow the night's mood; neither melancholic nor happy, or perhaps both. With a lack of showmanship the music stands or falls purely on its own merits: tonight it stands, largely disinterested in the reaction it may receive and all the better for its own self-absorption.

There's no confusion in Courtney Barnett's set: largely leaving behind the slacker-pop of their EP, the live experience is relatively straight blues-rock. They're walking the same territory as St Vincent or Sharon Van Etten, but they're doing a highly credible job: energetic and talented, they look like they're having fun on stage, grinning broadly at each other during songs. As the room fills, the weather seems to reach a decision as well, settling into a humid swelter that sits comfortably with the music; a swampy heaviness that lends the blues lines a presence that may otherwise have been lost on a lighter evening.

Last seen in Brisbane performing under a house somewhere near Milton due to visa restrictions, Jens Lekman is back tonight with a four-piece band and a new album to showcase – his first in five years and the focus of the early part of tonight's set. Always the consummate storyteller, Lekman pauses between songs to give some context: an almost-marriage to a friend for citizenship (I Know What Love Isn't); a joke about the length of time between albums (the as-yet unreleased Golden Key). In lesser hands it could end up an annoying digression, but Lekman maintains an endearing charm, and so the stories become an important part of the show, an invitation into the artist's life.

It's a joyous performance tonight; the sadder songs left aside or sped up lent an air of jaunty nonchalance. Certain pantomimes – the air xylophone at the end of The Opposite Of Hallelujah for example – have been part of his repertoire for years, but he performs them still with such joyous enthusiasm that it's impossible to be cynical. That sums up the entire live Jens Lekman experience, really. It helps that the band is incredibly tight, Lekman is in fine voice, and he has a brilliant knack for catchy pop, but even when the show borders on twee self-parody, it's impossible to maintain any ironic distance against the joy in the songs, the self-deprecation in the stories and the onslaught of his genuine performance.