The Paper Kites @ The Roundhouse, London (Live Review)
- Published in Live
The Paper Kites
The Roundhouse
Softly Does It: The Paper Kites Cast a Spell Over Camden
On a rain-slicked February night in Camden, The Paper Kites didn’t just play The Roundhouse — they shrank it. February 24 saw the Australian outfit turn the cavernous former engine house into something unexpectedly close-quarters, the kind of gig where even the bar queues seemed to move in a hush.
From the smoky sway of ‘Morning Gum’, it was clear this wouldn’t be a bells-and-whistles affair. Frontman Sam Bentley’s voice — warm, frayed at the edges and completely unshowy — drifted over brushed drums and slow-burn guitars, while harmonies stacked up like dusk settling over the city. It’s a sound that doesn’t beg for attention; it earns it.
Touring behind their latest record, the band feel looser, deeper in the pocket. Earlier material once flickered with indie-folk fragility; now the newer cuts stretch and simmer. ‘Black & Thunder’ rolled in on a bluesy undercurrent, all tension and release, while ‘Without Your Love’ built patiently before blooming into a full-room singalong that caught even the balcony off guard.
What makes The Paper Kites compelling live isn’t volume — it’s control. They trust the space between notes. They’re happy to let a song hang for a second longer than expected. In a capital city hooked on sensory overload, that kind of restraint feels quietly defiant.
Between tracks, Bentley kept things easy, grinning about spotting the band’s name plastered across Camden earlier that day — still sounding faintly surprised by it all. That grounded energy bled into the performance itself: no grandstanding, no forced drama, just songs delivered with total conviction.
What makes The Paper Kites compelling live isn’t bombast — it’s patience. They let songs breathe. They let pauses linger. In a city addicted to noise, that restraint feels radical. Even Bentley’s easy charm between tracks — wide-eyed about seeing their name lit up on Camden streets — only deepened the sense that this was a band quietly astonished by their own journey.
By the time the encore closed, the Roundhouse felt lighter, like the room itself had exhaled. No fireworks. No gimmicks. Just songs, played beautifully, hanging in the air long after the lights came up.
By the encore, the Roundhouse felt stilled in the best way — not subdued, but settled. No gimmicks, no overkill. Just a band confident enough to let subtlety do the heavy lifting.
And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
