The audience at the Roundhouse stand waiting in anticipation while the clock projected onto the screen at the back of the stage counts down the minutes. As zero hour approaches, the crowd chant – “five, four, three, two, one”. Low walk onto the stage. If sinister three-piece husband/wife Mormon slowcore is what you’re looking for, then you’re in the right place. There is a black and white projection of a waterfall running down the backdrop of the stage. As they walk on, the outlines of Alan Sparhawk and Mimi Parker create silhouettes on the back wall, an effect both hypnotic and sinister, adjectives one could use as a fairly apt description of Low.

 They kick off with new album, Ones And Sixes opener, ‘Gentle’. Electronic, scattershot drums like a eulogy, their audience are immediately rapt. They follow with lead single from the album, ‘No Comprende’ - the muted 4/4 of the guitar underpinning Sparhawk’s croons, “The house is on fire and your hands are tied…” Things are equally as menacing on ‘The Innocents’, with Parker’s gentle, lilting “all you innocents, might be done for it...” Low’s music has always resisted interpretation, the repetition of single lines forcing their listener to engage with a song as a sonic landscape, rather than reading the words like a narrative. No verse/chorus here, only the slow teasing out of a theme. Low stand quiet onstage - no hints, no chat, no clues. Just three shadows on a black and white backdrop.

Now entering their third decade as a band, Low have never rested on their laurels. Although thematically Low albums often reference each other, every new release represents a band constantly moving forward. Ones And Sixes is as far removed from the lush, Tweedy-produced guitar songs of previous effort, The Invisible Way as that album was from the icy beauty of 2011’s C’mon, or the electronic bleeps of 2007’s Drums And Guns. Although their music has never stayed the same, the seam that runs through all Low records though, is that sense of foreboding - the feeling that while the band are standing onstage singing, there is something in the corner of your eye, something approaching. 

Nils Frahm is an artist who commands your attention. Prior to his performance the Roundhouse is scattered with signs telling the audience to remain quiet, at the request of the artist.

As pretentious as this may seem, Frahm is a musician whose output requires the listener’s full attention. His music, like the layout of stage at the Roundhouse, is relatively simple in its design. Its beauty is revealed as much in the gaps between the notes as in the music itself. The layout of the sparse stage consists of a piano, some computer equipment and synths, and a small collection of wooden structures.

Before Frahm takes to the stage there is a sense of palpable expectation from the crowd, which is best demonstrated by a collective “shushing” noise when it soon become apparent that the composer will soon be taking to the stage.

Frahm’s setlist consists of a selection of tracks from his latest album, Solo, a collection of beautiful instrumental led-piano tracks, and a handful of songs from his back catalogue. Frahm opens with with Ode and Some. The two compositions, are already well-known bedfellows to Frahm’s devotes, due to them being the two openers on Solo. They demonstrate the most tender side to Frahm’s output and pack a mighty emotional punch.

During the set the audience holds their silence for the duration of the piano-led songs, and erupt into a sea of noise at their cessation. This trend is only bucked during the more uplifting songs in Frahm’s cannon such as Says. During the latter the crowd whoop themselves in to a collective cheer which increases in intensity in order to match the euphoric build up of this slightly clubby track. Its emotive synths go down a treat.

Frahm performs unaccompanied, and midway through the set announces that a couple of the instruments used in the production were constructed by him personally.

His interactions with the crowd are reasonably limited but when he does so he is able to demonstrate a dry and self deprecating sense of humour. Introducing himself midway through the set, he takes to the microphone and makes a joke about how he has been looking forward to playing London more than any other city. He then quickly follows this up by wittily acknowledging that he says this interchangeably with other cities at all of his other shows.

The concert closes with Toilet Brushes, a composition which perhaps demonstrates Frahm’s prodigious talent best. The piano based song builds into a beautiful and frantic crescendo, with Frahm playing the keys with increasing dexterity and rigour.