The Australian brother and sister duo Angus And Julia Stone played a beautiful and lulling show last night at Big Top. Some fries, a pack of M&Ms and tidal acoustics made for a show that was the antithesis of a freakshow of zonky clown people with big shoes like giant bowling pins. Julia Stone’s voice quiets a crowd with the intensity of Christine McVie of Fleetwood Mac, supplying gusts of passion and delicateness but with a more wistful delivery. Her pacific coolness is simultaneously shy and delightfully serene. She demonstrates range, not only vocally and emotionally, but also as an adept maneuverer of vocals, guitar, harmonica, and trumpet.
Meanwhile, Angus, with a similar softness, echoes a brainchild of Ben Kweller and Ray LaMontagne, with an adroit sense of maneuvering tonality. The band’s wistful lyrics are gentle and airy, enveloped in a lace-like gauze that circled around the room, with both pigments of nostalgia and travel. “Big Jet Plane” chills like the feeling of waiting for an airplane departure at four in the morning—dense, cool air, anticipation, metallic thrill. Elegant and graceful presences, if Angus and Julia Stone were a concession food, they would be cotton candy made of glacier water—but glacier water clear of James Cameron’s Titanic territory.