On stage as in his music, Bill Callahan does only what he feels is necessary. Spaces between songs (and between the parts of a song) are allowed to swell where there is nothing more to be said. He rarely addresses the audience, because the show needs no discussion.

Watching Callahan on stage is not immediately engaging. Remaining static for most of the show, his facial expressions are as inscrutable as his lyrics. Standing before the microphone, his movements are small but significant: he bends at the knees slightly to sing upward, or closes his eyes as his voice drops to its lowest. Most hypnotic is the twisting of his mouth, a subtle chewing of the syllables as they are forced out from the curled corners of his lips. This is an artist not merely playing his songs, but dragging them up, finding them anew before the audience.

Such an attitude to performance was impeccably assisted by the awe-inspiring talents of Mick Turner and Jim White; respectively guitarist and drummer of legendary Melbourne band the Dirty Three. As Callahan strummed the languid opening chords of River Guard, from the 1999 Smog album Knock Knock, White was a picture of restraint, striking at cymbals with soft mallets and creating feathery fills that added a distant pulse. Turner pulled fragile, clear notes from his guitar, brushing against the song without overwhelming. As the three spun out the song, White began to gradually increase the force and pace of his playing, lending it a delicate sense of movement, implying a far off crescendo that would never really arrive. At its peak, White was a calm face among a storm of arms and crashing cymbals, while Turner stood loose, disguising the elegance of his playing behind small, precise movements.

Callahan, though, was the centre of the show, commanding focus without effort. His presence seemed to pull attention, a hypnotic power that caught the audience up in the man and his music. Time fell away; an hour and a half sliding by almost unnoticed.

Finally, following a powerful rendering of Rock Bottom Riser, Callahan thanked the audience in his deep, drawling voice. Swinging into the intro of the closing number, Callahan revealed his wry sense of humour as he improvised a little ditty about the Festival: “enjoy the rest of the Festival/but not as much as tonight/except maybe Grace Jones…”

The last notes faded, and Callahan and co. slipped off the stage. The applause held out, hoping for an encore. When the house lights went up, it seemed so obvious: an encore wasn’t necessary.