It’s 8.15pm, An Horse are fifteen minutes away from starting their last live performance in their home town before taking off to the US for a year or more and the line to get into The Zoo cascades down the venue’s red staircase, along Ann St and all the way up to The Beat. This is a travesty. Zooies advise it was like this from prior to doors opening and still people are lining up, coming from all directions as though players in a music video. Etiquette dictates we wait with the rest and so we hear most of Kate and Damien’s set from the street.

Once inside it’s apparent that many of the punters are not only here for the headliner, but also to bid their beloved locals bon voyage; the front of the room is packed. Kate Cooper is centre stage, relaxed and talkative between the ferocious guitar and insightful lyricism of their deliciously simple indie tunes. She offers a small array of stories, none more interesting or left field than one that starts with poo, traverses to how great Kaki King is as a friend and artist and ends with Kaki coming out on stage and kissing Kate in appreciation. The lady-love lovers (and there are many) in the audience cheer. Ever the quiet man behind the drums, Damon Cox plays and harmonises in his sparse yet perfect way, the live treatment of tracks such as Postcards and Camp Out proving yet again that those who do it best are always better in the flesh.

Touring with Foo Fighters last year brought Kaki King to the attention of many who would have otherwise remained unaware of her awe-inspiring talent as an acoustic guitarist; previous tours in this land taking in more jazz clubs and arthouse venues that she is apparently happy about. Such exposure has led to a packed house and as the temperature rises, a small young woman takes to the stage, a drummer and a guy who looks to be playing a bong with keys (recognized as a synthesized trumpet) forming her band.

Commencing with a piece on slide, at not even five feet tall, it’s hard enough to see King above everyone even when she’s standing, let alone sitting down, so very few except those at the front or way up the back on the bar level can see her. And with King it’s not just the sound that she makes, but the sheer dexterity of her fretwork that you want to enjoy, meaning you really do want to see what she’s doing. The lack of visibility becomes increasingly frustrating as people crane and sway trying to get a better aspect of the diminutive dynamo.

Throughout the set King moves from acoustic to electric, up and down octaves, tunings and strings. Her flamenco stylings and thumb over the top of the fret hammering attack provide aural sensations rarely experienced anywhere else except when listening to the masters of classical songwriting for guitar. Watching her closely, the complexity of the chord progressions and adagio picking is inspired and must take a great deal of physical work as her small fingers oft seem stretched to their full extension as they move from standard to augmented and diminished shapes.

After wowing the audience with tracks such as Carmine St, Bone Chaos in the Castle and the soulful Dreaming of Revenge, she takes time to chat while again retuning. Vocal in her appreciation for An Horse, the heat, the venue and not being alone on an artistic pedestal, she is effusive with explanations of what it means and how happy she is to finally be at home in a real, dark, crusted rock club playing to the disheveled masses she identifies as her people: “They just didn’t understand who I am, man. Give me a Coopers, plug me in and I’m fine,” she tells us in her very New York accent while wiping more sweat from her brow. “It’s hot in here, are you guys alright?” she asks those in the front row, “Do you want some water? I have some water, you can have it. No, you actually have to drink it, you can’t just take it and lick it later, you freaky thing.”

Returning to her guitar, in places the tone mid-set becomes beyond atmospheric, the sounds layering and mingling within each other so that it’s like listening to a musical palindrome. That is, you could be fooled into thinking the track was being played backwards right before you, even though you’re fully aware that it’s not. The set is instrumental at its core; however there are shining moments of King’s softly-softly approach to angelic vocals as with one of her closing numbers, recent Triple J single Pull Me Out Alive. And yet, it feels that something is missing. There is an element to previous shows that is not represented here tonight. It takes a little while to realise what is sought is the stomping, layered guitar looping of King’s solo performances. Notable omission of Gay Sons of Lesbian Mothers disappoints and leaves one wanting more. And maybe this was the case for others as well, as rather than staying for the entire show, people started to quietly trickle out as the songs started to sound the same, the heat engulfed and the time trundled towards midnight when there is work to be done tomorrow.