CHECK OUT THE PHOTOS FROM THE SHOW HERE.

Modular’s newest darling and nice-looking local boy, Jonathan Boulet, settled in as Mumford and Sons’ perfectly-suited support act for their debut Australian headline show. Later dubbed “The only band with a solo name” by Mumford keyboardist Ben Lovett (affectionately of course), what’s unique about – œBoulet the solo artist’ is how content he is to share the stage/limelight with the rest of his band.

When he sings, they sing. His vocal and instrumental prowess is almost impossible to distinguish from those performing beside him, and as he playfully switches names with his keys player in their introductions, it’s obvious that this is exactly the kind of dynamic Boulet wants to maintain.

Where he earns his status as a bourgeoning solo artist then, is with his song-writing; teaming layered, harmonised vocals with summery acoustic guitars and infectious handclaps. His is the sort of modern-day campfire fodder for kids who don’t camp because soggy tents and gum-leaf soot are not conducive to cool hair.

Watching the tightly-wound chants of One Who Fly Twos Who Die loosen and unravel into the aptly-named Jam is to see Boulet’s lauded construction skills at their most deft. As the now-instantly recognisable opening strums of debut single Community Service Announcement are met with a subtly raised beer glass by an older audience member I’d like to think was one of the boys’ dads, Jonathan Boulet et al. prove themselves to be the rare kind of support act you’d actually leave dinner early to catch.

In a recent off-hand comment, the guy who unofficially discovered Vampire Weekend declared Mumford and Sons to be, “The best live band in the world, basically.” Combine this with a certain radio poll victory just days before their arrival on our shores and Australia’s current love affair with anything vaguely chamber-folk-pop, these genial Brits had a great deal of hype to live up to in my books.

With tiers of fans wedged onto the Oxford Art Factory staircases and others balancing precariously on the couches, the vest-clad Marcus Mumford and his band began with title track Sigh No More, instantly regaling the sold-out room with the song’s stripped-back opening chorus. Mumford’s warm, gravelly voice teamed with Winston Marshall’s plucky banjo melody proved to be an absolute joy.

Following Sigh’s inspirational Arcade Fire-esque ebbs and flows were Awake My Soul’s soft piano chords and distinctly Biblical imagery. There’s something undeniably evangelical about Mumford and Sons’ material in a live setting. So often I could have sworn I’d stumbled in on a Pentecostal band night, only to be reeled back into reality with cringe-worthy “I love you!” shouting matches being waged by a handful of smitten (read: drunk) female fans.

Having said that, when Mumford isn’t delivering those lyrics in his raspy preacher mode, he engages in the most endearing banter – a fairly rare exercise for most bands to bother with these days. Or if they do, it’s painfully awkward and forced.

Not Mumford, who offers us one of his favourite jokes – “Winston’s just broken one of the strings on his banjo. Bet you can’t guess which one? It’s his g-string!” – post Timshel, with his mischievously lilting accent. A quick quip about “those fucking Poms” and their proclivity towards Bondi (and only Bondi) Beach, then Mumford clicks back into impassioned preacher mode with the phenomenal White Blank Page.

Little Lion Man appeared much earlier in the set than anyone could’ve possibly predicted, the house lights brought up to a friendly glow as the crowd went a little bit mental; the older fan next to me declaring he could “die happy” having now seen it live. Readily admitting that this one song was the reason he came, and probably reflecting the sentiments of many in the room, it was to Mumford and Sons’ credit that they were brave enough not to sustain the show’s momentum on pure anticipation. Instead, they launched into a couple of new songs, the first a dramatic drum-heavy tale of a wayward lover, all ominous keys and dark verses, while the next played out like some kind of chipper barn dance accompaniment.

Catching his breath between songs and wheezing melodramatically to reinforce his facetious claim that surfing in the morning and then taking off all your clothes and just hanging out is thoroughly exhausting, Mumford asks if it’s normal for Australian girls to sunbake topless on public beaches. “No one does it in England. But not because there’s no sun. We do actually have beaches, you know. But it’s good to know it’s weird to do that here too.”

Roll Away Your Stone and crowd favourite The Cave followed, which again brought back the distinct feeling that I was intruding on some kind of bluegrass hymn-singing congregation. That would ordinarily make me wildly uncomfortable, but I found myself more-or-less sucked in to the rapture just like everyone else. The super-dark I Gave You All was especially powerful, Mumford commanding an unexpected level of fury as he howled, “I gave you all!” over and again.

Thanking the crowd for not collectively leaving after Little Lion Man, Mumford very reluctantly addressed the calls from the crowd to acknowledge triple j. “We’re really humbled by it, but we really don’t know how to do the radio, record sales thing. For us playing live is the real deal.”

He then asks, “Do you lot know what a hoedown is? Can you Dosey Doe?” We didn’t and weren’t about to attempt it (because that would look ridiculous), but Dustbowl Dance was still a delight. Sister kicked off the encore, followed by new song, Whispers in the Dark, which brought the entire set to just over an hour and a half in length. Mumford looked absolutely exhausted. For real, this time.