I can not vouch for everyone else present on the night but for me, at least, this concert was a cathartic experience. Emotions, they’re a funny thing and the three artists performing brought out very different reactions; ranging between the best and worst of me. The pleasant surrounds of @Newtown provided the psychiatrist’s lounge for this, my second visit to Okkervil River.

While last November at the Hopetoun I rode the tidal wave of joy, tonight’s show started with more of a trickle. Sydney locals The Model School were first up. Maybe it was my expectations what done it (note from my shrink: perhaps you could try lowering your expectations). Somewhere along the lines I picked up the impression that the Model School were a one man band alike that Beck livewire, but alas no. What we got was pretty standard indie alt-rock, with a strong country influence. There was a beat-laden backing track but folktronica or innovation that does not equal. That’s not to say the band weren’t tremendously competent in their playing but perhaps they just need to drop the competency in favour of a little off-the-cuff excitement. At this stage I was disappointed but not disheartened.

So it was with trepidation that I awaited Jack Ladder, for he was another artist I had heard many good things about. But until I saw the results (the results I tell you!) I remained in the dark – albeit lying with many others on the comfortable and comforting @Newtown floor. What came next I cannot do justice with the written word. If I was asked to draw a picture, perhaps, or make that intriguing “yew” sound maybe, just maybe, I could give Jack Ladder the praise he deserves for his stirring performance. Stepping onto the expansive stage with nothing but an electric guitar and a head full of idiosyncratic folk tunes, Ladder, or Jack, or Jack Ladder as we know him, had the room spellbound. Rewind and let’s pretend I hadn’t bought his album Not Worth Waiting For as soon as he left the stage; that I was already well-versed in his melange of hope, despair and wit…oh the wit. Oh you’re so witty, Jack. I was singing along to “Advice of Strangers” with the best of them – “take a look outside, remember what it is like to be alive,” I crooned. I was gazing expectantly rather than with stunned wonderment at this guy with a lanky disposition, an awkward stance and a deep, distinctive voice. I was telling astounded onlookers “I told you so”. I forgot that I came here for Okkervil River.

With my heart aflutter, it was back to real life. Or the bracing reality provided by the songwriting of Will Sheff, Okkervil River’s mainman. With a new tour EP to tout and what appeared to be new gathering of fans willing them on, the band played a steady if not quite as exhilarating set compared to last year’s whirlwind. Then they were somewhat of an unknown quantity, now they had a captivated crowd singing along to darkly captivating songs like ‘For Real’ and ‘All the Latest Toughs’ off last album Black Sheep Boy. It was in no way a spit-polished performance: Sheff did his best to shred his vocal strings, broke a guitar string and dedicated songs to all the “dickheads in the room”. The rest of the band followed suit, contributing a rocking ramshackle charm to Sheff’s wordy tirades and lullabies. With an interesting mixture of old and new, we, the audience, were caught in a precarious state of time-travel. Indeed, there’s much the troubadour about Sheff’s travel weary songs and performance, and so much to love. But it if there’s one thing I learnt on the night – other than that live music is an emotional experience – it is that new love can indeed blossom in the face of an old love. Deep.