Fleet Foxes, London

If leafing through the near-unanimous five star debut album reviews from all the heavyweights (and a few lightweights) hadn’t told Fleet Foxes they’d arrived, then tonight – the third leg of a sold out debut UK tour – certainly did. If the knowledge that the Shepherds Bush Empire already awaited in November hadn’t alerted this most remarkable of five-pieces to the fact that they’ve become one of the stories of the year without yet releasing a record, then tonight’s reception may have woken them up to it. Yep, Wednesday, June 11 in a shitty student union was one of those “I was there” moments.

Having been bumped from co-headliners to 35-minute supporters, Beach House know all about this not so fleeting speed train. The Baltimorian duo are pretty good more as a result of being a very good band than proving terrifically arresting live. ‘Gila’ (below) is a definite head-swaying highlight but the detachment from the crowd equally underwhelms. Still, old J.C. himself could have come down, turned water into wine (or £3.40 Fosters) and he’d also have been completely overshadowed by what lay ahead.

From the jaw-dropping harmonic opening of ‘Sun Giant’ to the spine-shivering finale of ‘Blue Ridge Mountain’ (seriously – think of finally getting to hear one of your favourite ever songs live and this will match it), Fleet Foxes are majestic. And they’re genuinely taken aback by the crowd’s warmth. Frontman Robin Pecknold is as humble as he is assured – bantering with bandmates and telling us how he’s used to just writing songs in his parents’ basement. His voice is as powerful live as anticipated but so is the five’s innate musicianship. Fleet Foxes are a very special band, and well, this was a very special night.