But when Cocoon’s Mark Daumail picked up a uke, I knew we were in for a good night. And so did they. It was their last concert after two years on the road, and it became a comfortable conversation with the audience.

All the material was new to me but won’t be soon. Cocoon is very good, a sort of French Angus and Julia Stone with that Shinsian mixture of beauty and whimsy (metaphorical lyrics, knowing when to stop...). And talent: Daumail sings with fine control and pulls folk out of his guitar like a young John Martyn. Morgane Imbeaud is perfect on keyboards, with “Sushi” and “Baby Seal” highlights in too short a gig. See this band where you can clap and dance.

Whereas Cocoon is very cute (even talking up each other as potential dates), Moriarty may be a little too cute. But there’s no denying their talent; a refined casualness between themselves and their instruments, between each other and us.

Maybe that was the part that grated a little – they were too distant, by juxtaposition with Cocoon. Moriarty rocked when they, well, rocked – that minute when they huddled together, let the red Gibson rule, caught each other’s eyes and actually smiled, thereby showing what lightness and engagement they were capable of, if they were not intent on being so professionally French.

But their music spoke for them. Foremost the startling voice of Rosemary – sheer beauty in lilt and tone. The mainly depression-era folk music was delivered like a gorgeous sermon, with instrumentation respectfully held back. Very sweet.

Highlights included “Lily”, “Chocolate Jesus” and “Jimmy”. I would see Moriarty again, but would prefer them in a less formal venue, and a little more drunk.