Francis Lung @ Sacred Trinity, 18 December

In its own low-key way, Tom McClung’s progression from ash-choked backing vocalist and bassist in WU LYF has been as fascinating as that group’s development from calculated anonymity to cult coveting Letterman guests. McClung’s two years metamorphosing into Francis Lung since their split has meant trying to distinguish his own more naturally humble sensibilities from a band who – fairly or otherwise – found themselves labelled as ostentatiously brash.

Dozens of opening slots above bars, in basements and sleepy cafes have seen McClung appear sometimes as a white-clad budget retro-pop prince, crooning over a backing track; elsewhere he’s been more reflective, a troubadour in the mould of some long-lost 60s curio.

Tonight, though, he has company; this is his first home show with a full band. The sparse Invisible is a nervous opener, tension creeping into the new frontman’s vocals, his movements terse. However, the crisp, country-influenced Where Life Comes to Live’s sepia warmth loosens him up, and when he throws his head back as though calling to heaven on Something Blue’s tender lament, he and the fellow musicians onstage seem to flicker with light.

A carefully constructed minimalism characterises the set’s first half, before unfurling into more overt pop structures – sole single to-date A Selfish Man is pick of the bunch here – but it’s at the intersection where the skin truly flutters with goosebumps; Age Limits’ hushed meander suddenly opens up as McClung’s body contorts, exploding with an uninhibited rawness that feels familiar, and yet so much more natural than it ever did before.