Come nightfall, an austere building of worship looming large over a busy crossroads near Brighton plays host to a very special show from one Kurt Vile. For the Philly-born singer-songwriter, it’s a full house tonight, with fans flocking and jostling for a good position on the cold, pew-less stone as his band’s inaugural notes bathe in the venue’s glorious natural reverb.

Amid the burning orange glow of the altar beyond, the finest moments of latest album ‘b’lieve I’m goin down…’ take precedence at the top of the set, with the brooding country shuffle of record standout ‘Pretty Pimpin’ following the cavernous Americana of ‘Dust Bunnies’ and the banjo-led ‘I’m an Outlaw’. Sadly, the imposing gothic structure, with its sky-scraping ceilings and infinite echo, is not so kind to these louder Violaters-driven cuts, with their nuances somewhat absent in the swell of ricocheting sound.

All is far from lost though; KV’s brilliant eccentricity shines through thereafter and his back catalogue’s quieter moments translate in the church’s grand surrounds to spine-tingling effect. The aptly-titled ‘Jesus Fever’ is hypnotically dreamy, the solo fretwork of ‘Runner Ups’ is mesmerisingly majestic and ‘Wakin on a Pretty Day’ is wondrously woozy, wowing the transfixed congregation.

It’s on these songs, as well as oddball folk lament ‘Peeping Tomboy’, that Kurt’s kooky, train of thought lyrics and distinctive nasally twang take flight and thrive. With his face half protruding from beneath his long dishevelled locks, KV draws the crowd into his strange and captivating world, with tales that sound like they were penned on a sun-bleached porch swing as day plunges into darkness. It’s ensorcelling stuff; the mark of an artist who’s blossomed on the fringes and is now operating at the peak of his powers.