Strawberry Guy

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Lush, piano-led dream pop made by one person in Liverpool is not an obvious fit for a large downtown Los Angeles room, and that mismatch is most of the appeal. The records are soft enough to be mistaken for background and far sadder than they first appear, built on chord changes that keep resolving somewhere unexpected. Played loud, in a big space, they stop being delicate and become enveloping. Audiences for this are notably quiet and notably young. Acts like this tour the US rarely and skip most of it when they do, so a December date here is less a routine stop than a small window. Take somebody you do not need to talk to for ninety minutes. Support slots on these bills tend to be local and worth arriving for, since a touring act this far off its usual circuit rarely brings its own openers.