If you close your eyes so tight that the Budweiser livery all but disappears from view (in the middle of the 'Bud Rising' fest', this is pretty fucking impossible), Decibully almost instantly become the greatest indie rock band in the world. With eyes wide, though, their utterly entrancing music is tarnished somewhat by the twitching stage persona of their frontman William Seidel. His hand jerks up and down as he shifts scales; his entire body seems somehow detached from the beauty of the music surrounding him, as if it desperately wants to be the sole star of the six-piece's show. The distraction is a damaging one, but Decibully's set - the majority of songs taken from their latest and highly recommended album Sing Out America - survives on core creative qualities rather than any aesthetic appeal.

Decibully possess a sound fleshed out by wonderful instrument-swapping invention, where standard-issue O.C.-ready indie (see: Death Cab For Cutie for one) transcends conventional stargazing to propel itself into absolute orbit. 'I'm Gonna Tell You' more than smacks of Radiohead circa-OK Computer, but that's hardly a criticism to be taken negatively. The wonderfully jovial 'Megan & Magill' - its perma-smile mood a result of some brilliantly insistent drumming - closes proceedings with a comparative bang, after 'Colorful Music' has coiled itself around The Fire Theft-style flirtations with prog and absolutely bombastic post-rock atmospherics. Need I really state the obvious and say "highly recommended" at this juncture? Thought not... head here for more information on band really worthy of your investment.

The precedent of quality was set sometime before Decibully's set, though, by Desaparecidos guitarist Denver Dalley's Statistics (he's joined on stage by Maria Taylor's drummer and bassist). Whilst Dalley has only five or six songs with which to charm those nestling in not-so-comfortable sofas (this is a sit-down show, oddly), he leaves a sizable impression. The lack of keyboard action means we're deprived of Dalley's more epic, electro-aided numbers, but the stripped-down three-piece unit is nevertheless capable of delivering charming indie-pop efforts like 'The Grass Is Always Greener' and 'Reminisce'. There's a line on 'Another Day', not played tonight, from Statistics' eponymous debut EP, that goes: "I wish I was a face on the screen, on TV". If Dalley continues to pen tunes as deceptively simple yet as sincere as those showcased here, then it's surely just a matter of sometime later rather than never ever. If he desires it, commercial success can conceivably be his.

Which leaves Maria Taylor (pictured) as the headline draw, the half of Azure Ray not preoccupied with being a quarter of Andy LeMaster's Now It's Overhead. What Taylor lacks in physical size - this woman is seriously thin; really, it's a wonder her fingers don't snap as they run the length and breadth of the fret - she makes up for in voice, which is stunning. There's no better word for it really - hers is a voice so rich in soul, heartfelt passion and intensity that it leaves you almost numbed and oblivious to the musical accompaniment. For the record, Taylor's compositions are mostly simple - 'Xanax' twists the volume knob up to an eight, max - but effective and, like Statistics before her, incredibly charming (Dalley actually performs guitar duties alongside Taylor). Delicate ballads are carefully balanced with occasional blasts of noise from her accomplished backing band - including both her brother and sister - and everything's over in what seems like only a few sublime seconds, bringing the final curtain down on a night of excellently emotive, but not emo, entertainment.

The setting might not be ideal - the harsh lighting and 360-degree advertisements comprise an unwelcome distraction - but for once music itself, rather than good looks or any salient-point gimmicks, emerges triumphant from the very heart of a city raised on the fickle and the fleetingly fashionable. The feeling? Warm, somewhat gooey and not at all unpleasant. The view through eyelids squeezed tight? Nothing but stars.