Tonight, stepping inside The Golden Dawn is like walking across the threshold of a fairground and into a fortune teller’s tent. Outside, coloured lights blaze against the darkening sky as DJ English Jake plays a bewitching selection of soul tunes that get the punters toe-tapping. Inside, the sultry summer evening is made steamier by the heat rising from the perfumed bodies of the Sunday night crowd, and by the enchanting music of Steve Abel and his carousel of celebrity guests.

The night opens with a set from wistful pop band The Floral Clocks, a song-writing collaboration between Gabriel White (music) and Richard von Sturmer (lyrics) who lay evocative images over quirky, nostalgic music. Their album Desert Fire, mastered by local publican Rohan Evans, will be released at The Wine Cellar on 7 March, and anyone who has Cat Power and Lou Reed in their record collection will be keen to get their hot hands on it.  

The temperature’s climbing in the intimate space, and Steve Abel takes the stage to deliver a solo song like a prophet delivering a sermon from a mountain. “He’s got an amazing voice – he’s New Zealand’s Bob Dylan – and he’s an environmental activist too,” says the lady behind us. A scroll through Abel’s Greenpeace blog shows he’s no slouch when it comes to writing about the big issues, but tonight the focus is firmly on love and loss.

He’s joined by his super-group – bass player Gareth Thomas (Goodshirt), guitarist Jonathan Pearce (Artisan Guns), and the dashing Chris O’Connor (The Phoenix Foundation) who answers the question ‘what would Hugh Grant look like behind a drum kit’? The music is timeless as folk, lonesome as sea shanties, and mysterious and gothic as you’d expect from something concocted at the bottom of the world.

Mike Hall (Pluto) joins the stage and takes over bass duties, letting Gareth loose on the piano accordion. Next Kirsten Morrell (Goldenhorse) steps up, taking the body count on the tiny stage to six. She and Steve perform the captivating Duet (Lonely I Be). “Florian Habicht made the puppet music video for this song,” says Abel, and the filmmaker’s actually in the audience, standing head and shoulders above everyone else.  

Sweet songbird Kirsten is an absolute treat to watch live, and her honeyed voice is the perfect foil to the melancholic music. The set ends, the crowd goes wild, and an encore is performed. As the band members pack down, they leave the sense that this is a show that will be talked about for times to come – that we’ve just watched a little piece of New Zealand history in the making.

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