There is so much reverential hush in this crowded room, you can hear every cigarette lighter being sparked up.
Having worked with seminal artists such as Lou Reed, Rufus Wainwright and Devendra Banhart, the garrulous reviews of Antony and the Johnsons' recent album I Am A Bird Now are well justified, and you can almost cut the anticipation here with a knife.
The Johnsons finally stride on, and after a lengthy classical guitar prologue, Antony appears and shuffles towards his grand piano, clad in black wig and robe. The lights are dimmed so low you can barely see him.
Physically inspired by Boy George but with the inner soul of Otis Redding, this androgynous English-born New Yorker and former performance artist quietly takes his seat and launches gently into the set.
The startling emotional resonance of his voice stuns you from the first note. Pitched somewhere between Bryan Ferry and Nina Simone, his melodramatic white gospel vocal - sung in the strangest, most angelic falsetto - gently tears your heart apart so that you can almost feel your insides collapsing.
The sheer overwhelming beauty of Antony's voice quivers and floats over sorrowful, airy strings, punctuated by his quiet piano tinkling.
Aching, autobiographical songs inspire a sublime, intense melancholy that make you want to wallow like a marshmallow melting into hot chocolate.
The odd clinking bottle apart, you can hear a pin drop. I almost don't want to breathe. Deeply moving cover versions of Leonard Cohen's The Guests and Nico's Afraid cut through you like an ice-cold kiss.
This is like the most exhilarating but all-too-brief love affair, and the worst part is that it has to end.
They encore with their take on Lou Reed's Candy Says, and you can't really get much more perfect than that. Beautifully executed, this wholly compelling and breathtaking experience will take some beating.
Velimir Pavle Ilic