Waxahatchee, Scala, London

With the ongoing trauma of keeping up with the Kardashians, it’s a relief to see two different sisters stealing the limelight for a change. Minus the help of the Daily Mail, and propelled by some heart-wrenchingly good tunes and a devoted fanbase instead, Katie and Allison Crutchfield have experienced a phenomenally rapid rise to the dizzy ranks of musical adoration. Tonight’s gig at Scala will see both Swearin’ and Waxahatchee hold a whole room in suspended effortless silence. We’ve packed Kleenex, because this is going to be an emotional affair.

Swearin’ kick the night off with a tattered Converse boot kicking its way through piles of cotton wool. It’s that teetering balance between brash, snagging melodies, and a hyper-aware, occasionally sentimental core of disenchantment, that make Swearin’ most enchanting. Kyle Gilbride and Allison Crutchfield are fully immersed on stage, eyes closed, and those shared vocals that work so beautifully on the band’s second album ‘Surfing Strange’ are even more blinding live. Gilbride’s twanging, whining voice is the jigsaw opposite counterpoint to Crutchfield’s delicacy, yet Swearin’ make abrasion sound adhesive. While they are undoubtedly distant relatives of Pixies, The Breeders, Sonic Youth and the like, making such comparisons, in all honestly, feels a bit boring. Swearin’ don’t prompt a scientific examination of music’s genetic make up – they prompt going absolutely wild. That’s evidenced by the whole venue headbanging, and tonight Swearin’ sound like one of the most exciting new faces on the DIY music scene.

We say one of the best for a reason, though, because Waxahatchee, riding the triumphant outpouring of ‘Cerulean Salt’ across the top table, are magical tonight. “Ok, I’m just going to start now,” says a lone, and slightly terrified looking Katie Crutchfield, clearly a little overwhelmed by the rows and rows of eyes fixed dreamily on her. She kicks off with stripped back solo renditions of ‘Hollow Bedrooms’, before plunging heart-first into ‘Grass Stains’, from 2012’s ‘American Weekend’. Katie has a rare and gem-like ability to package angst and heartache in the most painfully simple lyric “I’ll never leave my bedroom/and I’ll avoid you like the plague because I can’t give you what you want.” London hasn’t seen a venue this quiet and respectful for a long time.

Joined by the rest of her live band, it’s a perfectly balanced set – dominated by ‘Cerulean Salt’, but re-visiting the likes of ‘Bathtub’, and throwing in a surprise Cass Elliot for good measure. Captivating is the only word to describe Waxahatchee live. The waltzing drum rolls of ‘Brother Bryan’ hypnotise everyone, bar the couple enthusiastically snogging on the balcony like it’s about to go out of fashion.

‘American Weekend’ rings out, Waxahatchee depart, but Scala is having none of it. Screaming and stamping brings Katie back out, alone again, and Allison is just visible hiding behind an onstage monitor, watching. If we felt a little bit emotional before, we’re blubbering by ‘I think I Love You’. Hazily walking out onto a rainy Kings Cross, we think we’re very much in love with Waxahatchee too.