"This is the part where I should be really funny and say something nice," says Swedish sensation Emil Svanangen, the multi- instrumentalist behind Loney, Dear. The fact he does neither, instead easing into one of his richly orchestrated hymns to adolescence, reveals how tricky the transition from bedroom visionary to engaging stage performer can be.

After making four albums in his home studio in Stockholm, Svanangen has been thrust into the limelight with his latest release, Loney Noir, his first for major label Sub Pop. Full of soft-hearted melodies and hopeful sentiments, Loney Noir is a revelation, its densely layered songs made all the more remarkable for being the product of a one-man band.

But on stage, Svanangen has a four-piece band on hand to recreate each mini-symphony. Though he looks like David Gray, he sounds like Stuart Murdoch of Belle & Sebastian, his vocals blessed with the same warm whimsy as his Scottish counterpart. They're also as one-dimensional and, tonight, not at their best. "I'm sick," Svanangen says and it shows, his faltering falsetto casting a cloud over the sunshine melody of Saturday Waits.

What isn't dimmed is Svanangen's sheer inventiveness. As his voice climbs in I Am John, the mood of the song swells from sweet and ambling to aggressive and urgent, without losing any of its charm. This tension is heightened in Le Fever, with Svanangen's words initially gentle, before becoming anguished yells. Then he breaks them down to primal sounds, like a baby trying to form its first words and appearing just as vulnerable. Svanangen may not be a natural-born entertainer - though he does make a half-hearted attempt at a singalong - but Loney Dear's organic euphoria never ceases to be utterly engaging.