Kyan fills Bermondsey Social Club with tinged R&B melodies and hazy summer memories

Basked in a warm red glow, Cambridge-born Kyan is joined on stage by a troupe of dreamy operatic singers and swathes of strings. After severing ties with a major label and experiencing the gut-wrenching loss of heartbreak, the artist decided to write songs for himself.

Kyan's voice contorts and shifts to fill the room, the emotional prowess of tracks such as “L.A” and “Neighbours” seeping into every groove and fracture of the stooped railway arch. It feels like a catharsis for the young musician – unleashing the agony of lost love and disappointment in one impassioned chorus.

As “Like Summer” begins, the energy in the room shifts. The track was the last song Kyan wrote for the project and there’s a sense of triumphant finality as his honeyed lyrical inflections drift over the crowd in an intoxicating haze. The accompanying strings dip and soar with angelic grace, embodying the dreamy oasis of long summer nights.

As the evening draws to a close, Kyan pushes aside his piano, choosing instead to stand on the neighbouring bar top. Gently nudging away the drinks scattered over the counter, he addresses the room as a preacher would – leading the room in a procession of spiritual healing.

Tropical palms and dusty desert landscapes flicker past on the overhead projection; an environment of summery solitude which shaped the album, Kyan glances back throughout the set, lost for just a moment in the lush terrain and swirling streams cast behind him. His face is illuminated by the ghostly glow of the audience's phones – all trying to capture this perfect moment of serenity.