Nils Frahm deconstructs beauty, live in London

Dig through the catalogues of both this London-based label and the Decca subsidiary Mercury KX and you'll find artwork united by distinct minimalism, sleek lines, sharp angles and soft, if not sparse, use of colour. It's perhaps an unsuprising visual style to accompany the extraordinarily cathartic and progressive music of the likes of Olafur Arnalds, Max Richter and Nils Frahm, seemingly the movement's leading figures.

But it's an aesthetic that does not go unnoticed, and is encouraged and reflected in these artists own styles and presentation: smart, serene and a little severe.

Spread across Hammersmith's Eventim Apollo, posters depict Berlin-based prodigy Nils Frahm in all black, swathed in a soft-focus in front of an amibiguously technical wall as he looks down and away from camera. It is only fitting for Frahm, whose prolific array of dramatic compositions that interact with technology have already scored films, attracted international aclaim, won him a performance at the BBC Proms, and tonight attracted a 5000 strong crowd for the second of two consecutive sold-out shows.

It is with a sense of naive surprise, then, that we experience the man's warm personability and dry humour radiating from the start, undermining any false need for the sense of dignity one might expect from such a concert. Early on he reveals with ease that his drum machine–one of many futuristic looking machines and synthesizers that resemble some kind of starship cockpit–is not working properly, though from the sound of "The Whole Universe Wants To be Touched", we wouldn't know it. He laughs it off and compliments his techies, deciding instead to play the piano while they try to resolve it. An eerie rendition of "My Friend the Forest" from this year's All Melody fills the time beautifully, and though every cough and sip of wine can be heard, it's a testament to the communal focus on Frahm.

When the machine kicks in at the right time for "Sunson", he blows his stagehands a kiss before performing his own style of wizardry; to see him perform is a spectacle, switching between synths, pianos and a harmonium with his hands, whilst triggering and cutting loop pedals with his feet. Sonically there is an edgier and punchier euphoria than on the record, with the likes of "Human Range" and "All Melody" sounding almost more suitable for a club. It's ecstatic, and despite hardly looking at us, his delivery is phenomenal.

Despite his mastery, he's quick to turn to self-deprecation. After a crowd member faints he jokingly apologies: 'Sorry, I know my music is kind of weird and trippy for some'. His stand-up moment comes in the middle, though, after he explains how "silly" and "uncool" his painstakingly hand-built pan-pipe organ sounds.

Or perhaps it's when he attests that his biggest hit "Says" is his worst composition, where all he has to do is play three notes on a synthesizer that loops itself, even mockingly giving us a 'look, no hands!' moment when it begins.

Though it almost serves to soothe the very powerful effect his songs produce, this is more than comic relief. As he deconstructs these worlds of chaotic beauty we are teased a glimpse of the parts that piece together his masterful musicianship.

We can't follow for long though. By the time he returns to the piano for the crashing chords that end "Says", we are lost, and at his will again.