J. Tillman is enrapturing when you give him the chance. But when you place him in between a high-energy indie party like Grouplove and the toe-tapping blues-inspired Phosphorescent, Tillman’s style seems like a complete halt to the party. However, take his performance by itself, and there’s something entrancing and beautiful in the way he plays a solemn guitar with only a microphone and stool as his companions.

His first tune, “Three Sisters,” takes on a very slow rhythm with long beats of silence to accompany a modern take on what I interpret as the Greek myth of the judgment of Paris, the sisters being a metaphorical premonition of Aphrodite, Hera and Athena. As the unimpressed seem to dwindle backward behind the crowd to mingle and chat, those who remain with Tillman seem to understand the story-like quality of his musical tales with philosophical queries like, “How do you love a loveless thing?”

While the other acts on the bill rely heavily on the power of their instruments and lung capacities, Tillman stands like a lone wolf telling tales of lost loves and cabin fables. His voice transforms him into a traveling storyteller – reminiscent, weary and brooding.

There’s a reason why his music resonates with some and not with others; to truly enjoy his music requires resigning yourself to the songs’ passionate and mystical lyrics, almost as if putting on your headphones to get away from the world. The problem is that many in the audience need something to dance to, and Tillman grinds the crowd’s rhythm to a steaming halt.

Tillman’s solo work is smart and reflective just like his contributions as a member of Fleet Foxes. Like all great musicians, he is able to completely transform the moment, to which everyone at the venue can attest.