Something about Yann Tiersen has definitely changed. As I arrive at his last UK show at The Junction, I notice that the stage setup is quite different from what I expected. Having written the wistful, spellbinding soundtracks of Goodbye Lenin and Amelie there should surely be a grand piano and no doubt an accordion. In reality, there are synths, quite a few synths, and many, many microphones. I suppose this makes sense now that Tiersen has signed to electronic specialists Mute. There are also all the components of a typical rock band: two shiny guitars and a massive drum kit, played by Gravenhurst drummer Dave Collingwood.

At times during the show you can hear the serene, Parisian swells and swirls present in Amelie. But at other times Tiersen (who, as I learn in an interview later, hates Amelie and hates the French) rejects the Parisian simplicity and instead embraces a deep, pounding ‘Progginess’. The show becomes a sort of rebellion against what people think he is: he proves himself to be a wild and unpredictable multi-instrumental musician, not just the soundtrack writer I had pigeonholed him to be.

Tiersen has enjoyed experimenting with sounds and voices on his new album Dust Lane, and watching him perform live allows you to see the extent to which he enjoys this experimentation. Support band Syd Matters accompany him on stage, playing the part of a sort of deranged choir. At times during the show, in the vast, atmospheric tracks which layer voices, synths and guitars, there are so many melodic lines on the little stage at The Junction that it seems not to be able to hold them all up.

At other times the stage is barren and it is only Yann and his violin, which he plays speedily, strangely, eerily. Tiersen must be both on his own with his instruments and surrounded by many vocal lines and sounds. I get the impression that he makes his music completely alone, that what we are hearing, seeing, watching is not Tiersen and his band, but Tiersen and his voices, his instruments. His performances suggest that music is about loneliness: accepting it and fighting it.