Jack Peñate, Jamie Woon: Live at the Institute of Contemporary Arts, London

There’s something strange about going to a gig at London’s plush Institute of Contemporary Arts. The first thing you see is a stack of modern-art postcards and a 4 foot pink Dalek with diamante breasts. Reporting to reception, the bohemian staff consult computers before allowing you to enter the building. It’s a million miles away from Camden’s scuzzy receptions, boiled ham bouncers and cloakroom assistants with eyes so vacant and yawns so big, there’s room for a jacket and bag in their faces alone.

But then, this ICA gig is part of the iTunes Festival – populated by competition winners, plaid-shirted scenesters and the media. And the frontboy from Mumm-Ra with a girl who had seemingly been dipped in chip fat just before the gig. Within weeks, each iTunes Festival gig is available as an official iTunes download - it's genius. Expect Michael Eavis and record labels to do the same at Glastonbury next year. Practically every day during July, everyone from Amy Winehouse to Paul McCartney is getting in on the act. On July 26th, it’s the turn of home-brew guitar hunk Jack Peñate and his crooning buddy Jamie Woon. Together, Jack looks like a cartoon lumberjack and Jamie, like Ryan Phillippe circa Cruel Intentions.

Jamie Woon comes from the same humble DIY beginnings as Jack Peñate but takes the home grown bedroom troubadour ethos to new levels by going completely solo. Yes, he’s another talented public schoolboy with an acoustic ambition but instead of flailing around the stage singing about LDN in educated cockney, Jamie sits on a black plastic chair with a box of tricks on his lap.

The box is drum machine, synth and sampler all in one. And just as you expect the set to begin with Jamie whining while his guitar gently weeps, the guitar sulks, stage right and Jamie starts beatboxing. Yes, beatboxing. Not like some kind of garage disco Dalek you understand, but slow, considered bass slaps and an occasional cymbal tap. Then they’re looped, layered and mixed with Jamie’s soulful voice and backing vocals which are sampled, looped and distorted to give the effect of a full gospel choir. It’s like listening to Stevie Wonder minus his piano in mono, then stereo with a world music CD playing in the background which features bongos and voices of whales. For all high street buskers who strum a tuneless guitar to a pan-pipe recreation of Celine Dion’s My Love Will Go On, Jamie is an inspiration.

The song collection veers from Jamie Cullum style ballads to freakish bluesy dubstep and a haunted, tribal remix of Wayfaring Stranger – a song Jamie picked up at American summer music camp, before deciding to do a slo-mo rinse and slinging his spooky beats all over it. And it works. As Jack thanks Jamie, he admits “my voice is a cornflake compared to his, which is like smooth chocolate”.

Jack takes to the stage, still high on his new single Torn on The Platform crashing in to the Top Ten this month. Bouncing around, swinging guitar and swearing like a trooper, Jack – after a year of playing to anyone that would listen - is now an official paid up member of the Why Don’t You? music club, currently chaired by Kate Nash but also featuring the likes of Kid Harpoon as stars in the making.

Ripping through tracks that make up the forthcoming album, there’s rarely a pause, except when Jack charges, slips, head butts his guitarist and falls on the floor. “I’m glad it’s a home crowd, I wouldn’t get away with that in Hull!”.

Spit at Stars is followed by live faves Learning Lines and Torn on The Platform but Have I Been a Fool? and We’ll Be Here get a great reception. A supersonic, punk version of Beats International hit Dub Be Good To Me is wedged in the middle of the set while Jack cautiously does the rap bits before retreating to his trademark guitar spasms. There’s a fixed grin permanently etched on his face. “Last time we played here, we had people up on the stage, that’s been spoiled by these” he says, looking at the barriers which prevent the communal stage jives of life before the Top Ten smash, before the NME cover and before the celebrity onlookers.

Then, after the hits, the jokes and the jubilant swearing, Jack runs off stage, guitar in hand and leaps into a cab headed to Hoxton to play a late night gig, preaching to another set of converted devotees.

Pics here, thanks to Will Rolls.