I first saw Brooklyn-based neo-folk band Grizzly Bear perform almost exactly a year ago, back when they were still on tour with TV on the Radio, playing the downer to TotR’s upper. The pairing seemed an odd one, at least on R5’s neon-colored flyer, but that October night was the best kind of intoxicating and helped lodge Grizzly Bear’s Yellow House underneath my skin. Last night, I was reminded again why “Knife” was once my anthem for autumn: the quartet stunned a hushed crowd at the First Unitarian Church Sanctuary with their Beach Boys-style harmonies, ambient melodies and instrumental prowess, not to mention their sheepish charm. This is a band that still isn’t jaded: Renaissance musician Chris Taylor seemed genuinely happy and also a little bit embarrassed when my friend said “You guys were amazing!” after the show; singer-songwriter-guitarists Ed Droste and Daniel Rossen manned their own merch table, politely talking to every scarved girl and bearded boy who stopped by to blush and gush.

The Sanctuary was the perfect venue for Grizzly Bear’s croonings. Its notoriously good acoustics helped amplify the band’s musical talent; meanwhile, the high ceiling, pews, dusty chandeliers and dusky reds and blues of the room complemented nicely their haunted, uncanny sound. Ghostly and melancholy at times, breezy and whimsical at others, Grizzly Bear crescendoed and crashed, lilted and chanted, whistled, plucked, blew and hit. It sounds sexy in print, and, trust me, it was: a Grizzly Bear performance is nothing if not intimate, perhaps because the band exists in a world of their own, someplace half-real and half-supernatural. Listening to them play is like spending an afternoon in their part of the forest, lying in their sun, breathing in their smoke rings. Songs like the waltzy “Marla” and their cover of The Crystals’ “He Hit Me (It Felt Like a Kiss),” set to appear on their Nov. 5 Friends EP release, were utterly transporting.

Unfortunately, I missed most of opening act Beach House’s performance, but I didn’t miss the standing ovation they received from some of the seated. And I hung around outside of the Church long enough after the show had ended to see Rossen puffing away on a Marlboro Red and trying to shrug the cold. He looked just as struck as I felt. Like I said before, this is a band that still isn’t jaded. And that’s more warming than hot apple cider on a chilly afternoon. Keep that sheepish charm close, Grizzy Bear: the indie scene may love its share of pretentious jerks, but it makes its modest heroes.