Misery loves company. But the intimate sets from Rachael Yamagata and Tom McRae on Saturday night at the University of Wisconsin Memorial Union Rathskellar proved having company can make things a little less miserable.

British singer-songwriter Tom McRae stepped onto the stage in the most casual demeanor, quickly turning an audience of murmuring conversations into attentive quietness.

Watching McRae is like walking in on a sensitive teen wanting to be taken seriously, writing deeply personal songs in their room. It is hard listening to him sing, “Falling feels like flying/Until you hit the ground/And everything is beautiful/Till you take a look around” without feeling intrusive.

His very personal and introspective lyrics seem more like lines out of a journal than the words you share with complete strangers. The eclectic crowd, anywhere from some trucker-hat sporting students to community members wandering in after Bill Cosby’s show at the Overture center, were most respectful and appreciative of his offering such private thoughts and feelings.

Following nearly each song came a collective pause, not so much to be certain it had ended, but rather it seemed a moment of reflection before outwardly expressing gratitude for the sounds.

The Ollies complete — pianist Olli Cunningham and cellist Oli Kraus — McRae’s touring band by furthering the somberness and emotion McRae exuded with each number.

The hour-long set was not completely focused on heartbreak and disappointment. Between numbers, McRae proved he could make the crowd laugh just as well as he could make them feel. He offered a witty and humorous side of himself that his craft did not display, making side notes such as his popularity in Norway and the correlation with his tones of music.

Before launching into “The Boy With the Bubblegun,” most certainly a high point in his show, McRae attempted to specifically focus the mindset with such draws on sarcasm. “Think of someone you want to send negative vibes to …a lover, a cousin, a friend, a prime minister. I’ve been sending mine out for days and he’s in the hospital now. Who says music has no power?” McRae opined.

Indeed, the lines “I cannot hit to hurt/Or cause you pain/If words could kill/I’d spell out your name” show his music, the searing vocals coupled with the tension of the sounds, possess strength unto itself.

After a few minutes, the lighting of some candles on the keyboard and the placing of a bottle of Heineken nearby, the starlet of the show sat down and put her fingers to the keys. Described in publications from Teen Vogue to The New York Times as a hybrid of the vocals suggestive of Norah Jones with Fiona Apple’s anger and pain, Rachael Yamagata captured more widespread recognition with her song on the WB’s “Summerland.”

It only took one number to completely captivate this audience, and not just with her sounds. When she was not pouring her energy into the music, her self-proclaimed “feistiness” manifested in her interactions with the crowd with such comments as Yamagata asking, “Could you see down my shirt? Someone went ‘woo’ when I bent over. That is disgusting.”

Yamagata called McRae out for his sensitive-guy routine. “I’m usually funny at my shows, I tell jokes. But Tom depressed the hell out of me.”

But by sharing the angst of her past failed relationships, it was clear Yamagata also gave a little piece of herself with each and every number played. Head down, eyes closed in a meditative posture singing the lines “Please don’t leave me standing with my heart in my hand/I can’t last here/I’m breaking down, and no one understands why I got here” the audience sat in reverence of one whose smoky voice could convey so clearly such a universal feeling.

The laid-back, soul of “Meet Me By the Water,” is one of many examples of Yamagata’s emotional explorations of the relationships and humanity. Yamagata’s song could solicit the same candid emotion from someone who had not experienced such a longing.

Her very direct and sincere songs alone are cause to stop and listen. Few artists are able to take such raw emotion from personal experiences and transform it into a beautiful melody while preserving intense implications. What is more, Yamagata’s live performance in such an intimate setting only emphasized the power of her ballads. Before playing “Be Be Your Love,” she explained the song as one written about the challenges of thinking you must choose between the pursuits of your career and those of love. “It can be done,” she softly mentioned as the introductory chords played.

These moments expose Yamagata motivation — a candid exploration of shared experiences.

After the music ended, the merchandise table was crowded, everyone wanting to take just a little bit more of Yamagata and McRae home, and with good cause. The candor and introspection the pair brought to the Rath proved misery wanes on quiet, intimate nights in friendly company.