Born in Dover, raised in Devon by a dried-fruit entrepreneur and spawned by the runt of the BBC's talent show litter, Junior Star For A Night, Joss Stone's credentials for being the most convincing female soul singer Britain has produced since Dusty Springfield are certainly slender.

And yet, although too young to vote until April and silent on stage save for a few choice profanities, the former Joscelyn Stoker is undeniably the real thing. Britain thinks so, for both her albums reached No1, but more impressively the US, not a nation noticeably short of soul singers, is swooning.

Her voice, all husky angst re-enforced by a constant supply of honeyed tea, sounded as if it were honed in America's deep South rather than England's deep South-West. Although clearly road-weary, it oozed pain on Victim Of A Foolish Heart.

It was angry on You Had Me, in the wake of her split from Beau Dozier (son of Motown songwriting legend Lamont Dozier), and it was sensuous beyond her years on her breakthrough hit Super Duper Love (Are You Diggin' On Me) Pt. 1.

That voice, though, was not everything. Stone had a magnetic, feline aura, marching across the stage asking, "Can I get a witness?" on her marathon trawl through Some Kind Of Wonderful and acting out every last nuance of every song.

It's a decade too soon for serious Aretha Franklin comparisons but Stone looked the part too, with bare feet, micro dress, long legs so white as to be almost translucent and billowing hair. The endless cacophony of wolf-whistles mostly came courtesy of men old enough to know much better. Unfazed, Stone simply giggled and took photographs of the crowd.

Best of all, Stone and her impressive eight-piece band showed an admirable musical fearlessness, which will serve her well as she aspires to longevity.

Fell In Love With A Boy (aka Fell In Love With A Girl in its original incarnation by The White Stripes) was transformed from scratchy minimalism into a soul symphony with a sing-along chorus and for her sole encore she snuggled up to the paranoid heart of Queen and David Bowie's Under Pressure, transforming it into a gorgeous lament for lost innocence.

Not everything was perfect. Some of her self-penned material, the dreary Jet Lag in particular, suggested that her songwriting skills need sharpening and a set of just over an hour was parsimonious, but the bottom line is that Stone is special.

As a parting gift, she hurled flowers into the crowd, but it really should have been the other way round. And where, after such a triumph, can she go from here? The answer is simple: wherever she wants.