Though certain Glastonbury-goers were less than enthusiastic, and hip hop hater Noel Gallagher is probably still marching towards his house with a flaming torch and pitchfork, there was no halfheartedness about London's welcome for Jay-Z at his second major UK show in a week. The rap superstar was greeted like a conquering hero, returned victorious from Somerset.

The Wireless Festival was a more manageable place to see the erstwhile Shawn Carter than Glastonbury, a wide space that feels half full even when it is sold out, with the bonus of your own bed afterwards. Although this wasn't such a historic moment as last Saturday, it was still a thrilling lap of honour.

When he strolled on stage, jewels gleaming, to join his smartly dressed band, his first line was: "Everybody say hello to the bad guy." He did not have the threatening air of some rappers, however, more a casual dominance. Not a frenetic mover or particularly rapid-fire wordsmith, with calmness he commanded the stage. The frequent lyrical boasts about his own magnificence sounded less like braggadocio than plain fact.

The usual criticisms about one man rapping having limited scope in a live setting were quickly quashed. He switched styles endlessly, rocking harder than any Oasis song on the violent one-two of U Don't Know and 99 Problems, while footage of Nirvana smashing their guitars played on the screen behind him. His brass players lifted the familiar hook from the Jackson Five's I Want You Back, and he also sneaked in segments from Amy Winehouse's Rehab, U2's Sunday Bloody Sunday and AC/DC's Back In Black. Yet whenever he employed someone else's work, the words were all his own. He crafted a few particularly English lines just for us in Estelle's American Boy, including the neat couplet: Quick, run 'fore the tabloids come/Hide in the night 'fore you end up in The Sun.

His skill was most palpable when the music stopped and he just kept on going, notably delivering sensitive lines about Hurricane Katrina unaccompanied while shots of New Orleans refugees appeared. George Bush was given predictably short shrift, Barack Obama was praised in a rare show of admiration for someone other than himself.

Hits kept coming, including Big Pimpin', Girls, Girls, Girls and Dirt Off Your Shoulder. He even performed the Annie-sampling Hard Knock Life (Ghetto Anthem), a rare straying towards novelty.

A nice final touch was his singling out of individual audience members for thanks, including one superfan who had mouthed along to every one of his thousands of words all night. After 90 minutes in his company it was easy to see why he inspires such dedication. This was an easier victory than Glastonbury, but it still felt like a triumph.