It only took a couple of minutes for Taj Mahal’s trio to defrost a starchy audience at Ronnie Scott’s, though Manhattan clubs are apparently tougher. “I wanna import you all to New York,” he said approvingly. It also takes a special kind of artist to capture the authenticity and poetry of American country blues, and despite not having a traditional blues background, Taj Mahal is that man.

Born Henry St Clair Fredericks (moral: when changing your name, avoid half measures) he was raised far above the Mason-Dixon line, in Springfield, Massachusetts, and his family had Carribbean roots. But if you got the blues, as they say, it’s gonna come out, and Taj has been spreading the 12-bar message around the world for more than 40 years, ever since British rockers discovered Muddy Waters and Big Bill Broonzy and sparked the major blues revival of the Sixties.

From an early age Taj Mahal also liked the jazz of Ray Charles, Milt Jackson and Charlie Mingus, and in return jazz musicians have always liked him, appreciating his deceptively nimble expertise on guitar, banjo and keyboards — all on display last night — and his funky vocal phrasing, a matter of ultra-hip note placement.

His sandpapery voice, too, conveyed surprising emotive power in Annie Mae, Queen Bee, Without you Corinne (My Life Don’t Mean a Natch’ral Thing) and other tales of love gone wrong.

His musical odyssey has also included significant time in parts of Africa and the Caribbean, adding local songs and rhythms to his repertoire.

Switching from a deep-bodied jazz guitar to a simple steel-string acoustic, he played Zanzibar, a beautiful line with a complex 1-2-3, 1-2-3, 1-2 meter and later a fine tenor-banjo solo over a slow reggae beat.

“Is anybody dancing?” he enquired, shielding his eyes. Sadly the answer was no. The spirit was willing but the furniture was bolted to the floor, an economic case of turnover overruling terpsichore.
Again tonight (two shows). Information: 020 7439 0747.