Never mind the fact that Gurrumul is blind, or that his totem is the saltwater crocodile, or that he plays a normal right-handed guitar upside down. The most extraordinary thing about this Australian Aboriginal megastar is his voice.

Lilting, tender, tinged with ineffable sadness, it held this seated audience spellbound. “I am crying because of the sunset” read lyrics translated (from several indigenous Australian languages) on a screen behind the slim, self-composed figure.

Backed by strings, a second acoustic guitar and double bass ­— as he is on his award-winning eponymous debut CD — Gurrumul moved from reggae to folk to gospel and beyond with effortless, campfire-like intimacy. Songs such as the current Radio 2-playlisted single Bapa, a homage to his father, were introduced by his producer/bassist, Michael Hohnen, and onscreen by his aunt and mother. “This is an old song, very old,” they said of Wukun, which told of clouds forming and separating ­— and hinted at the elaborate kinship patterns in the Gumatj clan of Elcho Island in remotest Arnhem Land.

Melodies were simple, dreamy, powerful. Not a note felt out of place.

Gurrumul sat quietly between songs, underscoring the impact of his poetic take on ancestry, rainbow serpents, spiritual connections to the land.

Occasionally his right leg jiggled. “Thank you,” he said finally, over a raucous standing ovation. “Thank you and goodnight.”