That he is a serious talent there’s no doubt; the only real question on my mind on the night is just how these intimate, stripped down songs are going to translate to the big stage.

The support band, though clearly talented, consummately professional and with a perfectly pleasing sound, don’t bode well. True, the incredibly fey lyrics, faux naïf dance moves of the female lead singer and the ubiquitous Björk-with-a-hint-of-Billie-Holliday vocal stylings aren’t quite to my taste – but the real problem is the lack of connection with the audience. Even when they’re giving it their all, it’s strangely like watching a massive television in an overstuffed living room. They leave to appreciative, if not overly enthusiastic applause.

After a long wait (well, it always seems long, doesn’t it?) during which a tangible excitement starts to build, the ginger-dreadlocked figure of Newton Faulkner steps alone onto the stage (accompanied by an incredibly cheesy, Swingle Singers vocal version of A Fifth of Beethoven). He takes up his acoustic guitar, gives the audience a cheery greeting as if he’d just met them in a pub, and launches into the album’s opening track To The Light. The effect is electrifying. Playing the body of the guitar like a whole bank of percussion instruments whilst simultaneously generating a cascade of notes by plucking, hammering and strumming the strings, you suddenly understand what makes this unassuming 22-year old so special. It’s like watching Fred Astaire dance. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to spark off any kind of FAULKNER AS GOOD AS ASTAIRE controversy here – it’s merely that the unrestrained joy of the experience is similar. We know what he’s doing is incredibly difficult technically, yet he not only makes it look easy, he has us convinced that it’s the most natural thing in the world – that it just flows out of him with a kind of unstoppable exuberance. Like Astaire’s dancing, Faulkner’s style is impossible to pin down; one moment thrillingly percussive, the next tender and lyrical, with all manner of influences and technical styles thrown in the pot as if they always belonged together. Flamenco here. Classical there. Hammering down on the strings like a rock guitarist. Then just giving it a good old strum (at breakneck speed). And that within a few bars. Then there’s the voice, of course. It’s a beautiful voice – a rock voice, in many respects. I find myself marvelling that he can sing at all whilst doing that on the guitar, let alone deliver such a heartfelt performance.

Before heading into his second number – I Need Something – we’re given a clue as to where this all came from; Faulkner’s mentor (and guitar tutor while he was at the Academy of Contemporary Music in Guildford) was none other than the late Eric Roche, a legendary fingerstyle guitarist, also with an eclectic, impossible to categorise technique. What impresses most, though, is not just Faulkner the musician, but Faulkner the performer. His self-effacing good humour and enthusiasm are infectious, and, as drummer and bassist join the party we momentarily bask in the sunny, reggae-tinged vibe of People Should Smile More before moving on to the Dylanesque She’s Got The Time. Here, he shows his skill with the audience, performing the song on a guitar of ridiculously small proportions, then repeating it as a sing-along with projected lyrics. Later, he knocks out a joke acoustic cover of 2 Unlimited’s dance opus There’s No Limits, and tells how it fell utterly flat in the USA because they’ve never heard the song (lucky them) – so he whipped up a swift cover of You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) instead. Later in the set he gets the blokes singing a bass line of Billy and the girls singing the repeated refrain to wondrous effect – but when it comes to the hit Dream Catch Me no encouragement is needed. The audience’s voices (have they been secretly practising?) raise the roof.

One of the real highlights, though, is his acoustic version of Massive Attack’s Teardrop. Performed solo (as is most of the set) it brings home what a great vocalist he is, sending shivers down the spine. The only fly in the ointment during this quieter number was a small group of obviously confused gentlemen towards the back who, as if divorced from reality, laughed and shouted most of the way through. I can only assume they were a bit over-excited at being allowed to stay up late – either that or the orange squash was kicking in. That aside, it was as near perfect a gig as you could have. Great songs, wonderful singing, stunning playing, and encores that included Spongebob Squarepants and a slightly crazed, solo acoustic rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. If that isn’t crowd-pleasing, I don’t know what is.

Writer: Toby Venables