Jessie Ware's effective unveiling of star status at the Electric in Brixton (a beautiful, expansive venue just off the high street that boasts a healthy capacity and great acoustics) was apt; the south Londoner is a proud local.

Ware's friend, Two Inch Punch, was tonight's support.

With DJ sets it's hard to gauge when the club's background music becomes the support act; partly because no one's bothered and partly because both Two Inch Punch and the venue played similar stuff: Santigold mixes Metronomy mixes, general electro tunes partnered with urban sounds, complimenting Ware's punchy aesthetic. It was hardly a rousing start.

She eventually arrived behind layers of fibre optics and stage-trickery, her name splattered above a three-piece band who were virtually invisible for most of the set. Wearing a distinctly 90s ensemble and with hair a la Lily Allen, she chats with the crowd like she's at the pub with friends. She seems to be pitching to the 'masses', which might seem at odds with her showy performance, but it all works fine.

At just over an hour, Ware was always captivating and pitch perfect; languid upon presumption but with a second take it's just an effortlessness, which makes her even better. Perks came via 'Dancing On My Own' slo-mo, soul-fuelled monologue and LP title track 'Devotion' which carried on its candour with no exertion needed from the stage. The track surmises most of the album's content, as solo desires ponder a near identical world in which partnership equals bliss.

These are just two examples from a continually enchanting performance by Ware, who enlists audience interest by way of her unique, undefinable likability.

'Wildest Moments' came later on, as couples around me closed their eyes and embraced; younger girls fought envy and laddy-lads looking like they'd been dragged along were shot on screen, eyes closed, fist-pumping and miming lyrics with breath-like ease.

I adore the song; but I'd like her to edit one line: in key with her liberal branding, shouldn't we 'find' ourselves at night, not get lost? No one lost themselves here, as a punctuated, definite bliss grasped all. It's hard not to wonder if the track is this generation's ode to love, Whitney style.

Elsewhere, she bantered with the crowd like there was no tomorrow. "You're real!" someone screamed. "You're real!' Ware rebutted. And this is how she shines.