People slowly stop shuffling in and settle into their positions; St. Pancras has filled its maximum capacity of 150 guests to see the vocal powerhouse that is Kwabs. The most diligent of audience members probably heard murmurs of his name when his soul-filled re-work of James Blake's 'Wilhelm's Scream' hit the net, managing - though undeniably talented as Blake is - to do what Blake would love to do with his music - be able to articulate the huge voices of soul music, impossible due to the fragility of his voice.

From the moment that the song hit the internet, ensued an exponential progression all building up to the moment that the lights guy switches bulbs from a piercing white to a soft orange glow. Kwabs takes the stage: "Let's begin".

Opening with an acoustic version of 'Spirit Fade' there is nothing fragile about his voice. Deep, guttural and unrepentant - spine tingling to the point that every hair on my body feels like it's being ripped out by an epilator... and while uncomfortable, doesn't the saying go that pain is akin to pleasure? His entire set feels like this - it's emotionally raw, melting the iciest hearts, but there is an obvious cathartic element to it all - a release, which you can feel and hear as Kwabs owns the stage by doing little more that singing and staring barefaced at his emotions.

People who are ardent fans of Kwabs become acutely aware that they are in a privilege position to see a stripped back and unplugged set. Where the pervasive electronics in his music mean that mention of his name is often uttered preceding discussion of SOHN or Banks, tonight we get to see where his passion for music all began and the point that differentiates him from his contemporaries. This is soul music; featuring a beautiful cover of Jill Scott's 'He Loves Me', This is a soul set; featuring a rendition of 'Jealous Guy', which needs no introduction. This is his truth; before he plays 'Into You' he treats us to a brief monologue - "I wanted to bring a taste of Africa with me tonight" when explaining the African patterned rugs strewn on the stage, before playing 'Brother' he pensively - almost tearfully - explains the magnitude of the lyrics of someone who can't be here "Better the brother who loves you." We're getting to know Kwabs - in the space of an hour, his music speaks to the same degree that an interview that goes into literal detail could also.

"I can never tell if you London crowds are listening or just really pissed off," he says to laughter, we all laugh because we've all been at gigs where audience members stare, don't move or respond. But in this instance, I sense there is a collective voice from the 150 people present that want to scream, "we can't move, you've rendered us emotionally comatose." The purity of it all - the stained glass windows, though with little relevance to a former church turned gig venue, can't help but exude a certain spirit; the candles that sway despite being in a venue that's like a vacuum; Kwabs, a man with the purest, most pained voice. There aren't enough words to describe how 'Perfect Ruin' sounded - especially when you see grown men and women tear up. Haunting, powerful, visceral, these words will suffice but it was more of a feeling, than a sound - few artists will ever be capable of turning a song into a sense.

After a rambunctious encore following 'Wrong or Right', he plays 'Wilhelm's Scream'. He says he doesn't want to stop singing for us. When the set does finally come to an end, we'll all chat amongst ourselves, buy a drink and maybe go home like we usually do, but for that entire set we are so mesmerised by him that if he never stopped playing, no-one would or could tell him to stop. Hypnotised by soul.