A beacon of faith surrounded by a sea of cyncism

Jeb Loy Nichols, an expatriate American who, like Gray, had his early career stymied by corporate manoeuvres, is a well-chosen support. His dreamy shuffling beats, laid-back demeanour and reflective observations are a fine complement to the headliner's urgency.

Jeb Loy Nichols, an expatriate American who, like Gray, had his early career stymied by corporate manoeuvres, is a well-chosen support. His dreamy shuffling beats, laid-back demeanour and reflective observations are a fine complement to the headliner's urgency.

The audience response is polite, appreciative even, but barely registers compared to the reception reserved for Gray who is accorded a conquering hero's welcome. In an increasingly directionless industry, Gray's White Ladder, his 4th album, has become this year's unchartered success story.

Self-financed and mostly recorded in a Stoke Newington bedroom two years ago, it has grown through word of mouth, phenomenal Irish popularity and a devoted British cult following. Licensed by a major label earlier this year, the single "Babylon" (introduced as "the one that started it all going a bit silly") brought his wry thoughtfulness and open-hearted vulnerability to the pop charts.

Witnessing Gray in person there's little doubt his success is the result of the personal preoccupations of White Ladder connecting with a general zeitgeist - he's a beacon of faith and emotional veracity in a sea of cynicism. The three-piece band (drums, bass and keyboard sampler) is vibrant but economical; Gray's fierce earthy rasp and high volume acoustic guitar predominates.

Doubt is his recurring theme, leavened by the promise of love's redemption in the raw confessional "My Oh My", and bringing a dark undertow to the heady visions of "Sail Away". On the latter, a typical biting deeply wrought drama of the heart, the White Ladder profits are put to simple but impressive effect, the song's atmosphere heightened by a full-size cinema-screen backdrop where rough seas swirl around a broken pier at nightfall. While the visuals for the tremulous "Nightblindness" - blurred figures wandering across a shopping mall - underline a sense of alienation.

The show has three sections: the rousing big music that is not far removed from The Verve's bittersweet symphonies, a solo troubadour spot where he unveils two brand-new songs and finally, a section integrating the sampled beats and loops that have found favour with Ibiza's chillout scene.

But while his songs may depict lost souls, the Gray experience is primarily a communal one. His compositions have a painterly precision but striking at his guitar with a steely determination that borders on anger, often lost in a head-shaking reverie, he's a compellingly instinctive performer. The commercial success he's currently enjoying can be a fickle beast, but on this showing Gray is likely to be around for a very long time to come.