Regina Spektor

Perestroika, Catastroika, never mind all that, it is vaguely relevant. Regina Spektor's live show is quirky, yet not overly so. It is compelling viewing from the moment she totters on stage in black pointy flat shoes, wearing her hair in a style which somehow shows the influence of her nine years of Russian upbringing.

It was apt that she should find herself on the first of a sell-out two night performance at Queen Elizabeth Hall on London's Southbank. Although it is a first class auditorium with a sound system of that stature and a beautiful Steinway, the building itself does look like a consequence of Catastroika. I know some may have you believe it is a nice piece of architecture, but the canteen makes you feel like you might be at the Supreme Soviet itself, and if it wasn't for the Southbank's bohemian crowd then you would be forgiven for imagining yourself in some side street off Red Square, at some sort of Party-approved musical event.

That is until Ms Spektor picked up the microphone. Then all external musings evaporate. She tapped it rhythmically, building percussion before she opened her New York-honed mouth. And what a voice. It is virtually impossible not to be fascinated by her. She held the room's attention with her voice and index finger and sang her opener ‘Eight Feet Tall' which was appreciated by what was to turn out to be a very appreciative crowd.

And that was just the start.

It's hard to categorise her, so I won't bother. Kooky, quirky, I have no doubt lots of words of that ilk have been used to describe her, but as the show went on I began to realise that there were two things going on here. Two things that were so obvious they seemed to pass initially under the radar. Lyrics like ‘two people fucking to my song' and her lovely use of oral clicks and sounds are refreshing touches, but to me masked the fact that: one, she has a stunning voice. And two, she can really really play the piano.

She has been playing for twenty of her twenty-six years, and her classical training shows. She made one mistake all night to which she said ‘ooopps' and made people laugh. I think it was deliberate. It is this ability which allows her to play with lyrics, sounds and do stuff like hit a wooden chair with a drum stick while pianoing and singing. I'm not sure ‘pianoing' is a word – in fact I know it's not – but I got carried away with trying to play with words as Regina does music. I don't think I got away with it as well as she did.

And that's one of the best things about her. She can end a song by tutting progressively away from the mike and get away with it. It might not sound particularly great by my description, but trust me please, when you're listening to her with a huge fascinated smile across your face, it's hard not to feel a modicum of awe.

‘This is how it goes' and ‘Americana' were both great and as far as I could tell she put together a lovely mix from her albums ‘11:11', ‘Soviet Kitsch' and the new one ‘Begin to Hope'. Her cutesy chatter with her by now smitten audience was disarming, having announced she was the “most jet laggest” she'd been, and did not allure in the slightest to the individual talent she possesses.

And, so, thank you to Catastroika for allowing her and her equally musical family to leave Moscow and come via Europe to New York from where she has been able to show her musical wares. I have heard the albums and rate them highly. But live, she's really a different kettle of glasnost. If you get the chance, I thoroughly recommend going to see her pianoing….even if it is at a party-approved gig.