There are many reasons to be suspicious of the current holder of both the number one single and album in the UK, Duffy.

Her initial dalliance with the music industry led to her being voted runner-up in a Welsh X-Factor-style TV talent show nearly five years ago. Add to that her previous crack at stardom as Kelly Clarkson-gone-electro to little avail not so long back, coupled with the recent re-evaluation and subsequent re-marketing of her career culminating in her record label ‘advising’ her to drop her Christian name of Aimee in case Joe Public got her mixed up with another soul singer with a similar name, and you'd be hard pushed not to be carrying more than one pinch of salt to snare the rat from under your nostrils when confronted by 2008's newest pop sensation in the flesh.

Tonight's gig doesn't feel like any other show. There's no support act this evening; instead we have a Northern Soul DJ called Liam spinning rare seven-inches from the likes of Dobie Gray and Lee Garrett. All good to these ears if a little Ronson-esque in concept.

The audience is made up of people who probably haven't ventured to a concert since the first advent of Wigan Casino and its all-night parties, or at best its 1979 Jam-and-2-Tone inspired revival. Although this makes me, for one, feel quite cheerfully youthful in such company, it also creates a potentially explosive atmosphere where the slightest nudge at the bar or spillage of lager could set the powder-keg off in an instant, which it does as the evening evolves, on more than one occasion.

When Duffy finally makes her entrance surrounded by a gaggle of bouncers (or ‘security stewards’ as they're now known), not unlike a boxer being heralded into the ring for a world title fight, all pandemonium breaks loose, the inevitable pushing and shoving culminating in several scuffles leading to at least one mum who should know better being led away.

As for Duffy's performance itself, whatever your thoughts on her background and imminent rise to fame, there is no doubting that she can hold a note and regale a tune with the best of them, as opening numbers 'Rockferry' and 'Warwick Avenue' evidently demonstrate. Although the comparisons with a certain Winehouse are always going to be drawn – she has a soulful voice, and an exemplary bouffant/beehive hairdo – Duffy’s whole persona seems to be more girl-next-door than party animal, right down to her aesthetically pleasing look-but-don't-touch demeanour.

She also displays a certain amount of charisma that other more (previously) high profile performers – Winehouse, Nash, Allen – can lack onstage, choosing to interact with the crowd between songs and giving the impression she's enjoying being here, rather than going through the motions in a contractually obligated manner.

Sure, the jury is still out on the quality of a good half of the songs, regardless of how much input she actually had in co-writing them. It’s perhaps worth noting that The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Sex Pistols are just three bands whose initial recording career was more about performing rather than writing. The epic finale of 'Distant Dreamer', though, is quite possibly the most soulful five minutes these ears have been party to in a long while.

What isn't in doubt is that Duffy is a more than competent entertainer in her own right, and whether or not she's filling a void until a certain person gets properly out of rehab, it’s hard not to find her chameleonic presence delightfully charming to say the least.