There's a thin line between genuine eccentricity and precious affectation of weirdness, but Jesca Hoop walks it well. Few are the moments when she appears as just another wraith joining the dots between Nico, Kate Bush and Cat Power; this impression strikes not when she's singing, but when she struggles to entertain us while waiting for her accompanist Jimmy to retune his guitar. Her insistence that the song Four Dreams won't work unless she wears a black leather crown and Jimmy dons a Victorian funeral bonnet seems like drama-school nonsense, yet somehow she's right: the song's surreal atmosphere is heightened by the headgear.

Name-checking everyone from Jelly Roll Morton to the Beastie Boys, Four Dreams captures part of what makes Hoop singular: you're as likely to hear reggae or jazz influences in her songs as the usual wayward singer-songwriter reference points. That she manages to convey these sounds using only voice (a friend, Zoe, provides shimmery backing vocals) and acoustic guitar is some feat.

If the softly plucked guitars are redolent of campfire singalongs, Hoop's voice surrounds that fire with a coven of benign witches. She is a shape-shifter, often changing her singing style within a song. Whispering Light opens with fluttering birdsong, but in the chorus Hoop's voice deepens and thrums like a reverberating string. There are cuckoo cries on The Kingdom, but here they melt into a kind of African chanting. She looks as impish as she sounds, especially when she puts down her guitar for Love and Love Again. Craning her body towards the audience, arms floating around her dishevelled hair, she could be imparting secrets from a spirit world.