It has been six years since Erykah Badu’s debut album Baduizm won a double Grammy Award and threatened to turn R&B on its head. Or at least to bring big headgear into R&B.

And, briefly, it did both. Baduizm’s blend of jazz, Billie Holiday-blues and Aretha-style soul with hip-hop and street poetry gave R&B its class back. Here was a superb singer who preferred a live band to a DJ and drum machine. What’s more, Badu didn’t need to show her belly to have hits. A self-styled “earth mother” who wore flowing robes and tall turbans, she preferred spiritual lyrics to songs about sex.

But while Badu still makes good music — her second album, Mama’s Gun, released in 2000, was another multiplatinum-seller — and although this year’s EP, Worldwide Underground, received mixed reviews, these days, bling-bling has somewhat shortened her stride. As far as the kids are concerned, the 32-year-old Texan is now a tad too old-fashioned. So instead of hip-hop fans looking for songs with substance, Badu’s Brixton gig attracted more chin-stroking types, who applauded her ability to improvise and whooped at several flute solos.

Still, there were signs that Badu herself is growing bored with her oh-so-serious image. Gone were the robes and sky-high headgear. In their place, an enormous Afro that even Macy Gray couldn’t match and an outfit that you could call “street tramp styled by Vogue” — flat-heeled suede boots with dangly bits and a distressed, dark brown coat, removed after almost an hour to reveal a full, floor-length, denim dress with only one sleeve and coloured strings tied to it.

Yes, Badu still burnt incense on stage and sipped what was probably tea from a tiny cup, but there was a playful, rather than preachy, approach to her performance.

Backed by a six-piece band and with two female singers behind her, Badu spent most of the night at the front of the stage, gesticulating her way through live favourites such as On & On, Badu Show, Certainly and I’m Special — she preferred to act out the lyrics with her arms, rather then move her feet — occasionally playing a tambourine or banging sound-effect pads on a stand beside her.

There was still self-indulgence — some needless noodly bits and vocal showing-off — but mostly the set had a loose, funky feel.

Towards the end, Badu announced that it was time to experiment. Suddenly, she was encouraging the crowd to shout “F*** you” along with an anti-war song. My goodness, there could be a tough new Badu about to emerge. It ain’t over yet.

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