She was tipped to be the Amy Winehouse of 2008, but the comparison was wildly wide of the mark. Not only does Duffy’s retro soul steal from a different sort of Sixties pop – bright-eyed and British – but her career has been so meticulously managed that she may as well have been an X Factor winner rather than a runner-up on a regional relation. Yet while no one would wish Winehouse’s woes on another artist, a touch of the chaos and unpredictability of Amy’s performances would have been welcome at Duffy’s slick, but frequently soulless, sold-out Shepherds Bush Empire show.

The most successful of this year’s new pop prospects – her 1.5 million-selling album Rockferry has been in the Top Ten since its release more than two months ago, and recently entered at No 4 in the States – Duffy has yet to start acting the star. It was her sweet, girl-next-doorness that she played up during the hour she spent on stage. When she walked, she took baby steps; when she stopped, she mimicked moves seen on the Sixties TV series Ready, Steady, Go! There was the wrist flick, the hand on hip and head cocked to one side and, whenever the pace picked up, the sideways knee swivel. During Rockferry she stood on the drum riser and raised one arm in the air, though held the pose too long.

Duffy’s opening gambit to an audience of smartly dressed twenty and thirtysomethings too busy studiously studying the singer to move their feet or even show much emotion was: “It’s rude for me not to introduce myself – I’m Duffy.” The line has been reeled out on previous nights of this tour. Her six-piece, all-male band were note-perfect and never too intrusive and her arresting, lightly croaked vocals effortlessly filled the venue. In a puffy mini-skirt, sleeveless top and bright red high heels that she said made her feel like Dorothy from The Wizard Of Oz, Duffy looked yummy.

Yet there was a distinct lack of drama, at least until the current single, Warwick Avenue, arrived mid-set. A majestically swelling hip-shaker with chiming percussion, it was greeted with cheers, not least when Duffy claimed to have penned it four years ago on en route to a show here – news, perhaps, to its two co-authors. The ubiquitous but still superb Mercy was the only other song Duffy truly inhabited, although a stripped-down Oh Boy in the encore came close. The 23-year-old certainly has star quality, but at the moment it’s on loan from somebody else.

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