The ticket for Sunday night’s Joss Stone show seemed a little odd – why would a twenty year old pop singer play an overage only show? Surely her fans are close to her age and younger, aren’t they? Well, no. On evidence from this gig most Joss Stone fans are almost old enough to be her parents and those under eighteen were safely tucked up with the babysitters for the night. It seems that teen girls probably don’t sing along to covers of old soul tunes at SingStar slumber parties.

Few artists feel the need to title their third albums – œIntroducing…’. But Joss seems to be slightly hampered by the success of her first record, which announced her precocious talents with a set of old soul numbers and had critics hailing her as a cross between Alicia Keys and Norah Jones. Her follow up albums, featuring original material, have been more poppy efforts that have struggled to attract an audience of peers. Beyonce, Christina and Amerie have turned to producers like Rich Harrison, Neptunes, Timbaland and DJ Premier and produce soul influenced hits for the pop charts – think – œWork it Out’, – œAin’t No Other Man’ and – œOne Thing’ – but somehow Stone’s soul doesn’t seem to have grabbed the kiddies attention. Even at home in England she’s been eclipsed by tabloid friendly singers such as Lily Allen and Amy Winehouse, who both work elements of a soul sound into their music.

Stumbling into a pitch black Forum theatre at eight it almost sounds and looks like Joss is already on stage. But that high pitched vocal warbling from under that long black hair belongs to the support act Andy Bull. Replying to calls from the crowd he jokes that his voice hasn’t broken because he’s only 14. Then he claims to be 46, before admitting the truth falls somewhere between – for the record he’s 23. Bull quickly moves on with the show, noting in his uncomfortable banter between songs that he’s here as a singer, not a stand-up. Unfortunately Andy Bull is only marginally better as a songwriter than as comic. ‘Lady Liberty’, with its spell-out-the-title-chorus is as corn-fed and stars and stripes waving as a Republican candidates theme song. And when Bull manages to drop the word liberty into another tune just moments later we’re a camouflage suit away from Fox News the musical. Oddly Bull is down from Sydney, not some square state corn field.

Even though his set includes covers of Led Zep, Hendrix and Beatles material, he sounds like a refugee from Hanson raised on a diet of Maroon 5 crooning. Bull has all the soul of a Human Nature record released the week before Mothers Day. He does have a good voice, but it’s almost offensive in its inoffensiveness and a career playing corporate Christmas parties could await him. Or there’s always a tilt at Idol – he’s got the nice voice and looks, but how about the Christian backing? (It’s a little surprising to discover that his debut album, due next year, will feature production from Buchman – who also produced Macromatics’ Moments in Movement record. Perhaps Buchman can roughen the edges of Bull’s sound. Thankfully the best voice in Australian soul, Daniel Merriweather, has now promised his debut album for March next year – after his – œCity Rules’ single way back in 2004 – so there’s hope for the genre down here. And Guy Sebastian’s recent efforts – backed by Duck Dunn, Lester Snell, Steve Potts and Steve Cropper of the legendary M.G.s – prove that even Idol graduates can deliver more than the shopping centre soul peddled by Bull.

When Joss hits the stage it’s to a wave of wolf whistles from the crowd, reducing her to girlish giggles and fits of embarrassment. She also blushes whenever she swears or forgets a lyric – both repeated several times during the show. It’s as though she’s the extremely squeaky clean flipside of that other raven haired British soul singer; Amy Winehouse.

Joss rag-tag band of pick up musos include three backing singers, a horn section and two keyboards. Her sax player looks superb in his quilted red satin dressing gown and sunglasses, a get up that only sax players can get away with. Both keyboard players did little other than add a muzak sheen to proceedings; one looking like a middle aged computer sales man, the other wearing a shirt made from discarded curtain material from an interior designers psychedelic nightmare. Unfortunately this – œgroovy’ shirted muso imposed synth strings on the band, adding a cheap Vegas review quality to the music.

There’s no question that Joss has a great voice, stage presence and ability to keep her audience cheering for more, but she’s let down by her band and weak material. The cringe worthy naive chorus of one track that was rightfully left off her last album suggests Joss has been reading far too many self help books. Too many being any. How else could anyone sing these lyrics:

/give it up for a higher power/
/give it up for a simple flower/

Either someone’s started putting Dolly magazine poetry to music or that nugget of advice has escaped from the latest Hillsong compilation. Joss calls on the audience to – œfind their inner hippy’ – thankfully not singing that line, just dropping it in her between song banter. The brains in marketing have had her pose in psychedelic body art on the cover of her last record, run purple streaks through her hair and fill her videos with naff flower power imagery as though she’s some kind 60s-through-rose-tinted-glasses star, but it ain’t doing anyone any favours.

She’s at her best when she belts out bigger tunes and the attention is firmly placed on the power and quality of her voice. When the material swings towards ballads she still sings with emotion, but her efforts are often overwhelmed by the lack of subtlety employed by her band when a simpler arrangement could have been far more powerful. Too much of the set passed by with unmemorable love songs and cheap sentiments. She peaks with bigger numbers like – œSuper Duper Love’, – œPut Your Hands on Me’ and – œYou Had Me’, the later dedicated to a nameless – œbastard’ and dripping with revenge. Her White Stripes cover, the retitled – œFell in Love With a Boy’ also provides a highlight. Other tunes are dedicated to her – œnew boyfriend’ – music – and to the need for men to be men and girls to be ladies.

It’s unlikely Australian stages will see this much trite girl-power until the Spice Girls tour with Young Divas to promote a new camp for young women run by Oprah. After the girl power speeches and occasional warbled theatrics of her vocals it’s easy to imagine Joss receiving coaching from a backstage Marcia Hines doll – pull the string and she cries “you go girl”.

With Winehouse determined to squander her talent perhaps Joss could sneak in and steal her recording band – New York’s mighty Dapkings. Their classic J.B.s soul sound has been commandeered by Winehouse, Lily Allen and even used on hits from Kanye and Jay Z in addition to their role as the house band of the queen of Daptone Records, Sharon Jones. With Joss struggling to balance her soul and pop influences the Daps are an obvious answer to her problems.

After wild cheers and foot stomping Joss returns to encore with – œNo Woman, No Cry’ – cue red, green and yellow lighting – and hand out roses to her front row fans. As it’s the final night of the tour there are a few antics in the form of a bloke in a dress joining in the flower throwing antics. The crowd love it, but when the house lights come up they’re quickly filing out, perhaps racing home to pay the babysitters. There’ll be better to come from Ms Stone, after all she is only twenty, she’s got the voice and the presence, someone just needs to get her the songs.