Just when Tracy Chapman had given up carrying society's ills on her shoulders and turned inwards for inspiration, the world has discovered a political conscience. Holding her guitar in a firm embrace, she watches the audience sing the words of Talkin' About a Revolution, a wry smile on her face. Not many artists could turn a potential war into a good career move - and remain morally intact.

After all, Chapman got there first. Her debut album, released in 1988, became a must-have for anyone who considered themselves liberal and cool: it was a stripped-down, bruisingly honest collection of songs in a synthetic and decadent decade.

She has never quite escaped the good-girl label. Six albums on, it is still the optimism and delicacy of Fast Car that everyone remembers. But, though her light touch and eternal hope remain, Chapman now applies them to more intimate concerns. Her latest album, Let It Rain, explores her personal insecurities using gorgeous melodies and bluesy rhythms.

When she appears, it is a surprise to see her long braids and maturity, such is the continuing power of her previous incarnation. But as she sings In the Dark, the voice is unmistakable, as pure and clear as ever.

Moving gently against her guitar, she returns Baby Can I Hold You to the fragile plea it was before Ronan Keating got his mucky hands on it, and, low-voiced, describes the colour draining from her world in Over in Love.

Covering other people's songs gives Chapman freedom. She enjoys being bad for a version of House of the Rising Son, the mood turning slightly seedy. But it is the reggae groove of Bob Marley's Get Up Stand Up that gives her a chance to swing her hips and challenge apathy, though she raises her eyebrows at the mention of getting high.

· At the Apollo, Manchester (0161-242 2560), on Saturday, the Clyde Auditorium, Glasgow (0870 040 4000), on Monday, then touring.