Devendra Banhart is the gangly, bearded shaman who's become the indie kid's favourite freak. His Alice in Wonderland-style lyrics, entrancing vibrato voice and warm, homespun sound have wrenched him from the emergent San Francisco scene and propelled him to pop star status. The mere sight of him sitting on a stool, singing in Spanish and playing an acoustic guitar in this, the most traditional of rock venues, proves how far this quintessential outsider has come.

But it's the "we don't want to kill" refrain of Heard Somebody Say, from latest album Cripple Crow, that places the crowd in palm of Banhart's oft-outstretched hand. His long hair flapping across his face and interrupting his intense gaze, he looks like protest-era Lennon, although the purity of his voice most resembles that of Mercury award-winning Anthony.

His charisma swells by the second. Flitting from the ad-friendly ease of At the Hop to the fried 1960s garage of Long Haired Child, he leads us down a yellow-brick road littered with songs about babies born with hooves and odes to butterflies. It's kooky, but accessible, much like Banhart himself. Howling over the dying chords of Mama Wolf, he gracefully removes his embroidered denim jacket and throws it into the crowd. Parting with his wardrobe is just the start. Inviting a member of the audience to play one of their own compositions, he accompanies the - actually quite good - unknown by whacking a drumstick against a beer bottle.

When not sharing his spotlight, Banhart shares his thoughts. "I went to the Oceanarium and saw this crazy fish," he says. "It was a sea dragon and you think: 'My God, God has made some delicate things.'" Not all his notions are so spiritual, however; frustrated by his too-quiet acoustic guitar, he mumbles about it being a "motherfucker", and paces about the stage, as fanciful, yet real, as his songs.