Bonobo’s career is a textbook definition of a slow-burner. After releasing five albums of steadily increasing popularity over the past 15 years, the meticulous electronic musician, born Simon Green, is baffled to suddenly find himself selling out Alexandra Palace. As he freely confides from the stage: “This is nuts!”

It is all the more remarkable that he has managed this while peddling a strain of intimate, introspective electronica that appears more suited to late-night headphone consumption than rocking an aircraft hanger. Yet it’s soon clear that his layered and compelling music is far too alluring to simply get lost in the ether.

Twitching over a performance controller and surrounded by a 13-piece string section, horns and a succession of guest vocalists, Green adapts to his intimidating new circumstances by taking the tried-and-trusted route of giving it a bit of welly. His skittering beats trigger occasional outbreaks of dancing, but mostly the crowd stands and nods, lost in a mass reverie.

Trip-hop hued swoons such as Ketto sound like ambient digitalia as reimagined by John Barry. Bonobo’s music appears to be on a quest to locate an exquisite stillness. The New York neo-folk singer Grey Reverend whispers like a bruised soul-man on First Fires; Szjerdene Fox trills Heaven for the Sinner as serenely as did its original vocalist, Erykah Badu.

The closing Know You is that most unlikely of entities, arena-friendly glitch-pop, yet the encore is so fastidiously discreet that it becomes lost in a welter of chatter from the floor. It’s a rare misstep on a night when Bonobo translated his slow-burn music into a seductive glow.