Lou Rhodes has made the transition from trip-hop siren to folk chanteuse, and won a Mercury prize nomination for her debut album, Beloved One. But her achievements can't stop her being nervous. "I'm a bit shaky up here," she admits. "I usually get a bit shaky when I fancy someone, too." She pauses, glancing up from her acoustic guitar. "It's been a while, goddammit!"

Connecting her professional life to her love life is typical of Rhodes. She sculpts her songs out of affection and ardour, and, although she claims to dislike her own "self-indulgent" streak, it is precisely her obsession with her own romantic misadventures - "I can't stop digging deep," she says - that makes Rhodes the treasure she is.

On stage tonight, she is a vision of perfect posture and rigid poise. Even when drummer Emre Ramazanoglu whips up a storm in The Rain, she barely moves, a Mona Lisa smile on her face. Her voice, however, simmers with passion. Feeling her way through songs from her torrid new album, Bloom, Rhodes moves from experienced seductress to excitable schoolgirl, without losing an ounce of grace.

Alongside Ramazanoglu, acoustic guitar, violin and double bass sigh, moan and sway behind Rhodes, who sings like a crestfallen angel. Never breaking the intimate spell she casts, the band - joined by Rhodes' stepfather, Graham Burton - reassemble the fractured loveliness of Lamb's Lullaby and the intense devotion of Beloved One.

But Rhodes' insecurities get the better of her. She is thrown when people leave the auditorium; a misguided attempt at crowd participation during Gabriel falls flat. The relief Rhodes feels when she says goodbye is palpable, though she leaves her bruised heart behind.

· At Oran Mor, Glasgow (0141-357 6210), on Sunday. Then touring.