Texan Jolie Holland wouldn't look out of place in a rocking chair, on a porch, in a sepia-toned episode of The Waltons.

Dressed in a long black skirt and lace-up boots with battered vintage guitar in hand and auburn mane hanging loose, she warbled and whistled the wandering blues about mockingbirds, morphine and moonshine.

Holland stood still on stage throughout her set as sullen (or was it shy?) as a delinquent teen, stopping every so often to glug water or talk about a song, until she eventually warmed to her audience sitting in rapt attention at her feet.

"Did y'all read that article in The Guardian about me that just came out," she said suddenly in her southern drawl, halfway through her hour-long set.

"It rilly disturbed me. It gave me hives. Journalists always think I'm into folk music but I'm just a writer who likes old songs."