There's just something about Hozier that defies definition.

At first glance — and listen — he is yet another long-haired singer-songwriter with a shiny guitar and a nice smile. But give him a second, and it’s impossible to remain impervious to his charm.

Which is why this night’s show at Oxford’s O2 Academy is rammed to the rafters. For-get standing room only, this capacity crowd ensures there isn’t even breathing room.

The appeal of Andrew Hozier-Byrne extends beyond his poster-boy looks and easy Irish manner. While only one album into his career, he is an artist who demands to be taken seriously — and with something to say.

Starting with the gently strummed Like Real People Do, his hushed vocals come across almost lullaby-like. But we are not here to sleep, and the pace picks up with the swaggering sunshine soul of From Eden and the rocking Jackie and Wilson. It goes down very well indeed. And he is clearly happy to be here — at last. The gig was supposed to have taken place before Christmas but was rescheduled. He thanks us and jokes about the postponement.

A more contemplative segment includes the sparse and tender Cherry Wine — his voice tingling our spines like warm honey, while his finger-picking recalls the greats of Delta blues. Indeed, it is in those quiet, largely unaccompanied moments that the real magic shines through.

Work Song is soulful and reminiscent of a gospel spiritual with it’s clapped chain-gang-style beat and heart-scoring lyrics: “When, my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth.”

Introspective it may be, but it’s not really miserable. Sedated is anything but, and Foreigner’s God is uplifting and perfectly-formed.

Of course we were all really there for that other religion-inspired epic, the top 30 hit Take me to Church, predictably the set closer. His voice soars through the anthem’s defiant lyrics.

Cheered back, he returns for an encore, starting with Run, before banging out a surprising cover of Amerie’s 1 Thing. It would be harder to find two more different artists, but it just about works. Thank the Lord he wasn’t also sporting Amerie-style hotpants.

He ends, on home ground, with the bluesy gospel of Angel Of Small Death (there’s that religious motif again) — and it’s over. February is too early to make pronouncements about gigs of the year, but this must surely qualify as a contender.