AT some point in our lives we've all been there to experience a collective holding of breath.

This is no mystery; just a natural response to great expectations on the brink of being either dashed or upheld.

The collective element serves to heighten emotions, making a sudden hush all the more thrilling (sometimes mass hysteria can be a quiet animal too).

This is what happened on Sunday night, when James Vincent McMorrow took to the stage at the O2 Academy Oxford. Massed ranks of fans in the sold-out venue found their places, glasses charged and chatter muted. Already supremely juiced by up-and-coming support act Rob Bravery and his band, the dimming of lights at the end of the break only served to ratchet up the sense of anticipation.

McMorrow breathes into his mic. Whispers turn to pin-drop silence from the silky opening line of his first offering, Sparrow And The Wolf, which is somehow both punchy and ethereal, until an insanely ambitious note, executed perfectly, draws the first of many rounds of impulsive applause.

For those who've never before been in the presence of the Irishman (myself included), there's a sense both of immense relief that the voice is real, and of astonishment at just how impossibly flawless it is.

Anyone who hasn't yet Youtubed his spine-tingling cover of Steve Winwood's Higher Love could be forgiven for reading this as the exaggerated gushing of a rabid fan. I'll admit to being a long-time dedicated follower of the 30-year-old singer-songwriter, since stumbling across his haunting If I Had A Boat(hearing him sing it live, in such an intimate venue, was a wonder and a privilege).

But this was by no means an isolated response.

McMorrow has elicited it many times in the year since his 11-track debut album Early In The Morning was released to critical acclaim.

Audiences at previous gigs, too, are described as reverential.

The last time McMorrow performed in Oxford was in May last year, in The Jericho Tavern, where chart-toppers Radiohead and Supergrass among others cut their performing teeth.

Since then he has effortlessly transitioned from 200-odd capacity spots, into bigger venues like the Royal Festival Hall in London.

The triumph will serve as a confidence-boosting springboard to the antipodean leg of his tour with stops in Brisbane, Sydney and Melbourne, before closing on an Alpine high at Zermatt, unplugged amid a line-up featuring hip-hop powerhouse Lauryn Hill and virtuoso jazz-pianist/singer Peter Cincotti.

Not that McMorrow appears to suffer much self doubt; he seems infinitely at ease with himself, his voice and us. He delivers equally calm brilliance whether with backing or pared back to naked acapella, the latter being a minimalist phase he plans to move on from.

He says: "Playing on my own right now is beautiful because it allows me to connect on a very primitive level... but I'd like to be in a place soon where I can be surrounded with friends on stage to share this with me."

Many on Sunday will have been glad to hear the unadorned version of the enchanting Breaking Hearts and folk ballad Early In The Morning.

There's a good chance McMorrow's future offers more vivid offerings (he promises "drums and horns and accordions and banjos and anything that can be hit or strummed"). And, surely, that will only serve to complement his voice rather than overwhelm it.

Still, it's such a rare gift it needs no whistles or bells; like a good Irish whiskey it's best, and most sure to take your breath away, when taken neat.