Cassandra Wilson, Ronnie Scott's, review The music world is full of bright new jazz chanteuses, but the natural authority of the real star is as rare as ever. Cassandra Wilson's opening night at Ronnie Scott's showed she has it in spades. With her dramatically piled-up hair and shimmer of multi-coloured silk, she seemed a person smilingly happy in her own skin. Her way of sensuously stretching those tapering fingers during a long note reminded one of a cat that's just woken from a long sleep, When she closed her eyes (as she often did) it was to enjoy the physical sensation of a teasing syncopation, rather than to search for the emotional depths of a song. There was none of the hurt or neediness that puts fire in the belly of some singers. "I hope you don't mind me being comfortable with you," she purred, after a bit of banter about Andy Murray (who's clearly caught her eye), and of course we didn't. Faced with such practised ease, it's hard to remember Wilson chose an unusual route to the top, working in the 1980s with musicians from the experimental fringes of jazz such as Henry Threadgill. There was a time when she scatted with real energy, and sometimes in this set one caught a glimpse of the old Wilson, as in the very fast bebop classic Seven Steps to Heaven. But on the whole the set stuck to a narrow range of understated, often Latin-flavoured or bluesy funkiness, with a precisely calibrated palette that showed off that dark-treacle voice to best advantage: Lonnie Plaxico's bass kept firmly in the bass region, drummer John Davis's very light cymbal patter meshing beautifully with Brandon Ross's guitar and the amazing virtuoso flights of Gregoire Maret's harmonica. The sustained sound binding it all together was so subtle it took some time to notice keyboardist Jon Cowherd's little pump-organ. On those occasions when Wilson did allow her voice to flare, it was like seeing a caged beast suddenly let loose. But it was very rare, and so momentary you couldn't help suspecting it was an "effect," rather than a revelation of real feeling. And when Wilson ventured a song that needed real engagement, such as Gershwin's The Man I Love, one suddenly became aware of something missing. Wilson and her band have created something seductively smooth, but its perfect finish repels anything as unruly as real feeling. Cassandra Wilson is at Ronnie Scott's until 11 July (020 7439 0747, returns only)