It would be difficult to imagine a more impressive curtain-raiser to the London Jazz Festival than Jazz Voice, and this year's vintage was the finest yet. One sensed from the very opening bars of Gregory Porter and Ian Shaw's a cappella duet, “Feelin' Good”, that something remarkable was about to unfold, and so it proved.

She grew up in Norway, lives in Sweden and has been recording since 2003. Her new album, It All Starts with One, is her most assured, her most vital. But Ane Brun’s recent work with Peter Gabriel has attracted attention outside Scandinavia. Her vocal contribution to his remake of “Don’t Give Up” claimed it as her own. Last night erased Gabriel from her CV. This fabulous show was a new beginning.

Some successful rock stars accumulate wives, others accumulate houses, cars or drug habits. Damon Albarn seems to accumulate bands. As well as his on-off relationship with Blur, there is the semi-regular Gorillaz. And he has  been seeing even more musicians on the side, too. He recently appeared at the Barbican alongside the Red Hot Chili Pepper’s Flea (must have been a seven year itch?) and last night he rekindled an old flame, reconvening The Good, The Bad & The Queen for a one-off Greenpeace benefit.

From Bill Haley’s frantic clock-rocking to Sting’s po-faced plucking, the double bass has written itself a pretty meaty book in the rock‘n‘roll bible. It’s strictly Old Testament, though, far more closely identified with the composers of rock’s creation story than to those tasked with mapping out its future. But hang on. Louisiana-born, Memphis-based singer-songwriter Amy LaVere might just be changing all that.

“It’s very deep, very private and full of love,” said Art Garfunkel of his relationship with Paul Simon. So private that for this examination of their swansong 1970 album Bridge Over Troubled Water the pair were interviewed apart, despite both being credited as executive producers. Whatever the nature of the love, 40-plus years on, bridges weren’t being built.

It’s commonly accepted that a song’s true worth can be tested by stripping it down to its bare bones: if it still has wings when played on just an acoustic guitar, then you’re in business. So I couldn’t help but smile at hearing tracks from Mara Carlyle’s lushly orchestrated (courtesy of the Royal Philharmonic, no less) album Floreat delicately strummed on the humble ukulele, backed by that other wallflower of an instrument, the concertina (played by contemporary classical composer Emily Hall).

It’s easy to get lost in the music of Danish singer-songwriter Agnes Obel. As she ended with "On Powdered Ground" singing “don’t break your back on the track”, her piano meshed with a cello and a Scottish harp, making what was already an affecting album track into a requiem. Obel’s Philharmonics album collects a series of similarly autumnal reflections. A rain-spattered evening was just right.

Where’s the African car? Seun Kuti wanted to know. There are German cars, Chinese cars (he grimaced) even Brazilian cars. At least, anyway, there is “original African music”, not traditional but something new. Actually, not entirely new, as some of the music and some of his band, Egypt 80, were that of his father, that visionary genius, subversive and sex maniac Fela.

“Rude boy! Rude boy! Ruuuude boooyyyy!!” The chanting from the crowd began soon after the booing subsided. The boos were in response to a picture of Margaret Thatcher which was flashed on a big screen as part of a short filmed history lesson about the late-Seventies malcontent that gave birth to the joyfully irreverent early British ska bands of which The Specials are surely kings.

It’s a rare but delightful thing when a venue and an artist prove perfect partners for each other, as was the case last night with young French singer Camille and old English music-hall theatre the Hackney Empire. From up in the cosy darkness of the circle, it was clear from the moment that a ghost-like Camille stepped onto the sepia-lit stage to whisper/sing “Aujourd’hui” that there was something going on that was both steeped in vaudevillian tradition and wholly 21^st century.