See, tonight, here and now, this is what all that fuss was about. Forget the record, forget its shortcomings; they’ve no place on that stage, one illuminated by a massive set of letters spelling our headliner’s name. Just her first, of course, that which she chooses to go by professionally. It’s blinking on and off, reminding us why we’re breaking necks to get a better view of the nervous (‘til a few days ago) teenager, bending ears to let the flood rush in.

19 is riddled with mistakes, with poorly executed attempts at realising enormous promise. Tonight, there are no errors; the only signs there might be come from Adele herself as the Londoner – who turned 20 just days earlier and receives the obligatory congratulatory sing-along from an audience including many a family member, who beam with such brilliant pride one needs sunglasses to look in their direction – skitters about semi-hunched, clearly wrapped in the grasp of trepidation at the outset. “This is my eighteenth day without alcohol,” she informs us; from up here, balcony central, it looks as if she needs a little something to take the edge of the magnitude of walking out and seeing: a sold-out swarm, everyone ready to fall at her feet. “I remember things” is a plus, sure, but that tea – or coffee, maybe; it’s hard to tell funnily enough – isn’t going to put these shakes to bed.

Fortunately Adele soon escapes the throes of early-set self-doubt; she fumbles the beginning of ‘Best For Last’ – “Let me start that again, I fucked it up” – but her honestly, her openness, is hugely endearing. You could be a truly venomous critic of the girl’s only album to date – its follow-up, she jokes, will be called 21 – but Adele’s ability to charm is effortlessly effective. I’m smiling along with her, stopping short of singing but others – many others – go the whole way. The singer displays a slight edge of playful petulance – acceptable given her age, of course – as she mimics her string quartet’s efforts during recent single ‘Cold Shoulder’, a smirk across her face. Later she introduces them, as well as her backing musicians on drums, guitar, bass and keys, and there’s genuine warmth to her thanks for their contributions.

With only a single (patchy) album to her name, Adele dips her toes into covers waters, and comes out reasonably well. Dylan’s ‘Make You Feel My Love’ features on 19 so is familiar to even the youngest fan in tonight; Etta James’ ‘Fool That I Am’ less so, but receives a rapturous reception as it’s introduced as her favourite song ever. A jaunty run through ‘Dreaming Of You’ stirs comparisons with another domestic songstress who’s also tackled a number from the modern Liverpool pop songbook – Adele doesn’t make the song her own by any means but there’s aplomb enough in her rendition for the interpretation to sit pretty enough in the company of originals.

Speaking of which, highlight pair ‘First Love’ – which sees the Empire bathed in a million stars as the venue’s disco ball earns its keep for the night – and a pre-encore ‘Hometown Glory’ – more mouth-agape arresting here than any expectations based on its recorded form anticipated – are worth the ticket tax alone, and a parting ‘Chasing Pavements’ – “I’d love to do more, but I’ve not got enough songs,” clearly indicating the nerves have completely subsided – might be a relative weak moment of a strong performance which sees Adele occasionally play entirely solo, but the capacity crowd give it the all-together treatment.

Hyperbole justified, then, after doubts are scattered by a satisfyingly box-ticking evening. Here’s hoping 21 is the classic the debut wasn’t quite.

Photo: Carsten Windhorst