IT'S a voice packed with longing, breathy and brilliant. Cerys Matthews takes to the stage in Monmouth, and within seconds we are caught up in the aching hiraeth of Yr Awyren.

Dressed in white, Cerys doesn't need bells and whistles to captivate an audience. Her presence and sound are enough - a sound born and bred in Wales, aged in the whisky barrels of Nashville.

This is a relaxed Cerys on a tour of small theatres, intimate with her fans, sharing in-jokes and telling us we are the love vibe' audience.

The stage is littered with instruments - piano, drums, countless guitars, double bass, mandolin and even her children's toy xylophone.

She jokes: "They weren't playing with it enough, so I had to use it. I am the toy Nazi."

There are stunning versions of Dead From The Waist Down, Morning Sunshine and Ruby.

Cerys moves effortlessly from Delta Blues to Methodist hymns via a pared-down version of Doris Day's Secret Love.

Strange Glue is melded together with an old folk tune, and Cerys and her three-piece band cannot resist grinning at one another with sheer enjoyment as they move to the joyful songs of her Cock-a-Hoop album.

There are foot-stomping calls for two encores, and she does not disappoint with her rendition of Arglwydd Dyma Fi.

But it is during Road Rage that shivers are back down our spines - just the piano and Cerys' voice, now so soft that you can hear a pin drop in the auditorium, now soaring.

"Thanks for voting for me in the jungle," she says. She may have had a good time there, but we're all glad Cerys is now back on stage where she belongs.