One really bright late afternoon in a field in the canton of vaud; the final hours of paleo 2005, marked by grand voyages and rather exaggerated eclecticism were passing with an air of growing nostalgia, that needed chasing off and kicking up the a***. A crazy kid, a jazz lover in spite of himself, would be the one to kick that motley crowd, with his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans, explosive haircut and extremely laid-back attitude. He took a run up, aimed for his piano, got ready to strike, the rousing energy of the drums intensified, take your marks, 4…3…2…1…

“I get no kick from champagne, mere alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all, so tell me why should it be true, that i get a kick out of you…” doodum dum… Doodoo dum… Sinatra’s soul just walked onto paleo’s main stage, in a trio as unlikely as they are talented.

The laid-back bass keeps the tempo. The drummer, a big, focussed teddybear in a world of his own, modestly plays in a minimalist way. Jamie cullum manhandles his piano, jumps on it, plays with his feet in their virtuoso trainers, plays strings of fast and energetic notes, making the onlookers and music lovers roar, he sings, with a gravely voice, with the youthful nerve to take everything and redefine it with the immortal values of jazz. Phenomenal!

There is an air of joy in the crowd. Laughter, dumbfounded eyes, a sense of amazement at the daring 23-year-old imp who succeeds at everything he tries. Only a short time ago he was singing in restaurants in london, being paid only with a meal, a pint and a carafe of red wine. For him that was already something, with his childlike eyes he has only touchingly simple aspirations.

Then he became the resident at soho pizza express, a punchier and more up to date version of the dinosaur that is the ronnie scott’s club. A great start. Then followed tours which took him to the four corners of the world. Glastonbury. Montreux. Paléo. One of the last times we were thrilled with jazz on this stage, it was emanating from the trumpet of a certain miles. There is life after him!

Jamie looks happy. He plays for the audience, wanting to bring them into his world, the smile on his lips and his charming voice out front. In twentysomething he seduces you with old-style groovy, joyful and theatrical jazz. As he bends over his piano, with a rounded back, his head a few centimetres away from the keys, like an eternally inspiring bill evans, his slow ballads grab your heart and bring a smile to your face. His piano solos, which rise up into the darkening twilight sky, the sensation of a soothing melodious wind, a kind of fullness, which is at times, immediately wiped out by his enchanting displays. He even goes as far as to try to sing in french, he gets the lyrics wrong, the look on his face is reminiscent of a child who has messed up their recital. No matter, there’s no punishment, only the applause of the crowd who understand just who they are dealing with.

He imitates matthew herbert with his mouth and his hands, creating sounds that he plays back on a loop, thus preparing a 5 minute intro to one of his tunes. He amazes us even more with his sublime version of nature boy, drumming on a jembe, with only his bassist on stage with him. It is moving and intimate, something so rare! After more than an hour on stage we realise that he has explored all the attitudes a jazz artist can have on stage: the utter madness and intimacy, the stirring of the senses (particularly with the agility of his fingers running up and down the piano), the destitution, the love, the show. All with such sincerity and incredible accuracy in his role.

The quartet decided not to do an encore, but did the concert in a block, pausing at times. We had thought the show was over in a staggeringly dramatic fashion, with the drums going wild, the bass letting rip, jamie cullum really bashing his piano, hitting it with his stool, sitting on it then sliding down the keys, smashing it with his head wherever he can.

But then, as a finale, came the extraordinary high and dry, different at all of his concerts, combined with singing in the rain. A rain that he was good enough to bring on a few hours later. There is so much happiness in this journey into this, the best music in the world. You realise to what extent jazz is missing in modern life. If we got up in the morning to louis armstrong, spent our days in the company of duke ellington or ben webster, if we all danced to frank sinatra and made love listening to nat king cole, the world would certainly be a different place.

Thankfully, popular and traditional jazz, which has never turned musical notions upside down and does not claim to do anything other than accompany the daily lives of the crowd, seems to have a future with a kid like him.

“It’s heaven when you find romance on your menu, what a difference a day made and the difference is you, what a difference a day makes…”