VV Brown - Saved by a guitar with one string

A blustery November lunchtime in central London, yet one corner of Soho is set to explode with warm, sunny vibes. Today, the Revue Bar was taken over by Island Records to showcase its hope for success in 2009. Normally these are awkward experiences as dour movers mix with over-eager shakers – yet all are united in the glow of VV Brown's exuberance.

Vanessa Brown, as her parents know her, has snatched the retro soul ball laid off by the likes of Amy Winehouse and Adele, only to run off in an entirely different direction. Whereas this year has been full of kohl-eyed girls singing maudlin ballads and torch songs, Brown brings the pizzazz of Sixties' girl groups and the punch of rockabilly, more a soulmate of The Ting Tings than Duffy.

Brown has imbibed old sounds aplenty, something you hear in her crystal-clear doo-wop harmonies and raw soul emotion, though she is far from a retro throwback. There is a contemporary, punky edge to her music thanks to lo-fi production and an interest in toy keyboards and cheap synthesisers that comes out in the occasional computer game squeak.

On stage, she is keen to impress, thanking people for "coming down tonight", though there are signs of rapidly growing confidence. A brief explanation of "the journey" she took to make her forthcoming album would go down well at the Oscars, never mind The Brits. Afterwards, Brown folds her long frame on to a banquette and shrugs off praise that her set was a cut above the usual industry shindig, showing a degree of perfectionism that would make James Brown baulk. "I was saying in the dressing room that a great performance is having balance, the ability to control nervousness, but keep that bundle of energy, right here in your chest, and translating that into another kind."

Brown is keen to point out she is no major label plaything. The three-piece group on her current tour, she handpicked herself from a bulging contacts book developed over several years as a session singer for the likes of Madonna and Westlife, just one stage of her career to date. For a long time, though, the vocalist thought she needed to compete with the stars for whom she provided backing. "I was suppressing making this kind of music," she admits.

"I've always been over-analytical and thought there wasn't a place for it in contemporary culture. It was only at the point where I completely didn't care about what anyone thought that I stopped being my own A&R and obeyed my urges."

Hearing Winehouse's success based on tastes similar to her own encouraged Brown to follow her instincts, something she recognises in the doo-wop stylings of Scottish Phil Spector fans Glasvegas. "I'd always wanted to make that music, so it was liberating to see other young artists doing it. There's a lot of things going on underground and when they come up, because someone's got signed, everyone else gets the confidence to take it seriously. All this was in my blood, but I suppressed it and went for this synthesised, over-polished pop music."

Her album Travelling Like the Light, due next spring, was written when Brown was at rock bottom, playing a one-string guitar after a disastrous wrong turn that took her to Los Angeles. Aged 19, she signed to a UK label that sent her to work with some of the top R&B producers around, including Ron Fair, Christina Aguilera's mentor, one of several matches made in hell that Brown made out there.

"They wanted to make a record with great producers, but it wasn't me. The R&B stereotypes of shaking your booty and not wearing many clothes were being imposed on me, which was completely suffocating. They lost the innocence of my demos and you could hear the musical politics in the sound.

"I'm glad nothing came out. I was afraid to speak out because I was so young and surrounded by legendary people." Brown fell out with her team and found herself stranded in California, scratching out a living by providing backing vocals.

"It was hell. I was depressed and nearly addicted to sleeping pills. I would just spend as much time as possible in bed. It got to the point where I was broke, living in a room with no furniture, just a keyboard, so I sold it on Craig's List and came home."

Back in London, all Brown could afford as an outlet for her creativity was an acoustic guitar, which she struggled to master, brought up as she was on piano. Removing all but one string made her songs come out more rootsy and blues-based.

"It forces you to concentrate on the melody, so you naturally go to swing and rock'n'roll. That was the eureka moment when I found myself and the sound I wanted. Now I'm so grateful for that desperation, pain and loneliness. The music forced me to find myself on so many different levels, down to the way that I dress. It's sent a ripple effect to every part of my being."

Everything came together with "Crying Blood", a song that Island have released this month as a limited edition single, including a 7in vinyl version with which Brown is especially chuffed. To her chagrin, though, its chorus is reminiscent of Bobby "Boris" Pickett's novelty hit "Monster Mash". "I honestly, in a billion years, didn't think of that song when I wrote it; there's just a lot of recycling that goes on in music."

And she had little room to manoeuvre with one string. More importantly, it juxtaposes bitter lyrics with an up-tempo tune. "I was having a war with myself. I was in love with an idiot, so when we split up, I was in pain, but happy it was over. The lyrics spoke of pain, what I was thinking, the melody spoke of happiness, reflecting my inner self."

In LA, Brown had been mired in a dysfunctional relationship that she ended almost as soon as she had got through passport control. She admits the whole of her forthcoming album has been inspired by the emotions that poured out of her around this time. Not that this is ever rammed down the listener's throat, especially as there are many positive numbers, notably the soaring title track and "Crazy Amazing", where she has added lyrics to the piano tutor's mainstay "Chopsticks".

"Almost all the album was written in a week, so it was all about him, sadly enough. I puked out my emotions. Even delusional moments, when I thought he might be a nice guy."

Trawling throught the vintage stores and charity shops of London, Brown developed her own quirky style, highlighted in her now enormous quiff. She also dug into second-hand record shops for Fifties sounds. Musically, Brown had come full circle. she had been brought up on in the unlikely environs of Northampton, famous, as the artist concedes, for shoes and Des O'Connor. Encouragement, though, came courtesy of her parents, who ran an independent school in the area, one geared towards the arts, where music, drama and dance were just as important as academic subjects. Brown learnt the trumpet and keyboards, the latter on an upright piano at home. There, she was also introduced to Ella Fitzgerald, Dizzy Gillespie and Ruth Brown, the soul pioneer that was Atlantic Records' first success. Then at church, Brown was immersed in gospel singing.

"Everyone in church had an amazing voice, you weren't special just because you could sing." Still, the precocious performer found herself fronting a local funk band that had moved to London. Mum drove her down to rehearsals while Brown did her homework on the passenger seat. By the time she was 16, the group started playing their vocalist's own compositions. That group petered out, yet Brown still turned down the London School of Economics, having taken her A-levels a year early, to pursue her music full-time.

Brown came back to the city with a newfound sense of her own identity. Thanks to her added self-assurance, she was able to perform solo at East End pubs, sell songs to Sugababes and Pussycat Dolls, then fight off record company suitors until she struck a deal that allowed her to produce her own material, to ensure that one-string grit remains. "Some artists say they've produced a record and it's just bullshit, but this is my baby. I've played bass, drums and the synth parts, even the trumpet. Anything else, I've told musicians what to play. I want people to know I'm not just this young girl who's been signed and given a load of songs or been sat in a studio. This is my blood and my tears."

It all sounds very visceral, understandably given the album's gestation, yet dig a little deeper and you find a thoughtful artist starting to emerge. You hear it when she lectures her band about energy and again in "Travelling Like The Light", an in-no-way-soppy meditation on what it is to be in love, important enough for Brown to make it her title track. "When I wrote the song it was about feeling so light and travelling forever – light is infinite – now I hope to keep going and make dark things lighter."

VV Brown plays Sheffield Academy 2 tonight, then tours to 27 November (www.vvbrown.com)