Let’s face it. It’s difficult — downright impossible — to watch Lisa Marie Presley onstage and not be reminded of the fact that that the woman before you is the issue of the loins of the King of Rock and Roll. In terms of judging her as an artist unto herself, that may not be fair (after all, no one expects Candice Bergen to wedge a ventriloquist dummy onto her lap and start doing comedy routines). Yet Lisa Marie is and forever will be part of the lore, part of the legend; the old man named his jet after her, for crying out loud. It doesn’t help that the Toddler of Graceland looks so much like Elvis, yet it’s all part of Presley’s only child, multi-million dollar cross to bear.

During her appearance Wednesday night at City Hall, Presley was very much her own performer (though she did toss out a brief, genetically programmed lip-lifting sneer during her opening number, “I’ll Figure It Out,”). She paced the stage clad in long black sleeves under a white T-shirt, plaid mini skirt, black leggings and Chuck Taylor high tops, a look that was more early Katrina (as in “and the Waves") than ’06 power pop sex pot.

Which is not to say that the foxy mother of two didn’t cast a unique spell on the 300 or so devout followers who showed up to scream and mouth lyrics. Presley has the sultry, sassy demeanor of a truck stop waitress who serves up plenty of flirty lip and delicious attitude, which only makes you want to leave a bigger tip and ask her when she gets off because you’re just passing through and, well, never mind.

For the entirety of the 14-song set comprised of material from her two albums (the singer has only been a singer officially since 2003’s To Whom It May Concern; her sophomore album is Now What), Presley owned the crowd. To some ears, her music may be predictable, generic, guitar-driven pop, but let it be said that to the aural receptors at City Hall, it was cause for celebration. Between each number, there were constant screamed declarations of love from fans of both sexes, which Presley graciously and meticulously returned.

At times, the whole thing seemed more like a question-and-answer session than a momentum-driven juggernaut of rock, but who cared? When it comes to responding to the audience, happily, Miles Davis she’s not. On this, her third appearance in Nashville, the singer fielded questions, handed out guitar picks, even shot a photo of a fan on the woman’s cell phone camera, interesting, as fan photography of Presley herself was strictly verboten.

The anything-goes mood was set when, after the initial number, someone (allegedly show opener, wacky dorm room heart throb Ryan Cabrera) placed, as Presley put it, “something on the stage that does not belong here.” Which was, in fact, a large black rubber phallus, complete with a handy suction cup on one end, which her guitar player used to attach to his Gibson.

Far from rattling her, Presley seemed to enjoy the moment, and dug right into the set. Her voice was in fine shape (with help from something she sprayed down her throat repeatedly), her husky lower ranged pipes proving a worthy compliment to songs like “Turbulence,” “Idiot” and Don Henley’s “Dirty Laundry.”

Returning for strongly demanded encore, Presley seemed genuinely touched.

“You really want me to come back. I could really feel that,” she offered, and when she blew a kiss to the faithful, it seemed far more authentic than the one she planted on Michael Jackson so many years ago.