This week we were

. . . hopingThat Julian Gough's latest novel, Jude in London, is as good as the blurbs, which come dressed as "strong opinions".

Sure, they include some puff from a fellow writer, but they also include a line about Gough from the New York Times that he is “not a novelist”. (The paper said, in fact, that he was “not yet . . . a very good novelist”.)

. . . exhausted

By the on/off/on/who knows/maybe/sort of/on/off again saga of the Abbey’s relocation. The latest: it’s going nowhere. For now.

. . . booking

Dylan Moran live at Vicar Street in October. Tickets go on sale on Monday morning.

. . . going to

Clonmel Junction’s Café Carte Blanch, during which, for the third year in a row, creatives will curate temporary cafes and host free and fascinating activities.

. . . looking forward to

Janet Jackson at Grand Canal Theatre on Tuesday. Not a natural venue for pyrotechnic pop, so this will be fascinating.

. . . exhilarated by Janelle Monáe at Tripod

One measure of a great gig is a performer’s ability to bring a crowd together and bring them to a euphoric high, and seldom has that been achieved quite as literally as by Janelle Monáe at the climax of her startlingly exuberant Dublin show. As the musical tempo dropped during Come Alive (War of the Roses), Monáe and her sprawling ArchOrchestra lowered themselves to the stage floor, exhorting the crowd to do likewise. To see a packed Tripod on its collective haunches was remarkable; to witness it roar back to its feet as she launched into a vocal crescendo was exhilarating altogether.

Monáe has a genre-bending style, a Motown-meets-sci-fi fusion that is resolutely her own, yet it’s clear that she is intentionally seizing the mantle of black American pop music, with moments recalling James Brown and his cloak, covers of Stevie Wonder and the Jackson Five, and a stage persona that borrows from the likes of Grace Jones and Prince.

Her set at Glastonbury was one of the most talked about and acclaimed, and this brief Irish tour, which also took in Cork and Galway, seemed to be basking in a sort of post-Glastonbury high: her 14-piece band, with space-age string section, tuxedo-wearing horn players and catsuit-clad dancers and singers, were in infectiously joyful mood; while the crowd seemed in awe of a performer who oozes a star quality with every beaming grin.

Central to the show was the futuristic aesthetic, the wardrobe a stylish marriage of formal evening wear and Kubrickian sci-fi, her erect quiff resembling a minimalist Philip Treacy creation.

This was a performance every bit as slick as her acclaimed debut album, The ArchAndroid (Suites II and III) and almost as ambitious.

Still only 25, Monáe won't be playing venues this size for much longer; huge stardom awaits. She has, to borrow a phrase, the vision thing, and what a vision it is. Davin O'Dwyer

   . . . quoting

How big is our sound? Is it small, or is it huge? I don’t know. What happens when you take something quiet and turn it up really loud? Is it quiet or loud?

Gillian Welch gets all ‘tree in the forest’ during her interview with us on Wednesday

. . . listening to

SBTRKT’s eponymous debut album. His mother probably doesn’t call him by that name, but the London-based producer’s futuristic sounds earned five stars in yesterday’s Ticket.

. . . not playing

LA Noire, having finally finished it. It is quite something after all.