Depeche Mode

The 02, Dublin

The passage of time has a varying effect on bands, with some acts going out of fashion at some point between their first and second albums, hyped up one minute and derided the next. For Dave Gahan, Martin Gore and Andy Fletcher, however, the years have been somewhat kinder, their synth-pop demonstrating a longevity that might have been hard to predict back in the 1980s, when their hits sounded as light and fleeting as ice cream on a summer’s day.

Gahan, in particular, has shown a Dorian Gray-like agelessness – he seems to have been beamed straight in from a different era, as lithe and snake-hipped as he ever was. His routine, all camp handclaps, thrusting gyrations and dizzying pirouettes, is a marvel of showmanship, and a textbook example of frontman theatricality.

This towering performance demonstrates exactly why they have remained immune to the fickle fashions of the music industry – Depeche Mode long ago proved their ability to evolve and adapt their musical range. They created some of the best singles of the 1980s, some of the best albums of the 1990s, and while their best songwriting seems to be behind them, judging from this year's Sounds of the Universe, they are still capable of staging immensely entertaining and satisfying concerts.

For a band of their ilk, the production is rather understated – a large screen, with a sphere bulging out towards the top, displays some rather uninspired visuals, and a walkway into the crowd is barely troubled by Gahan’s feet – these guys don’t rely on whizz-bang special effects to win a crowd over.

Gahan might be the ringleader, but Gore gets a few opportunities to demonstrate he's not just a backseat driver – on Homein particular, he leaves no doubt that he's the best singer in the band, as well as the main songwriter – in the soaring climax, he sounds like the unacknowledged forebear to Antony and the Johnsons.

Any band that can finish with a song as effortlessly anthemic as Personal Jesusis going to leave the crowd happy, but coming at the end of a show as fine as this, it is a joyous crescendo of singing, arm-waving adoration. It is, in all, the sort of occasion that will never go out of fashion.