Randy Newman

Grand Canal Theatre, Dublin

There is a fascinating dualism at the heart of everything about Randy Newman. Take, for instance, his murder ballad,

In Germany Before the War

, which chilled a hushed theatre. This brooding minimalist masterpiece is both shocking – the murder of a child – and hauntingly beautiful. As with so many of his songs, it entices the listener in before revealing its true intent.

And these are not word fests. The bulk of his songs, shorn of their studio embellishments of band and orchestra, last under three minutes and are models of songwriting and storytelling craft. It is this ability to operate on the edge that makes Newman such a remarkable artist. He revels in a tension that keeps the listener guessing as to whether or not the narrators of Short Peopleor Redneckshave any of his sympathy, or, indeed, should have any of ours.

This creative tension extends to his performances. While the big, besuited, hunched figure that slouched on to the stage might look his 66 years, once sitting at the piano Newman exercised effortless control over an admittedly admiring audience. His mordant wit was sharp and instant, his stories humorous but telling in their detail; and while his self-deprecation put up a light smokescreen of modesty, there was no doubting his command of the auditorium.

Songs such as Dixie Flyer, with its vivid description of his Jewish family trying to integrate in the southern US in the 1940s, take on a new life in a live setting. That said, his voice crackled with the rigours of touring – at one stage he apologised for not being able to reach a high note – and he also made some mistakes with his playing.

The two-hour-plus concert was divided by an interval, after which Newman, who lived in New Orleans as a child, remarked to the audience with mock southern charm: "Thank you for coming back." All the material was taken from his solo albums, with the exception of You've Got A Friend In Mefrom the movie Toy Story. It is easy for Newman to reach for songs written more than 40 years ago because, from his eponymous debut album in 1968 through to 2008's Harps and Angels, he has consistently honed a style rich in the traditions of the American musical and southern black music.

In many ways, his curmudgeonly persona disdains the modern rock world and all it represents. However, Newman’s sharp, challenging observations on religion, relationships, racism, power, politics and history continue to have great resonance and, judging by their reception in Dublin, are still capable of making us laugh, perhaps think – and maybe even cry a little inside.