Van Morrison

Witty, avuncular, dressed in white . . . Popular conception has it Van Morrison is none of these things, but after tonight, well, was it all a dream? True, there was still the black suit and hat, but gone were the shades - and surely those were gags among the intros? Those expecting bile in the wake of Van's public spat with his ex musical partner Linda Gail Lewis were in for a surprise.

Given the level of myth that surrounds Van - the apparent dichotomy between his apparently dour persona and the profundity of his best work - the days of truly incandescent performances are probably gone.

A Morrison concert is now as much a spectator sport as a musical experience, the flowery-patterned enigma of the 1970s having devolved into a battle of wills between the now insatiable demand for celebrity knowledge and Van's entrenchedly preposterous retort that writing songs is just his job.

Four songs in, and Raincheck had us mesmerised, followed by a new song, All Work And No Play, that saw Van delivering much better saxophone than anyone thought possible. A single wry aside in Why Must I Always Explain? killed the Linda Gail issue brilliantly, while the technicolour trio of Jackie Wilson Said, Brown-Eyed Girl and Bright Side Of The Road restored another, happier, dimension to his Hammond-dominated dense soul sound of late. More surprising still was a majestically extemporised All In The Game and a whole clutch of guitar-led Chicago and pre-war city blues - St James's Infirmary, Boogie Chillun, Help Me. Van's been revisiting his 78s, it seems, and the fiery spirit of John Lee Hooker lives on. He's still The Man.