Karan Casey is a slight figure, understatement is her humour, introductions come in satisfying, snappy nutshells. A surprising voice to hear live - so used have we become to mid-Atlantic delivery and aesthetics - this singer gives her syllables a full and effortless glottal whang, no histrionics and no affected vibrato.

Almost like a time warp, the Waterford singer is the Seventies, yet her references regarded that era's icons as but names: Irvine got no credit for Martinmas Time, Imlach none for Black is the Colour, Jean Ritchie became "Appalachian", Woody Guthrie himself, Dick Gaughan a singer.

Yet there was no disrespect for this pedestal gallery - Casey's repertoire valued them honestly as their artistic worth; empathy with their driven causes and artistic salvage were simply assumed.

With a splendid, snapping Robbie Overson (guitar) and Niall Vallely (concertina), she mixed style, era, politics and genre effortlessly. Opening verses seemed always almost indifferent - as in Wandering Aengus - but could develop hugely interestingly, as on Shamrock Shore and her paced-up treatment of Aililu na Gamhna.

Typically, indeed, she began weakly, but voice built up and out to a righteous, sharp commanding anger in McColl's Ballad of Accounting and Gaughan's Carry the Can. The worth of some of the off-centre diversions into Pop-chorus vocables was questionable. Distracting also was Overson's otherwise brilliant Blues solo. But this eclectic repertoire showed an impressive and genuine singer in control over equally-balanced Irish and English words in a range of vocal timbres, metres and attacks rarely found in one artist.