Bob Geldof

"This is weird." Geldof speaks for the rest of us from the stage of one of Ireland's most adaptable major venues

"This is weird." Geldof speaks for the rest of us from the stage of one of Ireland's most adaptable major venues. And it is weird, because instead of playing in front of his usual brethren in a poky venue, there are rows of tables and chairs close to the front of the stage. Geldof isn't thinking of turning his moderately successful music career into a cabaret trick just yet, because he simply gets on with it, stumbling into The Great Song Of Indifference, a rambling tune rooted in his lack of tact and not inconsiderable charm.

This is Geldof's first Irish gig since the mid-90s, and you could say he's been through the mill in the intervening period of time. Although he's never been one to dwell on life's body blows, throughout his career his music has been invested with marked, sometimes loaded comments on the topics of sex, age and death. Insouciant yet focused, Geldof leads his band - an effortlessly engaging mix of session players, ethnic roots aficionados and former Boomtown Rat bassist Pete Briquette - through three distinct phases: Boomtown Rats era (Rat Trap, I Don't Like Mondays), his Cajun/roots period (Chains Of Pains, Attitude Chicken, Room 19, Walking Back To Happiness - dedicated to his father Robert, who is in the audience) and his recent, somewhat more publicised material (10.15, Pale White Girls, My Birthday Suit, One For Me).

While only several of these connected with an audience (which comprised obvious fans with members of the blue rinse brigade, who possibly strayed into the venue thinking they were going to hear Geldof talk about his misfortunes), it would be fair to say he and his band rose above the less than rock'n'roll atmosphere of the venue. He gathered in the faithful, traipsed through a set that, while hardly pioneering or a direct line to the heart, was certainly efficient.

Was this enough? Probably not, but he looked rusty and slightly wary, his body language giving little away, his foul mouth frightening the over-60s. Could someone please give him several dates in Ireland so he can loosen up?

Tony Clayton-Lea

Tony Clayton-Lea

Tony Clayton-Lea is a contributor to The Irish Times specialising in popular culture