Careful to cultivate a wide audience, he dedicated a song to his 'mammy', and one to 'grannies everywhere', writes Frank McNally
It was like 1979 all over again. As the vast audience prepared to leave the Phoenix Park on Saturday night, the charismatic figure on stage said: "God bless you, Ireland. Love each other." And with his instruction ringing in their ears, the crowds went forth in peace, a point that was later confirmed by the Garda press office.
Robbie Williams's achievement is perhaps more remarkable than the Pope's, because his audience almost certainly had more drink on board. Before the concert, Parkgate Street was a Bacchanalian orgy. In the balmy conditions, many concert-goers were sweating beer by the time the main act took the stage.
But the event produced "absolutely no problems whatsoever", according to a Garda spokesman yesterday. Indeed, flushed by the success of the policing operation, the gardaí were already looking forward to a repeat. "This has probably laid the foundation for another one," the spokesman added.
The scale of Saturday's concert was only obvious afterwards, as fans dispersed. Blackhorse Avenue, Infirmary Road, and the park's own thoroughfares were like fast-flowing tributaries of people.
But at Parkgate Street and the quays, the tributaries converged, producing a torrential river of humanity flowing towards the city centre, apart from a few hapless individuals trying to get back upstream, like salmon.
The main act's performance was almost as smooth as the logistical operation. The rain that fell for the last 45 minutes threatened to cool the celebrations. But as with everything else, the chief celebrant turned this into an act of communion, announcing to his stage crew: "If they're getting wet, I'm getting wet," and performed the rest of the set from the uncovered walkway in front.
So the evening ended, as the more fanatic of Williams's followers probably knew it would, with their man walking on water.
That the singer has special powers was clear from the moment he addressed "the people at the back" of the 135,000 crowd, for whom - despite the giant screens - events on stage must have been only a rumour. "I can see you, feel you, hear you," he assured them. And God bless his senses, because nobody else could see or hear them. Their reply, if there was one, was lost somewhere in the sprawling acreage in between.
His box-office appeal may be a tribute to his personality, but Williams is also a shrewd performer. From the moment he tied a tricolour to his mike stand, he played the green card at every opportunity. And when he pre-empted the critics by announcing late on that, "I've just done the best gig of my life," he explained the reason for his brilliance: "it's because of you".
The message for fans - and there were a few - who were underwhelmed by his latest Irish performance, was that their hearts were not pure enough. An old-style preacher would have been familiar with the tactic.
Unlike another old-style preacher, best remembered here for the message, "Young people of Ireland, I love you," Williams was careful to cultivate a transgenerational audience. He dedicated one song to his "mammy", another to "grannies everywhere".
While the kind of knickers that get thrown at him suggest otherwise, his appeal is not unlike Daniel O'Donnell's. Certainly, the average age of Saturday's audience was a lot older than any boy-band would attract.
But either way, his popularity is breaking records. With the exception of U2, it's difficult to see anyone else selling 135,000 tickets for the Phoenix Park. Maybe the promoters will try to top this. Or maybe they'll just count their profits and, in the manner of the papal cross, erect a monument.