Pierce Turner (Mother Redcaps/Whelan’s, Dublin)

There can be few precedents for an artist making his debut appearance at Mother Redcaps to be accorded three encores. In fact, if the delirious audience had had its way, Turner would be there still.

It’s not just the quality of Turner’s own songs such as ‘Smokestack Streets’ or the impassioned delivery he brings to his rendering of ‘Here Comes The Night’, but Turner’s use of modern technology allows him to parade his mischievous altar-boy persona to all four corners of the room, walking on tables, ordering drinks for people mid-set and such carry-on, re-writing the guidebook to stage presentation in the process. His are about the only gigs where if your drink gets spilled it’s more likely you can blame the star of the show!

Turner’s surreal between-song patter is second to none. At Mother Redcaps he slipped in a tale from New York about transcendental meditation mantras selling at bargain rates in Cavan and regaled us about the bizarre central heating practices of the Americans.

It’s a pity that no-one from the Catholic hierarchy was around to hear his distressing tale of marital violence that is ‘Musha God Help Her’. ‘Moonbeam Josephine’ had them jiving in the aisles while ‘Among The Wicklow Hills’ was like Christy Moore going through a T Rex phase.

And then he did ‘God Only Knows’, complete with authentic Beach Boys backing tracks. Fair play to Eilis Moore for an adventurous bit of booking which was a real treat.

Two weeks later at Whelan’s the gig was all of the above and more. Wisely, plans for the venue to be fitted with a rope ladder to facilitate a more physical contact between Turner and the upper level audience were abandoned on the grounds of either common sense or insurance, but that did not stop Turner’s now almost compulsory walk-about and some manic audience participation. Sonny Knowles eat your heart out.

• Jackie Hayden