Neil Young

As somebody who once had to sit through Rick Wakemen’s The Six Wives Of Henry The V111th…On Ice, let me tell you that concept albums and their bastard concert offspring suck. A biggie.

Neil Young is no Rick bleeding Wakeman but he has decided to devote the first part of tonight’s acoustic show to Greendale, a multi-generation dissection of life in a fictional California seaside town.

None of which detracts from the overriding sense of occasion. Bono, The Edge and Paul McGuinness are all sat in same front-row of the balcony as me, and the cackle from behind confirms that Ronnie Wood is also in the house.

Shuffling on in his customary non-stage clothes, Young sits down in front of a forest of guitars and starts telling us about the inhabitants of this endearingly fucked-up place.

If you only had a cursory knowledge of his back catalogue, you’d swear that the as-yet-untitled songs were off After The Goldrush or Harvest, such is their easy-going familiarity. A quarter-of-an-hour in and despite the mutterings of people who’ve come expecting a straight Greatest Hits package, I’m hooked.

Lyrically the 57-year-old’s never been in better form with mentions of psychedelic paintings, drug busts, cop shootings, red blazered devils and beautiful 18-year-old eco-activists who go to Alaska to dance with wolves. As the set progresses, we’re reminded that Young is not only one of the finest harp blowers on the planet, and no mean tickler of the Hammond as well.

Having exited Greendale’s city limits, Young then takes a journey through his back catalogue with ‘After The Goldrush’, ‘Old Man’, ‘Cortez The Killer’, ‘On The Beach’, ‘Campaigner’ and – swoon! – ‘Heart Of Gold’ all prompting an outbreak of communal singing.

Mr. Young, sir, you’re a fucking legend!