In the Scorsese-directed No Direction Home, Dylan describes himself as "a musical expeditionary". The same term could be applied to the increasing horde of modern-day Bobcats who turn every gig into a musical adventure that could lead anywhere or nowhere but is never likely to be dull or vapid.

This one took the positive option, with Dylan's setlist focusing mainly on the earlier and later phases of his career and a shit-hot band that even had the prawn sandwich brigade a-rollin' and a-tumblin'. His voice, hardly ever an easy-listening affair, sounded like he'd been gargling with barbed wire, yet it can still mesmerise like no other voice in the universe, as he reshapes and sprinkles new magic in and around familiar melodies.

Kicking off with a crackling 'Leopard-Skin Pillbox Hat' followed by 'Lay Lady Lay', as Dylan saw fit he shifted from behind his keyboard (Workingman's Blues') to take centre-stage with his guitar ('Beyond Here Lies Nothin'), raising most cheers when he gave his harmonica a blow-out for 'Ballad Of A Thin Man'. 'Thunder on The Mountain', with drummer George Recile in spectacular form, truly rattled and hummed, while Charlie Sexton's blistering guitar helped 'Highway 61' soar. 'Just Like A Woman' proved that even the crowd were in fine vocal form, while 18,000 voices demanding "how does it feel?" transformed 'Like A Rolling Stone' into a cathartic triumph.

'Tangled Up In Blue' in this incarnation loses some of its former sensitivity, but it was a minor quibble in what was an exhilarating gig. A reworked 'Blowin’ In The Wind', the last of four encores, sounded as provocative as it had five decades ago. Dylan was more playfully animated than usual, giving us eighteen songs and playing non-stop for nigh on two hours.

Of course there were the naysayers for whom he didn't say hello, didn't say goodbye, didn't introduce the band, didn't even say "hello, Thomond, are you ready to rock?" Maybe there should be a law against him comin’ around, singing his own songs any old way he likes.