Sometimes it feels as though Ireland is suffering an overdose of bed-sit earnestness. For a generation of songwriters, elegant mooching has acquired the character of a national pastime.
Amidst the apparently bottomless onslaught of weepy self-consciousness, Paddy Casey cuts a solitary figure. Although no less gushing than his peers, the Dublin singer boasts songwriting chops to match.
Dismissed early in his career as a job-lot David Gray, just another fragile troubadour tumbling off the production line, Casey has fought back in the only way he knows how: with a devastating sophomore record.
Laden with deft pop moments and – were we really hearing this? – lascivious rockers, the Living album saw Casey stepping outside the cliché he had become, emerging as a composer of rare poise and potential.
From the back of Dublin Castle, the elfish Casey looks as diminutive as ever. It is soon apparent however that the critical and commercial breakthrough of Living has imbued him with the presence of a contender.
Where his material might previously have seemed lost in arenas of this scale, tonight it rings out with infectious single-mindedness.
The fey acoustica of Casey’s early years risks foundering in such a context so the singer cannily steers towards the putative stadium-rockers in his arsenal.
Rapturous and beguiling, the songs resonate across the venue like a polite call to arms. The dignified stomp of 'Promised Land' appears to hold the gathering dusk at bay; a sweeping 'Miracle' arrives just as the fading sun tinges the courtyard in an auburn blush.
As night belatedly steals over Dublin Castle, Casey delivers a starry-eyed 'Saints And Sinners'. The track seems to tumble into your arms in a mannered swoon. The urge to hug and refuse to let go is almost overwhelming.