What's Nu, Pussycat?

The hall is stuffed with a cast of fabulous futuristic freaks of all persuasions, proudly nailing their dark colours to the Numan mast regardless of trend, fashion or susceptibility to having the almighty piss taken out of them. The occasion is the feast day of Gary Numan's first ever Irish engagement after all these years.

Numan is visibly charged and raring to go, flanked by a basic four-piece live set-up including one of those classic guitar-shaped portable synthesisers which haven't been seen in public since early eighties episodes of Top Of The Pops. The trainspotters are treated to a rather excellent rendering of the Tubeway Army classic 'Down In the Park', sparkling like a long lost electro-pop diamond rescued from specialist compilation tracklist obscurity.

Hearty chunks of the set are taken up with material from Gary's well-received and well-produced Pure - even if these songs' allure is somewhat dented by an over-reliance on a rather hackneyed power-goth saminess. Numan's black clad disciples are going gaga regardless - clinging on to every bombastic stage gesture and howled vocal. Numan can still cut it as a performer - swaggering and strutting and acting every inch the legendary poseur.

The pomp and pose begins to get tiresome, however, as the show grinds on at a very predictable power pop pace. Granted, there are some wonderful moments, notably the seasoned favourite 'Are Friends Electric?'. 'Cars' is dragged kicking and screaming with a dirty guitar riff into the noughties, skillfully stolen back from Armand Van Helden's sampler. As the house lights go up, the hard-core are transfixed while those only mildly curious rush to the bar.

The end result? A few nice exercises in nostalgia and a smattering of evidence that you can teach an old dog new tricks, but unfortunately not enough to elevate Numan above the dubious status of yet another 21st century curio.