Beck in the Royal Hospital Kilmainham on June 17^th 2015

The last special occasion that Beck played in a field around these parts was last year’s Electric Picnic festival, where he proved that he may just be the finest showman currently operating in music. Beck Hansen’s command of a stage, a band, and a crowd is top level stuff – this is a man that many considered to have out-funked Nile Rogers on the same Stradbally bill, remember.

 Johnny Greenwood and the London Contemporary Orchestra in hindsight seem an odd choice of opener, as interesting as it all was. Greenwood’s all-instrumental ensemble is a more thoughtful listening experience, an experimental run-through of his own film scores, covers, and new material. Seated at the far end of the stage, Greenwood cuts an unimposing figure, seeming to take a back seat at times as the orchestra become the central focus. Greenwood watches them interpret his creations, hand covering his mouth and eyes occasionally darting to the sheet music as they progress.

A dodgy lead causes a wince before There Will Be Blood’s Future Markets, and Greenwood is conspicuously absent during the film’s title track. He reappears, standing behind the violinist, reading music over his shoulder. Beside him the cellist breaks a string, and Greenwood commandeers the instrument’s head as he continues to play, on hand to assist. The aforementioned string player also racks up one of the set’s more interesting moments, taking to the stage alone for Mica Levi’s Love and creating a thunderstorm of rumbling, menacing sounds.

Greenwood straps on one of two guitars on the other side of the stage for Steve Reich’s tripartite Electric Counterpoint – he plays alone, layering endless melodic motifs with loops and delays before the song abruptly switches tempo, with intricate counter melodies set upon complex building blocks. A web address appears on the backdrop for closer Self Portrait For Seven Strangers, and participants are instructed to put their phones on flight mode while a button appears in the browser. When tapped, the phone emits a sympathetic tone in tune with the orchestra playing onstage. It’s sonically feeble; more of a venture for an indoor arena than a bustling outdoor affair, and it’s a bit of a distraction. Above all, it renders you every bit as useless as you imagined you would be jamming with Johnny Greenwood.

“We brought you some sunshine” Beck announces before the quintet crackle into Devil’s Haircut, with guitarist Jason Faulkner every bit as energetic as Hansen, lifting off as the singer winds around the stage. It’s a more stripped back stage show than that at Electric Picnic, a show he references in one of his many asides to the audience. “I’m falling in love with it here” he tells us after experiencing the drive up from the previous night’s Marquee gig in Cork, but you get the feeling that serotonin levels are generally bubbling over when the Beck roadshow is trucking on. The ensuing Blue Moon’s “oh, don’t leave me on my own” line seems doubly affecting on the back of the admission, as is Heart is A Drum, both new tracks a warm sojourn into calmer waters in the predominantly sprightly set. Think I’m in Love morphs into Donna Summers’ I Feel Love, and things kick off a bit more with The New Pollution – Beck casts off his jacket and busts out the moves, teasing an imaginary quiff with an equally fanciful compact mirror.

The guitar is eschewed for crowd incitement – “If you want to stamp your feet and clap your hands say ‘Hell Yes’!” – and things get that bit more soulful as dusk falls. Joey Waronker rolls around a drumkit that Keith Moon would be proud to call his own on Paper Tiger, while Beck’s instruction to “Strike up the band” is taken fully on board by Justin Meldal-Johnsen on bass, fingers flying at breakneck speed as the frontman aims to “defy the logic of all sex laws”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into us. I think it was the Teddy’s ice-cream”, Beck offers before E-Pro. Strobes blare, Beck solos upfront – proper monitor shredding – and the song kicks briefly into double-time before clattering to an end. Meldal-Johnson and Faulkner writhe on the floor in a heap, feedback intensifying, while Beck rolls yellow and black crime scene tape across the front of the stage.

“I’d like to pronounce this stage safe once more” he announces, tearing down the tape and reappearing for an encore that packs in more than most full sets. Now decked out in a white tuxedo jacket, he lies down on the stage floor for an amiable chat with crowd. “Showboat, my man” he instructs Meldal-Johnsen, whose body contorts with Rapper’s Delight. Faulkner steps forward for The Stones’ Miss You, and then it’s Roger Manning’s turn on keys…but not yet. The crowd keeps Miss You going, Beck dances through, and suddenly we’re into the Axel F theme from Beverley Hills Cop.

“We’re not ready to go back to Where It’s At yet!” Beck announces, and the band goes quiet. He whips out a harmonica for some blues hollering on One Foot In The Grave, counting and bouncing back in to draw the night to its conclusion. All five come out to bow, then his colleagues bundle Beck in a huddle within them, ushering him off the stage. They tease a few times – a comedy back and forth from the wings to centre stage where a swansong seems on the cards. Ultimately it’s not to be; not here in curfew land – but that’s okay. Beck’s love for the place is wholly reciprocated, the ultimate showman demonstrating once more in the Irish night that he’s in a league of his own.