As befits rock's most unpredictable elder statesman, you never know quite what a Neil Young concert will entail. In recent years, they have involved everything from gentle country to rock opera with added interpretative dance. Tonight is something of a smorgasbord. Close to three hours long, there are two sets, acoustic and electric. The former is littered with unreleased songs from the early 70s, but both are heavy on the classics: Cowgirl in the Sand, Don't Let It Bring You Down, Powderfinger. Nevertheless, you would hesitate to call it crowd-pleasing.
For reasons known only to Young, an artist paints canvases at the rear of the stage and announces songs by placing interpretative pictures on a large easel stage right. The unexplained visual art theme extends to Young's paint-spattered suit. He looks disturbingly like a man who has been on the receiving end of a seagull's bowel movement. Still, no one goes to see Neil Young in search of fashion tips.
A lot of them, however, seem to have come with the express intention of getting the notoriously taciturn 62-year-old to talk between songs. At first, he remains resolutely mute. Perhaps it is a defence mechanism; there are middle-aged men here screaming, "I love you, Neil!" Eventually, after a dazzling version of one of his loveliest songs, Journey Through the Past, he relents. The audience respond by cheering his every utterance, including a mention of Flin Flon, Manitoba. "Must be a lotta folks from Flin Flon here tonight," he deadpans.
But even the most impartial observer could see why Young continues to inspire such devotion. At 35 years old, Mellow My Mind has lost nothing of its wracked intensity, despite Young's decision to perform it on the banjo. He plays guitar as if he is trying to scare intruders off his property with it: brandishing it, thumping it against his knee, wrenching flurrying solos and shrieks of piercing feedback from it. Hey Hey, My My is pitched at a remarkable level of ferocity. More remarkable still, Young maintains this ferocity for the remainder of the set.
No Hidden Path is not the greatest of his extended guitar jams, but Young throws himself at it with an almost deranged abandon. An encore of Cinnamon Girl ends with a lengthy, startling coda: whenever you think it has finished, Young starts making a racket again. As metaphors for his own remarkable career go, it is perfectly apt.
· Until Sunday. Box office: 0844 844 4748. Then touring.
