George Clinton doesn't really cut the sartorial dash of old. Where once the self-styled Dr Funkenstein would take to the stage in flowing fluorescent African robes or Technicolor sci-fi costumes, tonight he stands before us, three days short of his 72nd birthday, in a voluminous plaid shirt and straw boater as if observing dress-down Friday.

Clinton has been resting on his laurels for years, but what laurels they are. In the 70s, his two freak-flag psychedelic-funk collectives, Parliament and Funkadelic, dominated black music in the US, welding acid-rock tropes to lubricious soul and a simultaneously visionary and cartoon strain of Afro-futurism. Nobody looked or sounded as fantastical as Clinton.

With only one album of original material this millennium, he has in recent years toured his back catalogue with a 20-or-so-strong collective of former members of his two groups. Clinton himself is now little more than a passenger. His voice a hoarse rasp, he spends the night conducting his band, mugging at the crowd and absenting himself for lengthy intervals.

His ensemble lacks the lewd, lascivious genius of its P-Funk prime, but still stages a slick and groovy funk-soul revue. One Nation Under a Groove builds from a slender a cappella opening to a thrilling cacophony, while a histrionic cover of Crazy shows that Gnarls Barkley are just one of the countless modern bands owing Clinton a sizeable musical debt.

He growls through the febrile Give Up the Funk (Tear the Roof off the Sucker) like another 1970s icon, Fozzie Bear, and exits after an uneven but enjoyable two-and-a-half-hour set. Chances are most people came here tonight to tick off a living legend; they will not have left disappointed.

• Did you catch this gig – or any other recently? Tell us about it using #GdnGig