Divine Comedy

It would be easy for The Divine Comedy's Neil Hannon to become complacent: 20 years of critical and popular acclaim is bound to imbue one with a certain confidence. Fortunate then, that the Northern Irish singer-songwriter still pours himself into his performances.

Tonight is no exception: despite the occasional forgotten lyric or technical hiccup—a growing trend at the newly-refurbished Liquid Room, it seems, judging by Stornoway's misfortune the previous evening—Hannon keeps his audience hopelessly in thrall throughout his 90-minute set.

An angular figure in a grey fedora and clutching a satchel, Hannon's entrance is an unprepossessing one. Opening with 'Assume The Perpendicular', from latest album Bang Goes The Knighthood, might have been an ambitious move, running as it does the risk of unfamiliarity, but the large and increasingly boisterous audience don't miss a beat.

In fact, tonight's performance is defined not so much by Hannon—though his musicianship is admirable—as by the crowd's ecstatic participation in almost all aspects of the show. When Hannon stumbles on a line the crowd are quick to prompt him. Songs that might have been left lacking in the one-man-and-a-piano format are augmented by the punters' innate ability to join in with a guitar solo, bass riff or backing vocal line. Divine Comedy standards 'Becoming More Like Alfie' and 'National Express' ignite enormous singalongs, while the en masse whistling of the chorus on 'Songs of Love' is an unexpected highlight.

An unusual piano cover of MGMT's 'Time To Pretend' feels strange at first, but The Divine Comedy are a difficult act to argue with. Hannon is a languid presence, but an intense one; when he hushes the audience, they fall into deathly silence, and when he quips with them they love him for it. Often comic and entirely heavenly, it's nights like these that explain why Hannon and his rotating cast of musical companions have been so successful over the years.