If nothing in Sinead O'Connor's world is ever entirely straightforward - four children by four fathers; her recent dalliance with Rastafarianism, a sect not overly renowned for its indulgence of stroppy white women - and if it's a wonder her feet are not permanently bleeding, so often has she shot herself there, her musical gifts are a model of innovative consistency.

She still refuses to make things easy for herself. Last night, despite a marvellously bawdy joke that sadly cannot be shared here, she was at her most frustrating as a performer, refusing to look the audience in the eye and faffing endlessly with her on-stage sound during songs, although there were no problems in that department.

Yet, backed by a superlative five-piece band who brought out the genuine wonder of her songwriting, O'Connor remains a singular talent whose voice eclipses her nonsense.

It soared on the beautifully arranged If You Had a Vineyard (cheerily dedicated to "Christians who think God likes war"); it seethed on the bileladen Big Bunch of Junkie Lies and it was heartbreaking on both What Doesn't Belong to Me and a magically arranged Nothing Compares 2U. Perhaps it's time we started taking her seriously again.