There are two ways of going about getting the attention of a large crowd in the open air who are hell-bent on stuffing their mouths, slaking their thirsts and taking silly photographs of each other.

The first is to do a Beck, which involves saying very little between songs and hoping the big black hat and shades will say hello for you.

The second is to do a Morrissey, which involves wearing a pair of too-large jeans that require constant adjustment, scratching your head as if fearful of nits, and fitting in a few songs in between addresses to the nation.

On Friday evening in Hyde Park, the first one fell flat and the second paid dividends.

It was not that Beck and his tight little band were bad, they just didn't come across. Loser got a few otherwise lazy folk jiggling about, and a version of the Korgis' Everybody's Got To Learn Sometime was melody of the night, but the new material served only to set the audience examining their fast-food platters for signs of nutrition.

Morrissey was in no mood for fast-food of any description. Meat, and in particular hamburgers, felt the lash of his tongue. Kylie Minogue, adopted darling and newly ennobled, was dismissed with withering scorn. The years have not dimmed the disdain of the mighty Moz for anything that does not satisfy his aesthetic demands. The commonplace crucifies him.

Having said that, he can be exhilarating. Last of the Famous International Playboys was a hoot, particularly when performed by a man in matching Playboy T-shirt.

Death of a Disco Dancer, Vicar in a Tutu and What She Said also muddled sensory perceptions and caused mayhem, as did a cover of the Buzzcocks' You Say You Don't Love Me. In between, life was mostly a pigsty, although it must be said that Morrissey, like a latter day saviour, wallows in the trough so that we may be spared the experience.