Friday 21/01/05 Julian Cope, Comets On Fire @ Royal Festival Hall, London

Firstly, a disclaimer: if you’re looking for objectivity, you won’t find it here. The demented, joyous, absurd, maddening, gleeful pop music that Julian Cope has made over the course of his long, convoluted career is amongst the best ever created in these islands. A Syd Barrett for the post-punk generation, he did the unthinkable and returned from the brink of acid-induced mania to claim his role as an eccentric elder statesman of English psychedelia. His weird, self-mythologising worldview and uncompromising pagan-hippie ethic may have alienated fly-by-night fans, but the huge audience present tonight shows that the faithful have far from given up on him.

In his forty-seven years, Cope has worn many hats: bona fide pop star; unlikely academic; lecturer on any topic from Krautrock to ancient standing stones. But it is his unfailing showmanship which allows him to fill a space like this. The punters know, no matter how weird or out-there he gets, he will always deliver the goods in a live environment. St. Julian will always wheel out the hits, and so tonight we’re treated to 'Reward' and 'Bouncing Babies' from his Teardrop Explodes years, 'Spacehopper' and 'Bandy’s First Jump' from his acid-fried pop-god phase, and several awe-inspiring selections from the twin glories of the 'Peggy Suicide' and 'Jehovahkill' albums. However, most of these occur in the second half of a two-part show. Firstly, St. Julian is keen to show off selections from his new album,  'Citizen Cain’d', which, happily, sounds like it might be his strongest in years. The noisy, riffing style is not dissimilar to that of his recent album with power trio Brain Donor, but there is more variety, and the songs seem more fully formed, often veering towards a warped classic-rock sound. Weird is never far away, of course, as Cope introduces a new song, saying: "This is about mistaking an alien for the grim reaper."

The half-time entertainment highlights another side of the Cope: evangelical fanboy. Sandwiching support group Comets on Fire between his two sets guarantees the noisy San Franciscans a much larger audience than they might expected earlier in the evening, and they certainly make an impression. The appropriately-named Ben Flashman lights the blue touchpaper with a killer bass riff, and then all hell breaks loose as guitarists Ethan Miller and Ben Chasny explode into action. Occasionally the band come together into a kind of chorus, and Miller shreds his vocal chords as he screams unintelligible lyrics. It’s messy, but somehow magnificent, and fills every inch of the RFH’s cavernous interior.

Cope returns for an increasingly chaotic greatest-hits type set of his own. Throughout the first half, his professionalism shone through, but this second half is ragged, energetic but unnerving. By the closing ten-minute rendition of 'Reynard The Fox', he is a flailing mess, screaming blasphemies at the ceiling, and re-enacting the chest-cutting scenes from earlier in his career. Luckily, we don’t get to see Julian spill his guts all over the stage, but it is nevertheless a disturbing end to the evening.