IT'S testimony to a great artist that in these casually indifferent times, so many were prepared to turn out on a cold January night to watch this man perform.

Observing Bob Dylan's old Greenwich Village guitar buddy cruise through songs old and new, the listener could be forgiven for thinking the time was 1962 and the Cuban missile crisis was about to send the world spinning into oblivion. But Paxton is far too wily an old fox to fall into the protest nostalgia trap and so he neatly and deftly updates his material - so it's not so much hey, hey LBJ rather a case of beating about the George Bush.

Paxton is a man of irrepressible optimism with an apparently unshakeable belief that the basic goodness of humankind will triumph despite everything. He sings with a youthful verve that belies his years, handling deeply personal material that would leave lesser players perhaps blushing to their roots - subjects such as homage to the wife and kids are handled with a feeling that in someone else's hands would appear totally naff.

Paxton's disarmingly direct approach is nicely garnished by the exquisite guitar and mandolin work of long time side-man Robin Bullock, whose empathy with the great man was beyond reproach, his melody lines danced over the master's chords like small birds on hedge tops, weaving in and out Paxton's lyrics with ease.

This concert was a reaffirmation of the indestructibly of the human spirit and the lesson will not have been lost on a capacity crowd.

JOHN PHILLPOTT