There’s a saying doing the rounds that goes something like, “I love Patrick Wolf but I hate Patrick Wolf fans.” Unsurprisingly, it’s the fans who say this. And yet, where were all these annoying, teenage Wolf look-alikes, who normally crowd round, hands outstretched to receive Patrick communion? This time there was little love. Instead, a barrier of provincial lust separated a sullied wolverine vintage from the wolf himself, rolling his eyes. His reply to a girl shouting, “I love you!” was, “Be careful with your love”. I guess the food poisoning had made him rather wry but, even so, the atmosphere just didn’t have that womb-like intensity particular to Patrick’s gigs.

With the release of his third album, The Magic Position, later this month, Wolf, who is still only 23, has moved on from the Cornish melancholia of his last album, Wind In The Wires, towards a more pop-sensitive carousel of brass band flourishes and loved-up electronic sparkles. His hair is now ginger and, food poisoning aside, he is a dazzling performer. The resuscitation of many of the older songs from his incredible first album Lycanthropy, including “To The Lighthouse” and “Bloodbeat”, supported the performance of new material, despite highlighting just how superior his earlier work is in the eyes of many of his fans.

It's also worth mentioning a transfixing support act from No Bra, a one wo-man phenomenon who makes singing (badly) about STDs and cocaine beautiful.

The gig finished soberly, as Wolf changed into his sequins and crocodile print leggings to perform “The Libertine”, only to scuttle offstage straight after, perhaps in fear of further revenge from the offending marinated octopus.

4 Stars

Giovanni Menegalle