If there was a cooler dude than Georgie Fame in the house on Saturday night then that must have been one real cool dude indeed.

Having turned 70 days before, Fame might have been forgiven for mentioning pension plans a few times but while the hair has turned whiter with the passing years, his voice remains remarkably youthful, sounding virtually unchanged on the songs – such as Yeh Yeh and Getaway – whose lasting success and royalties will sustain him, let's hope, into a right good age.

Instrumentally, too, Fame remains vigorous and compelling, his Hammond organ licks, big swelling chords and booting basslines sending out a wonderfully luxuriant, punchy sound in partnership with son James's stylishly apposite, magnificently channelled drumming and his other son Tristan's fine bluesy guitar playing.

As has become normal with Fame, an oral history narrative accompanied a set list whose contents were clearly well-rehearsed yet never gave the impression of being off the shelf. His memory for details is remarkable and doubtless a product of the enthusiasm he has for the music that has fed into his own style and repertoire. Who could resist hearing about Fame having to sack his drummer and flatmate, Mitch Mitchell, and then accompanying him to a club where, hours later, he joined the Jimi Hendrix Experience?

Not jazz? Too bad: Fame swings and improvises and carries on the traditions of Jon Hendricks, Peggy Lee, Ray Charles, Mongo Santamaria and a heap of others as well as Booker T, Ry Cooder and Jim Reeves, and his blues singing, like the man himself, has real personality.

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