IT was always going to be an extraordinary evening from the moment they announced from the stage that Bobby Womack needed to borrow a white belt from someone in the audience before he could come on.

And that was just the start of it.

Womack finally arrived on stage a hour late wearing an all white emsemble and semi military cap and shades which made him look like a dictator of an obscure South American republic.

Now in his late sixties, he’s not been in the best of health and spent a large proportion of the show perched precariously on a bar stool centre stage.

The sound was appalling, occasionally the whole thing looked on the verge of chaos and yet it all worked and worked wonderfully.

Not for nothing is Womack considered a soul legend.

For two-and-a-half hours he ran through song after song backed by a truly magnificent 13-piece ban with his voice a strong as ever.

His between song spiel and in-song ramblings were completely indecipherable in the balcony but to be honest it mattered little.

This was one of those magic nights when you really had to be there.