Kirsty MacColl

Leaving Brazil and going direct to Cuba via chilly end-of-pier Britain, Kirsty MacColl's first bona fide gig in Ireland for many years was initially a stop-start affair. The first 45 minutes was a run-through of her new album, Tropical Brainstorm, a departure in musical terms (swinging, sashaying Latino instead of polished, quintessentially British pop) but lyrically a logical continuation of her preoccupation with matters of the bruised and broken heart.

In different hands such a stylistic alteration might jar. In the very capable digits of MacColl (arguably the best, if under-appreciated, British female pop songwriter of the past 20 years) the change is virtually imperceptible. Yes, the musical backing has more spice than the average sizzling salsa dip, but the songs, more or less, remain the same.

The truly great aspect of MacColl, however, is not so much any stylistic detour she might engage in but the way in which she invests so much of herself into her songs. New material such as Wrong Again, England 2 Columbia 0, Treachery and her soon-to-be-released single, Mambo De La Luna, employ such a vast array of love-gone-wrong emotions that it's difficult to differentiate between singer/songwriter conceit and heart-laid-bare confessional.

The end result was a rough but all-too-ready gig that highlighted MacColl's strengths as a febrile but feisty songwriter, a woman whose pop art (be it wrapped up in Latino or Ladbroke Grove vibrations) is no more throwaway than a granite block - and just as hard-hitting.