What's her name? Virginia Plain .....

Wednesday sees yours truly and dear mrs electrofried mount yet another assault on the north face of Symphony Hall.  We're up in the Gods once more to see the lithe lounge lizard who is Bryan Ferry strut his merry stuff amongst the good burghers of Birmingham.

Suitably fortified with a pre-gig ingestion of illicit Sanatogen (the multi-vitamin of choice to the chronologically challenged) we don oxygen masks and crampons to brave the upper reaches of the Hall. We're greeted at the top by a peroxided, dyslexic usherette who points us confusingly toward the wrong row.  We take our seats and settle down.

The support act, Judith Owen, treats us to her take on Laurel Canyon and passes anonymously into the night. We're here for the man, and he duly appears on time to launch into a spirited rendition of the title track from his latest opus, 'Avonmore'.  It sounds rather good indeed, and belies Mr Ferry's imminent entry to the pantheon of septuagenarian rock stars.

And it just gets better and better!  Old favourites from the distant past of Roxy Music are dusted down and celebrated in fine style. How presciently thrilling is 'Ladytron' some forty three years after it first laid waste to the sound of the Seventies.  The excitement builds as the set takes in two Bob Dylan covers, some mournful ballads and another sprinkling from the Roxy Music back-catalogue, a rich canon of which Mr Ferry should rightfully be proud.

The evening reaches its culmination in five songs that span the years from 'Virginia Plain' to 'Jealous Guy' as we rise to our arthritic feet as one to sway in time together. Job done!