LIVE: Sufjan Stevens at The Royal Festival Hall

It may be a strange claim to make, but The Age of Adz was possibly one of 2010's most underrated records. Yes, it was cluttered, eccentric to the point of madness and excessively long, but I had hoped that an album so bold and unique would've made a stronger showing in the end of year polls. However, sitting in the audience for Stevens' first UK show in almost five years, the thought occurs that perhaps the album would have gone down better if he'd just recorded live versions of its songs, as the necessary stripping down of the busy arrangements makes them seem considerably more accessible.

Hopefully the Adz-sceptics at the show also found that to be the case, as to say that the night's set list draws heavily from the album would be an understatement – out of the fifteen songs performed, which take two and a half hours to work through, more than half come from it. Although it's still no doubt a bit of a rude shock for those who had been waiting years to see him perform Illinois' more beloved material, which may explain the steady stream of audience comings and goings during each song. That being said, it's equally likely that this is just a sad reflection of the decreasing capacity of audience's attention spans/bladders. Either way it's an unwanted distraction.

Not that Stevens lets this sway him from continuing with the audience-unfriendly set list, instead relying on the efforts of a ten-piece backing band to grab the attention. In particular, opener Seven Swans is spine-chillingly loud, and just in case the volume didn't prove to be enough, there's also the arresting image of the band performing in darkness, only visible from the fluorescent details on their outfits and instruments, or the gigantic pair of wings worn by Sufjan. It's like a charmingly homemade take on Tron (the replacement of Vesuvius' recorder section with some Daft Punk-esque keyboard suggests that he even sat through the sequel), and the rest of the evening is equally stuffed with costumes, props and video projections. For once, being relegated to the cheap seats has a distinct advantage - getting too close to the audio-visual spectacular on stage may well cause seizures (as it was recently reported that Stevens suffered a breakdown from watching Fantastic Mr Fox, god knows what would happen if he'd been in the audience for his own show).

Although, it's not all dazzling spectacle; a portion of the evening is devoted to more enlightening purposes, with Stevens' presenting a slide show on Adz inspiration Royal Robertson's artwork. In fact, Stevens does a lot of talking, covering the album's painstaking recording process, an explanation/apology for his more self-conscious lyrics, and, oddly, his hips. Apparently, the secret to Stevens' muscular physique is his discovering of the joy of dance, and he and his backing singers spend much of the evening performing carefully choreographed but endearingly lame routines (it may be the only time that somebody has danced the robot with sincerity).

Set closer Impossible Soul provides them with the perfect opportunity to show off their moves, mostly thanks to its ridiculous length. The twenty-five minute run time may seem indulgent on record, but live it makes perfect sense with the euphoria felt on reaching the song's upbeat midsection heightened by the ten minute build-up that precedes it. That's not to say that the build-up doesn't provide its own pleasures – it involves Sufjan donning a head-dress that looks like a silver Christmas tree - but it's no match for the joyful mood of what follows, which compels most of the audience to rise to their feet and dance. It's one of those communal moments that gigs should deliver in theory, but so rarely do in practice.

After that, you'd forgive him for not coming back for an encore, especially as he admitted that he'd been flagging since the second song. But he does, eventually, and the Illinois fans finally get what they came for with solo renditions of Concerning the UFO Sighting... and John Wayne Gacy, Jr. These are greeted with hushed appreciation from the audience, but perhaps the most moved is Stevens himself who visibly breaks down during both. Fortunately, rather than end the evening on a downer, the rest of the band join him for Chicago, and the celebratory mood is back again, aided by the release of balloons into the audience and even more dressing up and ridiculous dancing on stage.

Of course, out of necessity the show has been planned to precision (his performance at the venue the following night features a near identical setlist), but it's delivered with such commitment it feels completely spontaneous. And actually, other artists could learn something here – the smooth running of the show makes a wonderful alternative to the usual gig going experience of spending most of the night looking at an empty stage. Various points in the evening may have dragged a little – whether this is the fault of audience-members not willing to go with the strange whims of an already strange artist, or the artist for not realising the importance of editing is up for debate - but hopefully Stevens won't make us wait another five years to experience it all again.