A look at what is happening in the world of the arts

Rod Stewart at The Point, Dublin

Musical trends and statuesque blondes may come and go, but there are at least two things about Rod Stewart that remain the same: that suggestively husky voice and, oh my, that hair. Both seem astonishingly well preserved as Rod wriggles, snake-hipped, into his 60s, and he underscores the point by opening this greatest hits tour with Forever Young.

That he follows with Young Turks and You Wear it Well might be overstating his boundless energy, however.

In fact, in the first concert of his three-night Dublin residency, Rod informs us (with curious specificity) that we will hear 29 songs, repeating grimly, "We have a long show to get through." He makes it sound like a chore.

Thankfully, the show is so grand in design and steeped in the fantasies of an unreconstructed playboy - here, an Amazonian sax player in a mini-skirt; there, the priapic postures of a lead guitarist; everywhere, backing singers who form Rod sandwiches - that the audience spirits become ever higher. Hell, even Rod is being won over.

Rollicking through Sweet Little Rock & Roller and soaring through Rhythm of My Heart, his slick show also finds room for video, animations and costume changes galore. Such precision makes Rod's unregulated dancing all the more fetching, consisting largely of jogging, skiing and thrusting motions.

Beneath the appealing bombast, however, an emotive The Killing of Georgie can become smothered.

And when, following an interval, Rod turns his attentions to the lucrative American Songbook phase of his career, he seems hampered by its formality. That stentorian belting may sound wonderful on a Downtown Train, but it leaves awkward craters in a Blue Moon.

Still, with the uplifting Sailing, the mandolin-driven release of Maggie May or the rhetorical disco of Do You Think I'm Sexy? Stewart asks us to believe in eternal love and eternal life. You can't afford to be a doubter, and in Rod we trust. Peter Crawley

Money Mark at Crawdaddy, Dublin

The famed "extra" member of a music group can either benefit by association or be seen as superfluous. As the "fourth Beastie Boy", Mark Ramos-Nishita was never a useless appendage. His chunky organ grooves and unlikely hooks brought the Brooklyn rap pack into new musical territory. But, as this winningly ramshackle and terrifically entertaining show proved, Mark doesn't rest on his phantom membership.

With an effortless command of three turntables, his accomplice Kid Koala scratched a schmaltzy Moon River into pieces, then carefully put it back together again. Mark followed suit with the kooky experiment of Feedback 101, its whistles and distortions coaxed from a piece of equipment that might have been a car battery, or a bomb. With the unswerving belief that a groove can be found anywhere, the multi-instrumentalist knows there is art in noise.

Some of what followed resembled hip-hop as though composed from found sounds and sonic detritus. But this gave way to the mauled funk of Insects Are All Around Us; then to a vulnerable ballad about fatherhood.

A product of the postmodern age, Mark's music is laid-back and stylistically promiscuous but, crucially, never cold or knowing. Hauling audience members onstage to hold equipment or supply a drumbeat, it was a gig to love not in spite of its faults, but because of them.

Never Stop, Cry and Hand in Your Head came off well, but Another Rainy Day stood out, bravely stitching Koala's tropicalia beats to Mark's loose, glassy reading of a jazz standard. They exuded an easy charm that can't be rehearsed, performing music that probably could have been. But as Crawdaddy danced steadily into the night, nobody seemed to mind. Peter Crawley