In the current climate, it could be considered a small miracle that Ben Folds is still a major-label artist. In an industry where talent isn’t always as essential as looks, and every day music television shows us the very best of The Completely Ordinary with their identical hair and uniform scowls, the goofy balding pianist nearing forty years of age with a Southern USA drawl and sporting thick rimmed specs must sometimes wonder what he’s got on the pristine kids with perfect teeth. Tonight, a sell-out crowd pack into Brixton’s Academy to find that out for themselves.

As you might expect from a man who has been recording and touring for more than ten years with no less than six studio albums under his belt (not including the spoken-word ‘Fear Of Pop’), tonight’s set is a mammoth hour and forty five minutes long. As Folds takes to the stage accompanied by the ultra-calm Jared Reynolds on the bass and well-spoken Englishman Lindsey Jamieson on drumming duties the ovation is deafening, but surprisingly for a man normally renowned for his interaction with the audience, he says barely anything for the first part of tonight’s performance. The first nine songs, played practically back-to-back, are all lesser known album tracks; piano-led pop-rock tales of lost love and the trials of growing old, mostly from Folds’ most recent album ‘Songs For Silverman’ as well as some from previous (and largely superior) effort ‘Rockin’ The Suburbs’. After such a muted start, Folds finally comes to life after the climax of the radio-friendly ‘Landed’, which not only gives the casual Folds fan something that they actually recognise, but is also the last of tonight’s material from ‘Songs..’.

Having put the newer songs to rest, Folds is instantly more assured in his manner. Having only been able to manage a sheepish grin and a small bow in response to the crowd’s applause so far, he squares up to the mic and announces "this next song is dedicated to anyone who’s ever been in prison.. and found out that his girlfriend.. who is a prostitute.. is sleeping with his cousin", before launching headlong into the novelty cover of Dr Dre’s ‘Bitches Ain’t Shit’, complete with a cringe-worthy Dick Van Dyke style rap in one of the verses from Lindsey Jamieson. It’s not big and it’s not clever, but it sure is funny and that’s largely the point. Why act cool when it’s so much easier to be so drastically uncool? Ben smiles a big smile as he is left alone on the stage with his piano to tenderly touch base with old Ben Folds Five favourites ‘Brick’, ‘Boxing’ and ‘The Last Polka’, before instructing the crowd on how to be a horn section in ‘Army’, a humorous take on failed life in the armed forces.

By the time his band rejoin the stage, Folds has found his groove, barely spending another moment sitting down. Hovering above the piano, he hammers the keys as if he’s using it as a tool rather than as an instrument, and when he’s not being Ben Folds the crazy pianist who can’t sit still, he’s telling stories relating to the songs, and instructing the audience on how to do backing vocals like a choir on ‘Not The Same’. This is all key to his performance; he is at once engaging and aloof in equal measure and it’s actually refreshing when compared to the styled, fashion conscious Franz Ferdinand-types and the permanently miserable shoegazers. So, as Folds merges the outro of ‘Philosophy’ with ‘Miserlou’, the audience give a response normally reserved for when Johnny Borrell takes his top off, or when the human pincushion Pete Doherty actually remembers to turn up to one of his gigs. As ‘One Angry Dwarf and 200 Solemn Faces’ closes the show and Folds shouts "kiss my ass goodbye!", you can’t help but hope he will return.

Hey, maybe there is no substitute for talent after all.