It takes a brave soul to cover Bob Dylan live let alone tour a song-for-song tribute to his iconic Royal Albert Hall gig of 1966. It takes an even braver one to do it while clearly under siege from some upper respiratory misfortune. But for one night in Newcastle, Cat Power proved that you don’t need full lung capacity to deliver a haunting, oddly moving tribute to His Bobness.

The setting was perfect: Newcastle’s glasshouse —classy, civilised yet dramatic enough to make every harmonica wail sound like a ghost escaping from the rafters. The crowd, a mix of reverent Dylanites and dreamy-eyed indie fans, settled in for a sermon of songs.

From the first few notes, it was obvious Cat Power wasn’t at her best physically. Her voice, usually smoky and supple was now ragged like a well-loved boot. “It’s all over now, baby blue” came out like a lullaby sung through a cup of Lemsip. And yet… it worked.

Between songs, she coughed discreetly, and sipped from a hot mug like a folk-singing librarian. But even with a cold (flu? plague?), she somehow managed to elevate the gig into something unusually intimate. Dylan’s songs, already rich with world-weariness took on an extra layer of fragility through her worn-out voice.

“Desolation Row” sounded more like a whispered warning. “Mr. Tambourine Man” floated through the air like a fever dream. By the time she got to “One too many mornings,” the room felt as if it had collectively caught her cold and didn’t mind.

Highlights? There weren’t really highs, just long, moody plateaus of husky beauty. Lowlights? Only if you came expecting polish as this was more like a beloved bootleg recorded in a snowstorm.  A gig that felt like a séance led by someone who should’ve been at home in bed with soup.

And yet, strangely unforgettable.

Simon Lunt