Gilbert O’Sullivan @ Grand Opera House, York – 22nd September 2026

Words and Photos – John Hayhurst

There’s something wonderfully disarming about spending an evening with Gilbert O’Sullivan. Seated at his piano in a flowery shirt, he makes York’s Grand Opera House feel like somewhere considerably smaller. Between songs, his heartwarming stories have the easy familiarity of a favourite uncle chatting beside the fire. The difference, of course, is that this uncle can punctuate the conversation with some of the biggest hits of the 1970s.

Celebrating 60 years in music and approaching his 80th birthday, O’Sullivan has plenty to look back on. Across two sets and almost 30 songs, he effectively serves as his own support act, offering a generous evening in the company of a catalogue whose familiarity can sometimes obscure just how good the writing is.

Calling someone with that many hits underrated might sound contradictory. Yet O’Sullivan rarely seems to occupy quite the same space in conversations about great songwriters as some of his contemporaries. His gift deserves closer attention: those immediately welcoming melodies often carry words far more complicated, melancholy or questioning than their tunefulness first suggests. It’s easy to understand why admirers such as Paul Weller have championed him.

‘Nothing Rhymed’, arriving early in the evening, makes that argument beautifully. It is one of the night’s peaks, a reminder of how distinctive O’Sullivan’s writing was from the outset. There’s an extraordinary balance between the song’s melodic ease and its searching lyric, and hearing it with its author at the piano remains a privilege. You could make a similar case for several of the familiar favourites; choosing a single highlight almost feels unfair.

Alongside him is acclaimed guitarist Bill Shanley. The piano-and-guitar partnership suits the intimacy of the occasion, keeping the focus firmly on the songs and the man telling their stories. O’Sullivan stays at the piano throughout, but the warmth of his conversation gives the evening its own gentle movement. The anecdotes are a substantial part of its appeal, creating a connection that stagecraft alone couldn’t manufacture.

The audience largely looks to be in its sixties and upwards, making this a gathering of people who may have carried these songs through much of their lives. There’s something rather lovely about that shared history. The years between a record first entering someone’s home and its writer performing it in front of them lend an evening like this an emotional weight of its own.

There is, however, an honest qualification. Vocally, O’Sullivan isn’t quite as strong as we’d hoped. The singing is the aspect of the performance that leaves us wanting a little more, particularly with such beloved recordings in mind. That matters, and affection for the artist doesn’t entirely remove the disappointment. Equally, it doesn’t erase the pleasure of being here, hearing these songs delivered by the person who created them.

There’s fresh material, too, with a couple of songs from forthcoming album On The Record making an appearance. In a show celebrating six decades, that continuing appetite to write is heartening. The anniversary provides a reason to revisit the past, while new songs leave space for another chapter.

Ultimately, York gets an evening full of warmth, generosity and remarkable songwriting. Watching O’Sullivan undertake two substantial sets as he approaches 80 is something to appreciate, especially when the songs still offer so much. The vocals may fall short of expectation, but the pleasure of his company lasts. Sixty years into this musical life, there is still plenty worth pulling up a chair for.