"I got here this afternoon and thought - 'Why am I back here?'"

Ray Davies' wonderment at finding himself at Bournemouth Pavilion more than 40 years after sharing a billing with The Beatles is just one of many affecting moments during tonight's superb performance.

His affection for Bournemouth becomes a recurring theme in the between-song anecdotes, during which he recalls that the town was the first in which The Kinks wore their soon-to-be-signature hunting pinks.

The audience responds enthusiastically to the obvious inference that Bournemouth means as much to Davies as he does to them, rising as one to cheer him from the stage after each of two triumphant encores, and joining willingly with the sing-along sections that pepper the set.

A descent into cabaret is avoided by the acerbic nature of the material and Davies' own irascible credibility. Tonight, he continues to rail against social injustice, identifying David Cameron as the lead in the sardonic Well Respected Man, and reading from his 1994 "unauthorised autobiography" X-Ray before launching into Twentieth Century Man.

The latter becomes a pivotal moment, shifting the set from acoustic sing-along to riotous rock 'n' roll. Stagehands subtly remove stools and other props, while the remainder of the band joins Davies and guitarist, Bill Shanley, almost imperceptibly. In an instant, the stage is lit atomic red, Davies appears almost superimposed under the glare of a spotlight, and the band assumes a tight ferocity.

Most of the hits are aired - Waterloo Sunset, All Day And All Of The Night, Dedicated Follower of Fashion et al - but tonight it's in the lesser-known songs that Davies is at his best. The shot remains of his once-beautiful voice only enhance the tenderness of the heart-rending highlight, See My Friends, and the presence of his unique talent is made inescapable.