Within the famously fractious pop-folk partnership of Simon and Garfunkel, Arty seems to be the one who always used to leave the oven on.

While Simon comes across as immensely talented and driven, his childhood friend with the wacky hair and gorgeous voice has far more of the chilled-out stoner about him.

After drifting off the radar while Simon travelled the musical globe looking for inspiration, Garfunkel has decided to climb off his paisley-patterned hammock and go on tour again.

The recent, well-received Simon and Garfunkel reunion must have made it tempting for Art to dish up note-by-note replicas of the duo's greatest hits.

So it's to his credit that he and his band attempt to put their own spin on songs which have become as familiar as a washed-out Wimbledon match over the decades.

However, the uptempo version of El Condor Pasa, with its jaunty beats and synthesised pan pipes, was like a bad Spanish entry into Eurovision. If that added too much, the strangely understated take on The Boxer lacked the original's punch.

Instead of the cannon-like cymbal crash during the song's famous "lie, lie, lie" refrain, we got an underwhelming tap on the synth board.

Far better was the rocky, passionate Sound Of Silence, while Garfunkel's own compositions and a cover of Billy Joel's Selfish allowed the audience to fully appreciate the exquisite fragility of his aging but still wonderfully crisp vocals.

It was in these moments when the Dome knew it was in the presence of greatness, a feeling reinforced during three songs which could never be performed better by anyone else.

For Emily, Wherever I May Find Her was simply sublime, while you could almost hear the collective catch in people's throats during the haunting Bright Eyes.

Of course, the night's highlight was Bridge Over Troubled Water. Wisely stripped of too much pomp and circumstance, Garfunkel's voice took centre stage and banished all memories of those thousands of terrible Pop Idol wannabes and reclaimed the classic song as his own.

Here's to Art Garfunkel, a legend of the Sixties and a true daydream believer.