The eighth Isle of Wight Festival, in its present reincarnation, is the first major festival of the summer, and this year’s was blessed with beautiful weather. Canny islanders were selling sun hats where their Glastonbury counterparts are probably stocking up on Wellington boots. There were good vibes all round on the last day with capacity crowds and even a gang of lads handing out free beer to any likely Neil Young fans.

It was all going so well until the 1980s pomp rock has-beens Simple Minds, third on the bill, took to the main stage. The nadir of their plodding set was a slow castration of Van Morrison's Gloria. Things picked up markedly with the veteran US indie rockers the Pixies, who cranked out louche but still vital renditions of old favourites. They finished with a suitably brutal Where Is My Mind?, as the sun slid down behind the trees and a cool breeze began to ripple flags around the stage.

And then it was time for the 63-year-old headline act. Neil Young is a busy man. This year alone he has released a new album, a remastered retrospective, made a tour film and is playing Hyde Park and Glastonbury in quick succession. He entered with no fanfare, slung with acoustic guitar and harmonica, onto a stage littered with antique speakers, barroom pianos and a dimestore Indian.

Three acoustic numbers in, and Young got down to business. The backing band (including Crazy Horse great Ben Keith on pedal steel) filtered on, and Young embarked on what might have been a "best of" set, except that he has such a colossal back catalogue that it would be impossible to please everyone. But he tried, with Heart of Gold, Cinnamon Girl, Mansion on the Hill and F***'n Up, the last two from his Ragged Glory album, whose squalling, chugging rhythm informed the bulk of his set.

During a deliriously good rendition of Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black), Young, bathed in blue light, hair flailing, scowling, hunkered down over his Les Paul electric guitar, for all the world like a werewolf in a plaid shirt stalking the stage. Barely scratching the surface of his back catalogue, he produced a 15-minute take on Keep on Rockin' in the Free World that sated the crowd. For the chorus, the stage exploded in swirling lights, and the audience, momentarily stunned, was ecstatic.

Young finished with the Beatle's A Day in the Life, bringing it to an apocalyptic finale, twanging his guitar until all the strings broke and it was placed alone centre stage. If that seemed unduly theatrical, no one was complaining. There are a good few miles left under the hood of this vintage class-act yet.

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