He may have reached the stage in his career where he can settle for being a national treasure, but there are still reserves of anger and passion washing around in Mac Rebennack, the singer-pianist better known as Dr John. Having seen his beloved New Orleans come close to destruction thanks to the combined efforts of Hurricane Katrina and the men in suits, he channelled much of his outrage into his recent album, City That Care Forgot.

A “pissed-off record” was how he described it on the bandstand at Ronnie Scott’s. His recent live dates, unfortunately, have sometimes found him going through the voodoo motions, and this show — the final instalment of the club’s 50th anniversary celebrations — turned out to be another competent but slightly perfunctory performance. Arriving on the stage, he looked as louche as ever in his shades, green suit and shaman’s necklace. But spontaneity was in short supply.

It was, too, another slightly frustrating evening for those of us who love him best for his piano playing. (The voice is more of a garbled growl than ever.) True, there were some joyous flourishes from time to time, usually in the opening bars of a number, but for the most part they were forced into the shadows by the surging beat of his compact backing band, the Lower 911. With no brass section on hand to add colour, some of the songs lapsed into a brisk but functional groove.

The evening still had its moments, though. At his most inspired, Rebennack is a one-man French Quarter. Goodnight Irene turned into a full-blooded tribute to that other Crescent City piano maverick, James Booker. There was plenty to admire in the ruthlessly economical drumming of Herman Ernest. And Love For Sale underwent a dramatically funky makeover, the melody heavily disguised as the leader cut loose, bouncing riffs off John Fohl’s sturdy guitar.

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