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Frank Turner's old pal Jay gigs under the moniker of Beans on Toast and his tuneful ponderings of love, life and social network sites aren't particularly well known on Irish shores. He's playing to a select few enthused fans down at the front while everyone else settles in, ditches their coats and make their way to the bar. There's a decent smattering of applause in all the right places as the courteous Belfast crowd seem to enjoy the set from this affable young Englishman.

Local heroes Oppenheimer are the main support act of the evening and Rocky and Shaun seem genuinely excited by the prospect of showcasing the wares of their new album to a hometown crowd after a live show hiatus of around nine months. The new tunes are decent, predictably Oppenheimer-esque, laden with vocoder, big choruses and Americanisms. Tunes perfect for American radio and TV syncs perhaps but perhaps leaving a few people craving Breakfast in NYC or Saturday Looks Bad to Me. There's an epic eight minute track in the middle of the set as the boys take a leaf from the prog pop book and rewrite it Oppenheimer style. The set's a little like going a few rounds with a prize fighter. You know what they're capable of and while there's playful jabs and posturing aplenty you can't help feel there needs to be a knock out punch at some point. Shaun's waxing lyrical about KRS1 and Sound of the Police and then boom! There it is! Oppenheimer go rap. It's a pop delight, sounding a little bit like Do The Bartman rapped over the top of an Andrew WK riff. Rocky and Angie share vocal duties, the crowd are sucked in, heads are nodding along, there's a breakout of infectious smiling and once again all is good in camp Oppenheimer.

A palpable tension's been building all night in the venue and Frank Turner bounds on stage shortly after eleven accompanied by backing band and launches straight into a frantic set of old and new. It's a bold move to kick off with two of the biggest hits from the latest album but as the crowd find their voice and join in with the chorus of The Road you can tell it's going to be a special night.

Slow acoustic ballads, country punk moments and good old fashioned rock and roll, no matter what genre Turner and band attack there seems to be a little gem of a sing-along anthem in there. Older punters smile knowingly at the back of the venue during the unplugged strains of Smiling at Strangers on Trains while the younger fans in plaid and floppy fringes rock out down the front to the last singles from Love, Ire and Song. There's less in the way of inter song banter and storytelling than you might get at a Frank Turner solo show and no let up as one track weaves seamlessly into the next instantly recognisable and singable tune.

Sons of Liberty is as political as it gets on the night, there's a clear mission to kick back and have fun instead. The ballads are kept to a minimum and the sweat and sore legs are borne with pride as the sign of a great show. Substitute, Long Live the Queen and Photosynthesis are stand out highlights although with such a personable performer onstage everyone will have their own favourite moment. Twelve thirty is time to go home, time to cool down, time to reflect on a thoroughly enjoyable set and perhaps time for Frank Turner to contemplate a greatest hits compilation.

Scott Edgar