It is extremely rare for any audience to be expressly told not to applaud the artist as they take to the stage or during the performance, but these are the exact instructions that are issued just before Rufus Wainwright begins his set.

The reason for this unusual request is that the first half of Wainwright’s show is an uninterrupted song cycle which is performed in tribute to Wainwright’s mother, folk singer Kate McGarrigle, who died from cancer in January.

Entering the stage slowly, Wainwright is clad in a long black cloak and lit by a single spotlight; he then plays almost the entire album All Days Are Nights: Songs For Lulu, a new arrangement based around some of Shakespeare’s sonnets and the closing aria of his opera Prima Donna, which opened not so long ago in London. Much of the new album was written during McGarrigle’s treatment and so has a stark, sombre feel to it – intense and touching at the same time.

The audience is totally respectful of Wainwright’s wishes and the level of silence in between songs is such that you can hear every creak of the New Theatre’s rickety seats. It’s a breathless hour, but a beautiful one too.

After a short break, Wainwright re-emerges and this time the stage is brightly lit and he’s dressed casually. He greets the crowd, thanks them for their consideration and proceeds to deliver a much jollier second hour. Laughing and joking with the audience, he plays a selection from his five studio works, including Cigarettes and Chocolate, Matinee Idol and Little Sister.

Many of Wainwright’s songs feel like tributes to fallen stars which, set against the New Theatre’s decaying auditorium, take on extra resonance.

At once both vaudeville in style and magnificent in technique, Wainwright ends with another tribute to his mother, by covering Walking Song, her 1977 release, laid bare on piano. It’s an austere homage and a fitting end to a great show.