For someone who hasn't had anything resembling a hit in 20 years and hasn't toured internationally in almost as long, Nina Hagen can sure draw a crowd. The Commodore was packed last Friday night, and not with any run-of-the-mill rock-concert audience, either. A marlin-spiked punker bobbed his head up front while a sailor-suited transvestite tottered on stiletto pumps behind me, adjacent to a dude sporting a Mike Reno headband (but lacking the red-leather pants to match). As Elvis Presley once famously said of himself, "People will come from miles around to see a freak." Well, it looked like most of this crowd had come from no farther away than the West End, but Hagen certainly qualifies as a freak--and I mean that in a good way.

Striding on-stage to the strains of "Return of the Mother", the singer threw back the hood of her shimmering black cloak to reveal her ever-striking visage. Her raven tresses were held in place by Nightmare Before Christmas baubles, and a skull-shaped pendant dangled from her left ear. Hagen will celebrate her 50th birthday in March, but she looks at least a decade younger and, even though she resorted to reading some of her lyrics from handwritten cue cards, she commanded the room with her loose-lipped mugging and general diva demeanour.

Oh, and her voice, of course. This evening's takes on "New York, New York" and "Ave Maria" suggested that she can't quite reach the operatic heights of her mid-'80s peak, but she can still sell a song with fiery aplomb, and her uncannily demonic growl remains intact. Her finest singing of the night, surprisingly enough, was showcased on a rocked-up rendition of the African-American gospel chestnut "Right on Time". If Hagen ever decided to release a straight-up blues record, it would be well worth a listen.

And--who knows?--she might just do that. The East Germaní‚ ­born entertainer clearly has no qualms about leaping from one genre to another. She and her able four-piece band worked their way through a set that encompassed thrashy punk rock (including a blazing cover of the Ramones' "Zero Zero UFO"), dub, rockabilly, jump blues, rifftastic heavy metal, and disco. The stylistic meanderings occasionally drove the concert's momentum into a brick wall. A half-assed take on Nirvana's "All Apologies", to which Hagen either forgot the lyrics or figured her own were better, was an embarrassment, as was a number called "Pollution Pirates". The latter tune's environmental message was laudable, if obvious, but the song itself was a white-reggae cringer.

Hagen didn't make things any better when she returned for an encore by herself, strapping on a guitar to sing a pair of campfire-worthy protest anthems about women's empowerment and youth, er, empowerment. It seems Hagen knows only a few chords, so both songs ended up being in the same key, with suspiciously similar vocal melodies. It was at this point that I started looking at my watch, but the die-hard Ninaphiles who had waited so many years for the punk icon's return to these shores were willing to forgive the artist for these lulls. And so was I, once her band returned to end the show with some high-energy rock.

Sadly, they passed over some of Hagen's best-known songs, including "Smack Jack" and "Universal Radio". If you're only going to come to town once every 18 years, you're practically obligated to play your hits, even if you have to read them off a TelePrompTer.