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The year was 1995, the place southern Spain.
In a string of small rural towns, Elvis Costello played to rapturous audiences who had never before heard of him.
The music he brought them was not the New Wave of the 1970's, nor the politicised nous of the 1980s.
Instead, it was an ambitious layering of vocals on classical — epitomised in his 1993 collaboration with string ensemble The Brodsky Quartet and the resulting album The Juliet Letters.
And they loved it. "It was great. That music has brought me places I could never have gone before."
"All over the world people still come and ask me about The Juliet Letters. Considering that album was not well-received critically, it translated much better than anything else I have done."
"Funnily enough, it's the only album you can still get on my old label."
There's just a hint of glee as Elvis, real name Declan MacManus, remembers the disdain which initially greeted The Juliet Letters.
Indeed, some pundits were "positively antagonistic" towards the darling of the post-punk era learning to read and write music — which he did, in six months.
But then London-born, Liverpool-raised Costello has never had much time for rules.
Like when he refused to give interviews to the media for his first five years as a singer.
Or when he consistently declines to turn up at celebrity bashes and take copious amounts of drugs.
Surprisingly, for someone who is considered one of his generation's true greats, there is no trace of ego or arrogance in this position.
"You have to separate music and what's euphemistically called the music industry," he says softly.
"I have a vocation and I'm very fortunate I have managed to make it my profession.
"As a consequence, I'm obliged to accept certain realities — I know certain types of radio are closed to me, for example, just by virtue of my age.
"But you can either get fed up with the rules, or you can go round them.
"Sometimes it's the long way round and you have to work twice as hard.
"But the great thing is about my kind of music is I always feel the quality of listening is better.
"What I mean is that people who go to the concerts are really there because they want to listen — not because they like my haircut or I used to be in a soap opera."
A former frontman for the Attractions, he produced his debut album — the knock-'em-dead My Aim Is True — on sick pay from his day job as a computer operator back in 1977.
The gushing reviews kept coming with the likes of Blood & Chocolate, This Year's Model, King of America and Armed Forces.
After going solo in 1987 — a time when many promising young artists flounder — Elvis continued to reinvent himself with Spike, Mighty Like A Rose (named after a Count John McCormack song) and Brutal Youth.
The last ten years have been "especially rich," offering forays into Irish traditional music — his grandfather is from Ulster — country 'n' western and, of course, his beloved jazz.
Last year saw him team up with legendary songwriter Burt Bacharach for the album Painted From Memory which, incidentally, pipped Celine Dion to a Grammy award.
He has also re-formed a working relationship with ex-Attractions pianist Steve Nieve, with whom he duets on the current tour which brings him to the Waterfront Hall next Tuesday night.
He and Steve have been gigging around North America, perfecting a more ambient, intimate performance than the angry Elvis of old delivered.
"Hearing music up close is an easy way to fall in love with it," he says.
"As Steve and I have done more concerts together, we've gained more and more confidence.
"There's a barrier which comes with volume and quite a lot of what I've tried to do over the years is to break that down until we come down to the really essential elements — really good songs, singing and great playing from Steve.
"I won't say too much about my guitar playing, but it does the job..."
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