On Saturday, I found myself at Radio City Music Hall, watching a 52-year-old British man in full evening dress croon uncertainly into a microphone while another Brit, of indeterminate age, fiddled with a keyboard while wearing sunglasses, a baseball cap, and a glow-in-the-dark hoodie. Other attractions included occasional breakdancing, several soulful backup singers, some curious sets, and a dancing opera hat. It was the best concert ever.