Bands give all sorts of reasons for reuniting, but the Cranberries' must be the most novel: in 2009, after five years apart, they decided to have another go "to celebrate Dolores [O'Riordan] becoming an honorary patron of the University Philosophical Society of Trinity College, Dublin".

Still sounding and looking – give or take a few beards – much as they did during their 1990s reign as one of Ireland's biggest groups, they were greeted by a full and adoring Albert Hall at their only British show.

Though their heyday seems a very long time ago, the four Berries hit the stage like a band accustomed to playing much bigger joints than this. "Some of the Cranbabies – our kids – are here. Hi, kids!" shouted O'Riordan, a pixie with elephantine lungs. Her unique voice – part unearthly wail, part no-nonsense yap – was honed by years of touring arenas, as was Noel Hogan's attack method of playing his guitar, which had him slamming the strings as if a stadiumful of fans were admiring his style. They were supported by a streamlined rhythm section and hired keyboardist, the whole package sounding oddly American.

O'Riordan's Celtic lilt was the only element that reminded you this lot started out in Limerick. It was the redeeming feature of lumbering behemoths such as Linger and Zombie, and made misty love songs such as Dreaming My Dreams positively lovely. A couple of songs from her two solo albums also slipped past in an agreeable fusion of swirling vocal and drivetime rock guitar.

There was no banter, though given the extent of their success – their No Need to Argue album alone sold 16m copies – she must surely have an anecdote or two. The omission made a pleasant enough show feel more impersonal than it needed to – something to consider for the next reunion tour, perhaps.