I went to see Jonathan Richman & The Modern Lovers for the first time at Hammersmith Odeon in the summer of ’77 and he sang Ice Cream Man – six times in a row.

It wasn’t quite what I expected. Like everyone else, I had gone along hoping to see and hear the Velvets-influenced band that made the landmark album of that name.

Things started off promisingly, with a rendition of the glorious Roadrunner. Then they got a bit silly, with Richman – in some sort of Latino fancy dress complete with pencil moustache – showcasing a number of new songs that were little more than nursery rhymes.

This was one of them, and when he sang it six times in succession we began to wonder whether we were part of some sort of conceptual joke. But things got worse, with more infantile songs like I’m A Little Aeroplane.

The concert reached its nadir when he got down on all fours and crawled out from behind a stack of speakers singing a song called I’m A Little Dinosaur, before crawling back to hide there.

It was very awkward: I remember we were unsure whether to laugh, cheer or send for the men in white coats. Was Richman an idiot savant – or just an idiot? And if so, how had he made an album as brilliant as The Modern Lovers’ debut? He didn’t even take drugs, for goodness sake, so there was no Syd Barrett/Peter Green incident to explain things.

Whatever it was, and he had announced that after that debut album he would only record “happy songs,” this one lodged firmly in the memory – how could it not, after six consecutive renditions?! – with its infantile lyric about the ice cream man with his “little chimes – ding ding – they reel and rock.”

I last saw Richman onscreen in that recent Velvet Underground documentary film and he seemed pretty peculiar there in his dotage, recalling seeing his favourite band “90 or 90 times” – I didn’t know they had even played that many gigs – and showing off photos he had persuaded someone to take of the band with their superfan. He’s clearly not the full shilling.