It’s probably best for both Morrissey and his small legion of intensely devoted followers that Lollapalooza ended before it began. The finicky former Smith is at his best when preaching to the choir, not trying to win over an amphitheater full (or half full, as the case may have been) of apathetic, sun-baked festival-goers. When the tour crumbled, its other headliners—Modest Mouse, String Cheese Incident, etc.—scrambled to put together summer tours. Morrissey chose to play just one American date, a charity event organized by American Express, at Chicago’s House Of Blues. Even though you could only purchase tickets with a particular brand of credit card—one guess which—the show sold out in less than five minutes.

Fans at the packed House Of Blues—which reportedly made its menu meatless that night to accommodate the vegetarian headliner’s wishes—first enjoyed a set by the Killers, who livened things up with an (accidental) onstage fire. Master of the dramatic entrance—easy, when breathless throngs await—Morrissey arrived to the sounds of Big Hard Excellent Fish’s “Imperfect List” wearing a stylish suit and looking right at home. That onstage ease hasn’t been the case in recent years: Adrift in record-label and creative limbo since 1997’s dire Maladjusted, Morrissey might’ve expected his following to rot on the vine. Short tours between ’97 and this year’s You Are The Quarry lacked the passion of both the Smiths and his own early solo outings, as if the 45-year-old were having trouble adjusting to life as a middle-aged outsider.

With glowing reviews for the half-good Quarry and a fiery resurgence in Morrissey/Smiths name-checking (hello emo universe!) to bolster his mood, he moved with purpose onstage, his voice sounding as good as ever. In an effort to please the crowd as much as they clearly please him, Morrissey’s gone from including zero Smiths songs live to littering the set with them: After just one Quarry song (“Let Me Kiss You”), he delivered classic Smiths’ a-side “Shakespeare’s Sister,” setting the tone for a muscular 70-minute set of old and new material. “There Is A Light That Never Goes Out” from Smiths’ pinnacle The Queen Is Dead inspired the most strident singalong.

“Jack The Ripper,” one of his solo career’s finest moments, led into “Rubber Ring,” a Smiths song chosen perhaps for its extended meaning 20 years on: “Don’t forget the songs that made you cry/And the songs that saved your life.” Between-song chatter competed with blanket cheers and covered everything from the death of New York Doll Arthur Kane to Morrissey’s view on U.S. politics (“If you know anyone who’s going to vote for George Bush, drug them”) to his strange fascination with South Bend, Ind.

The last chunk of songs leaned heavily toward recent years, and Morrissey’s band—longtime guitarist Boz Boorer and longtime bassist Gary Day alongside three newcomers—seemed a bit more comfortable with those, though their job as Morrissey’s band is more utilitarian than massively artistic. One more unexpected Smiths song (“The Headmaster Ritual”) was followed by a semi-silly, throwaway new song, “Don’t Make Fun Of Daddy’s Voice,” which appeared to tickle its singer more than his fans.

The usual parade of stage invaders—a show-long staple in 1991—never happened; perhaps security slowed things down or perhaps Morrissey’s newly dapper attitude doesn’t lend itself to being lovingly tackled a dozen times in a night. Only two fans made the leap, both during the evening’s final song, “Irish Blood, English Heart.” Morrissey seemed genuinely appreciative if slightly surprised, tearing his shirt off before bolting offstage. It felt like a goodbye to young brashness and hello to a new (and welcome) phase of deeper, more mature confidence. That may seem strange for a man who built a beloved catalog on the exploration of unsteady footings, but perhaps it’s the only way to go as youth and miserablism give way to a more assured spirit.