Photograph: Fred Sanjar

Symphony Space; Sat 22

Robyn Hitchcock released I Often Dream of Trains in 1984, four years after the dissolution of his psychedelic postpunk band, the Soft Boys, and two years after unleashing Groovy Decay, a record so ungainly that it forced the young man into temporary retirement. (Being English, he turned to gardening.) Trains was recorded to four-track, largely solo and acoustic. It feels secretive, as if the tapes were meant for his personal diary or psychotherapy session. True to the album’s title, most songs bear a lyrical dreaminess: surreal imagery, creepy sexual fantasy, fanciful aspirations. The album predated much of the home-recorded work that would become popular a decade later—Neutral Milk Hotel’s dreamscapes, Sebadoh’s confessionals—and stands as a cult favorite in Hitchcock’s catalog. Tonight, as Trains is being reissued for what seems like the tenth time (now on Yep Roc), he plays it front to back.

Every singer with more than two platters in his repertoire is currently required to re-create one of them onstage, as if he were writing opera rather than three-minute jingles. This is a lousy trend: Elvis entering the army may have failed to kill rock & roll, but canonization surely will finish the job. Yet Hitchcock has revisited other artists’ sessions in a live setting (most notably Bob Dylan’s The “Royal Albert Hall” Concert) and treats the task with suitable whimsy. And if giving Trains a public airing seems to negate the disc’s secretive aura, just consider: Tonight’s performance is being filmed for DVD.