Richard Ashcroft Review – Uplifting epics and rocket-fueled confidence reminiscent of the heyday of the 90s | music

IIt’s been quite a year for Richard Ashcroft, whether opening for reformed Oasis at their stadium-sized comeback shows or scoring another No. 2 album with Lovin’ You. Now, this one-off, 23,500-seat show ahead of next year’s arena tour finds the 54-year-old Northern performing with a rocketing confidence reminiscent of his ’90s days in The Verve.

At the time, the music press dubbed the singer “Mad Richard” because of his faith in music and his astonishing suggestion that he could fly into the night. Thirty years later, his arsenal of moves – raining down volleys on imaginary enemies and so on – would be capable of alerting emergency services in any other environment. But on stage, she’s ridiculously convincing.

Although the opening songs are hampered by a muddy sound, the perpetually sunglasses-clad singer’s performance almost physically attempts to transport himself and the audience to a higher level. “Who wants to go up again?” he shouts, adding an extra chorus to the music that is powerful. The string section and backing singers transform the relatively unpopular C’Mon People (We’re Making It Now) into a sublime epic.

Ashcroft is self-aware enough to warn of the approach of “a slow song on the new album” and describes “Oh L’Amour” as “my Charles Aznavour moment,” but he sings it beautifully. Sure, his solo career has been up and down but built on a foundation of Verve-era ballads that come from a deeper place than most pop music. The rarely played date from 1995 is raw and wounded. “Drugs Don’t Work” – generally thought to be about the death of his father – clearly moves the audience’s emotions. Sonnet and Lucky Man received such applause that the singer exclaimed “I wish the music teacher who said I had cancer in class was here to see this now.”

‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ may be 28 years old, but lines like ‘You’re a slave to money and then you die’ still speak clearly of modern Britain. An excellent nine-minute performance that sees the singer theatrically drop to his knees to spell out the words and unleash a spacious, fun sing-along, with scenes resembling the final night of a giant prom.