There’s something fundamentally strange about the idea that, somehow, Richard Ashcroft might only now be getting his due. The former frontman of The Verve has sold millions of records, and headlined Glastonbury with that band as long ago as 2008. Culturally, his legacy is assured: “Bitter Sweet Symphony” is one of Britpop’s sacred texts; what is arguably the genre’s best-known record, Oasis’s (What’s the Story) Morning Glory, contains a song dedicated to him – “Cast No Shadow”.
And yet, Ashcroft has never quite shaken off the sense of the nearly man, partly because The Verve imploded with some of their potential untapped, and partly because his uneven solo output tends to be better remembered for pompous misadventures like United Nations of Sound than for the likes of the underrated Human Conditions and Keys to the World. Last year, the overwhelming success of Oasis’s reunion tour forced a reappraisal of the Gallaghers’ place in the British cultural canon – the joyous atmosphere surrounding the shows made it feel like Britain was reliving a happier moment in its cultural history.
Ashcroft is due a similar reevaluation, and the part he played on that tour – as the main support on most dates – has afforded him one. A sold-out, one-off show in Manchester last November suggested that he might finally be a bona fide arena attraction in his own right and, while Liverpool’s M&S Bank Arena is considerably smaller than Co-op Live, it was heaving on Thursday night as part of a full run of arena dates. The budget allows him to bring a six-piece string section, as well as backing vocalists.
Richard Ashcroft has always believed in the power of his songs (Photo: Alexander Cropper/Redferns)
This is important, because both the Urban Hymns songs and his solo tracks live or die by the delivery – whether or not they’re presented in their full, bombastic glory. More to the point, as much as Ashcroft has never seemed to be affected by self-doubt, the dizzy heights of the past year appear to have fired him up like never before. This is apparent in both his demeanour – “nice to be back in such an intimate venue,” he drawled as he swaggered onstage behind his omnipresent sunglasses – and the approach he takes to the songs, which were frequently extended to include instrumental jams and additional choruses aplenty.
“Music Is Power”, a 2006 solo single, might sound slightly trite on record but the epic version of it presented here, each chorus more monumental than the last, would make a believer out of anybody. Ashcroft understands the power of an anthem to bring together thousands in communion, which means that practically every song he played was turned into one. This was unexpectedly thrilling in some instances, like when he turned The Verve’s tender “Velvet Morning” or Keys to the World’s soulful lead single “Break the Night with Colour” into sonic behemoths, and perhaps laboured in others – “Lover” and “They Don’t Own Me” made for a mid-set lull.
Ultimately, that didn’t matter, because Urban Hymns provided Ashcroft with an embarrassment of riches to plunder as the show wore on; these are songs that speak to the universalities of the human condition. For all their swagger and unshakable self-belief, what endeared the likes of Ashcroft and the Gallagher brothers to millions was their willingness to display their vulnerabilities for the sake of the song. He dedicated the swooning, open-hearted “Sonnet“ to his wife, although the soaring “Lucky Man” – a song he wrote for her three decades ago – was even better.
Ashcroft’s solo material is chronically underrated (Photo: Alexander Cropper/Redferns)
“The Drugs Don’t Work”, meanwhile, might be Britpop’s biggest lighters-in-the-air moment – and live, it didn’t disappoint. The woman sitting beside me pointed out correctly – if slightly giddily – that the song is not about Ashcroft’s recreational habits, but the experience of watching his father’s decline through terminal illness. Like so many in the crowd, she is young – too young to remember to The Verve’s heyday, perhaps not even born then.
Through the platform afforded him by the Oasis tour, Ashcroft has captured the attention – and perhaps the hearts – of a new generation. Before he closed the show with a massive “Bitter Sweet Symphony”, live strings and all, he dedicated it to everybody going to work at a job they hate the following morning. He has always believed in the power of his songs. Now, 30 years after Urban Hymns, a new generation believes in him, too.
