Gig review: Richard Ashcroft at The Piece Hall, Halifax

“I heard they wanted to tear this place down,” Richard Ashcroft muses as he surveys The Piece Hall. Halifax’s 18th-century relic remains perhaps the defining architectural feature of Calderdale, gifted a new lease of life after its renovation. From his perch atop the stag, the ex-frontman of The Verve nods to himself. “I’m glad they didn’t. It’s a beautiful place.”

Ashcroft is in the midst of a celebratory run this summer, dominated by two hometown headline shows in his native Wigan. But he has crossed the Pennines just one night after another Britpop favourite rocked up, in the shape of Noel Gallagher.

But while the High Flying Birds delivered the sort of show that traded in concise renditions of new material and classic cuts, this is more of a hits-only affair coloured with unusual prog-psych shadings; a puzzling post-hippie anomaly that nevertheless strikes a chord amid the bursts of civil disorder across the country.

Such sentiments are made stark in the opening rush of Hold On, the throbbing dance-rock cut from 2016 album These People which helped put Ashcroft back on the map after The Verve’s late-noughties reunion spluttered out.

Backed with images of flame-scarred streets and police in riot gear forced to handle hoodlums, it marks out a show that alternates between calls for peace and long-form extended vamps through songs given perennial life by Radio X rotation.

With his elfin-like visage behind familiar sunglasses, the singer prefaces an affecting Sonnet with a shout for unity. “Together, we’re stronger,” he cries. “We don’t want to be divided no more.”

His words generate strong affirmation, and hold the crowd better than some of the songs he and his three-piece band conjure up; a ten-minute version of Music is Power may impress with those woozy solos, but sparks more of a rush for the bar than anything else.

Better received are keen renditions of Weeping Willow and Velvet Morning, while The Drugs Don’t Work – played with the sort of lump-in-throat emotion that makes grown men cry, and dedicated to the singer’s late dog – remains a modern masterpiece.

“Whether you’re from Leeds or Manchester or Halifax or Wigan, thank you for making this a wonderful night,” Ashcroft says with a soft bow after History, before the piped-in strings of Bitter Sweet Symphony float through the air.

For a moment, there is nothing but love, just the way he wants it.