Gig review: Shed Seven at The Piece Hall, Halifax

“Strap yourselves in, Halifax,” Shed Seven frontman Rick Witter announces early into the band's show down in the bosom of the Calder valley. Loose clusters of greyish-wet clouds have given way to chinks of blue skylight, the week’s sudden downpours held at bay by the late evening breeze. “We’ve got a lot to get through,” the singer adds with a snaggle-toothed grin.

Not many acts have ridden the crest of the Britpop revival wave like the York five-piece, their old fortunes as third-stage festival fodder reversed by a warm upswell of affection that subsequently spawned two chart-topping albums and the biggest headline shows of their career.

Suggestions of blinkered partiality may be well-founded from bookers when it comes to this honour-roll perch as the first headliner of a busy Piece Hall summer slate; nevertheless, they are wilfully rebuffed, perhaps even embraced, by a band who are more than content to revel in the kick-off challenge.

Initially demure in a navy button-down, before stripping into a navel-hugging glitter-red top that leaves little to guesswork, Witter still commands stages with a lairy impishness, the proverbial pied piper of the white rose.

His loose-hipped shamanism might sit a few notches further up the dad-dancer spectrum these days – at one point, he runs through a list of audience shout-outs like the dame at a regional pantomime – but that plaintive voice still finds the mark; Speakeasy, with its Spector-goes-grunge riffs, sounds massive as it echoes off Grade I-listed sandstone; On Standby, all archly maudlin magic, finds its Smiths-tone hues canvased by guitarist Paul Banks into a terrace-chant slab of rock by brute force.

This show celebrates the 30th anniversary of sophomore record A Maximum High, fêted for a one-off front-to-back performance that offers a handy reminder just how fast Shed Seven turned from their indie-tyke origins to jugular-driven anthem merchants, with songs like Going for Gold and Bully Boy still key singalong bullets in their six-shooter arsenal.

A quick romp over the rest of their hits before curfew rolls around ensures no stone is left unturned too; as Witter conducts a massed crowd chorus of Chasing Rainbows, there is a childlike wonder to the way he smiles.

“See you in December!” he cries. There will be plenty there again.