The question is whether to be elated or terminally depressed for Tony Hadley. Sitting on a stool, eking out passion for the most anodyne of muzak to a park full of people primarily concerned with whether there's enough warm champagne to wash down the M&S sandwiches in their packed lunch, isn't what you'd hope for someone who once stared coolly from the cover of Smash Hits.
From thrusting New Romantic to aural wallpaper might be too much for a fainter heart. But with his eyes fixed firmly on the small gaggle of girls at his feet, Hadley devoted as much belligerent belief and posturing panache to each whining wine-bar epic as he once did to the swinging synth and white-boy funk he barked over on Top of the Pops. This may be a mini-Glastonbury for Tim Henman fans, but he knows he's lucky to be here.
Following the demise of Spandau Ballet in 1990, Hadley was left without Gary Kemp's masterful pop gems and Martin Kemp's cheekbones to assure him success. Despite having recorded two solo albums, the highest profile he'd had in a decade came in an ill-advised attempt to claim more Spandau Ballet royalties in 1999, which left him once again trounced by those pesky Kemps.
Then along came Reborn in the USA. Surrounded by fellow aging chancers, Hadley's credentials, talent and self-belief (buoyed by one of pop's best-loved back catalogues) fleetingly made him a star again. Now he's out to be Elvis in Vegas. Dressed in black, shaking his head and draping himself over his diminutive guitarist, Hadley drowns To Love Somebody in plenty of ooh-oohs, ba-a-bys and rock noodling, unable to leave a good song alone.
Watching him run through a set of second-hand hits is an unsatisfying sight. His booming, tremulous voice should add a little majesty to the likes of Walking in Memphis, but too often Hadley goes coy, his voice powerful but unadaptable.
After divulging his affection for Duran Duran - "I've got all their records!" he says, like a knicker-wetting teen - he robs Save a Prayer of its icy voyeurism with heavy-handed romance.
Mimicking ex-Spandau Ballet cohort John Keeble's drumming as he crashes through some new, pleasant, pop fodder, Hadley turns humble for the elegant innocence of Through the Barricades. Soaring perfectly over the delicate piano melody, he finally becomes the star he's always believed himself to be.
