The Verve were arguably Britpop's great lost band. Possessed of more soul than Blur and more poetry than the terrace spokesmen of Oasis, they made some of the most coruscating singles of the mid-1990s before being destroyed by the tensions between Richard Ashcroft and guitarist Nick McCabe.

Seven years and three solo albums down the line, Ashcroft remains a gaunt rock'n'roll stick insect obsessed with making the leap from showman to shaman. Tonight's gig may have been downsized from Wembley Arena but the wide-eyed intensity of its charismatic focus remains touchingly undimmed.

Ashcroft has always majored in philosophical proclamations delivered over cosmic, undulating stoner rock. Typical is tonight's opener Keys to the World, the title track of his new album, on which he wears the emotional honesty of his lyrics like a badge of honour.

Ashcroft's forte has always been elevating the personal to the universal. In the hymn to metropolitan allure that is New York, he alters the words to include the fact that he was born on September 11, implying this is highly significant.

He has a tremendous back catalogue to draw on, and Bittersweet Symphony, introduced as "a blues song", remains his most eloquent bid to roll the world into a question. The Drugs Don't Work, written for his dying father, likewise retains the power to raise goose bumps.

There was little here that was new, and you wonder whether Ashcroft's career from this point will be a series of diminishing returns on an unchanging theme. Despite this, you suspect he will still be worth listening to.