The Picturedrome’s ornate ceiling and rolled-up cinema screen makes the perfect venue for Richard Hawley’s quiff, spectacles and timelessly romantic songs. A short drive from his beloved Sheffield, he has spent the whole week here in The Last of the Summer Wine territory preparing for his latest tour, and clearly knows the building intimately. “The condom machine’s instructions are so clear even I can understand them,” he begins. “You put your money in and it says, ‘Pull knob.’” Even the lady behind the counter at the chemist opposite appears in the banter. “She asked me, ‘Do you like leopardskin? I’m wearing a leopardskin bra.’” So begins the former Longpigs and Pulp guitarist-turned Brit award and Mercury prize-nominated solo artist’s first show after a three-year hiatus, following the sort of incident that could be one of his gags. He did his back in after slipping on his ever-so elegantly tailored leather soles, although being temporarily bedridden and in a wheelchair has at least produced a beautifully contemplative eighth album, Hollow Meadows, which returns to the lush atmospherics of Cole’s Corner.

Here, though, a comically, seemingly endless procession of beautifully ornate guitars are turned up to the max again, as the killer, near-two-hour setlist mixes new songs and what he calls his “mouldly oldies.” Songs from 2012’s psychedelic album, Staring at the Sky’s Edge nestle against Open Up Your Door from Truelove’s Gutter and a debut live performance of What Love Means – about his daughter leaving home. He dedicates Tuesday PM – about learning the hard way – to his sister Becky, in the audience, hurriedly adding: “It’s not about her. It’s about a horrible cow I once went out with.” If it’s sometimes hard to reconcile the cheeky so-and-so who introduces himself as “Susan, a crossdresser from Runcorn” with the humbling, tender romantic whose songs compare a lover’s preciousness to Blake’s poetry, an evening with Hawley rampages between laughter and powerfully emotional songs about loss, mortality and community. The break – or perhaps the “fags-and-ale” diet – has given his beautiful croon a fetching dash of grit.

The withering and sentimental sides of his character collide in seconds as he dedicates There’s a Storm a Comin’ to “that bastard Cameron, for what he’s doing to us” and then sincerely and sweetly praises his “lovely, loyal” audience, who applaud a triumphant comeback.

• At The Dome, Liverpool, Friday 23 October. Box office: 0151-709 2074. Then touring.