WHEN, some two years ago now, Graham Coxon and his then bandmates in Blur succumbed to a terminal case of creative differences, few held out much hope for his continuing career. While the guitarist generated a great deal of goodwill over the years just by being the urbane foil to the flippant foppery of Damon Albarn and Alex James, the quirky quartet of solo albums steeped in the somewhat inaccessible aesthetic of the US hardcore scene that he recorded along the way didn’t bode well.

All of which made Coxon’s creative renaissance with this year’s heart-warming album Happiness in Magazines the more surprising. Seemingly freed of the need to exorcise his extreme tendencies, the guitarist reintroduced pop and melody into his musical mix and created one of the year’s best albums in the process. In hindsight, it shouldn’t have been such a shock: this was, after all, the man who co-wrote many of Blur’s biggest hits.

Onstage at the Forum there were still instances, most notably in the awkward silences between song breaks, when it seemed that Coxon would have been more comfortable nearer the stage’s wings rather than at its centre. But with Happiness in Magazines providing just under half of the set’s two dozen songs, there was ample opportunity to let the music do the talking — and in a remarkable range of voices, too. From the Kinks-y retro pop of Bottom Bunk to the proto-metal stomp of Fags & Failure, the guitarist flaunted his full gamut of moods and milieux.

Highlights came fast and often: the beautiful All Over Me brought the Beatles to mind, while the convivial post-pub rock stomp Don’t be a Stranger sounded like Fugazi frolicking with the Faces. Just in case he was creating the wrong impression, Coxon’s cover version of Mission of Burma’s That’s When I Reach for my Revolver was a riotous reminder of his punk rock credentials.

And if the guitarist’s instrumental ability occasionally outstripped that of his voice — Girl Done Gone proved that while he can play the blues, he certainly can’t sing them — there was ample evidence to suggest that, lyrically at least, he had learnt a thing or two from working with Damon Albarn. The leftfield love song Bittersweet Bundle of Misery delivered a delightful dissection of long-term relationships: “I love the way we fight, right through the night/And the way we used to kiss was way out of sight”.

The biggest surprise was saved for last, though. Half way through his first encore, Coxon brought on his friend Pete Doherty for a thrilling take on the Libertines’ Time for Heroes. Remarkably, he then managed to top that with the febrile Freakin’ Out, a fizzing fuzz-rock masterpiece that boasted a squalling riff every bit as bold, brash and bouncy as the one he wrote for Blur’s Song 2. Clearly even underdogs have their day, eventually.