In the Verve’s druggy days, Richard Ashcroft would stand on stage, arms outstretched and truly believe he was Jesus. Six years into a solo career that has seen more highs and lows than, well, the Verve in their druggy days, his messiah complex seems to be waning.

Several times he puffed himself up, boxer-style, as though trying to locate the confidence that once oozed from his every pore. When the crowd cheered a song that didn’t belong to his old band, he stopped to say thanks.

However he feels on the inside, Ashcroft still looks every inch a rock star. The bare feet, shaggy hair and casual outfit exude effortless cool. Then there’s the voice. At Live 8, Chris Martin called Ashcroft “the greatest singer in the world” and, almost four years after Ashcroft’s second, solo album had flopped, Martin’s comment sent thousands scurrying to purchase the equally patchy follow-up.

Yet as disappointing as Ashcroft’s post-Verve output has been, his voice remains one of the most genuinely affecting in rock. At the Apollo, it pulled him through a set that frequently threatened to sag.

The opener Keys to the World, the title track from his current album, succinctly summed up the problem. The production is bold, the vocals steeped in soul and the tune a mid-tempo plod-rocker. Like much of the material, it aims to be anthemic, but misses its mark. Not so the second song Sonnet, a Verve number that, as ever, is right on target.

Ashcroft’s three solo albums have each boasted two standout songs and all appeared in the 90-minute set. Unfortunately, most were embellished. A Song for the Lovers was going down a storm when a chap started to play flute.

Worse, he added a James Galway-esque outro, over which Ashcroft ad-libbed. His contribution to Science of Silence somehow summoned the spectre of Neil Diamond. On the already ponderous Music is Power, he added cheesy sax and turned the song into a lounge bar tune. Only a splendid New York survived unscathed.

“This is a blues song,” said Ashcroft and the sampled strings of the Verve’s Bittersweet Symphony filled the hall. A giant disco ball sent out shards of coloured light and a modern rock classic provided a magical moment. Everyone was on their feet, singing. Ashcroft paused to puff on a fag and still they sang. He left the stage and they continued to chant.

An encore was almost as electric, thanks to an acoustic rendition of The Drugs Don’t Work and a fabulous Lucky Man. If only, you wish, he hadn’t quit the band.