They are, to begin with, not entirely sure why she’s here. The pick of what you would fairly term the Sound of Young Liverpool have been loitering for the camera on the St George’s Hall steps for ten minutes. Latter-day soul chanteuse Candie Payne and Abi Harding, the Zutons’ saxophonist, flip open make-up mirrors without breaking their quickfire prattle, deaf to a chorus of wolf-whistles. Miles Kane, the brains behind the Rascals, chats to members of the Basement and Zutons, all signed to Liverpool’s Deltasonic records. Label boss Alan Wills sits among his charges and methodically takes the piss.

But when Cilla Black shows up, you sense a slight stiffening. A surprise, surprise, perhaps? Never mind that during the Sixties she outsold all other British female artists, was mates with the Beatles and went on to have her songs covered by everyone from Dusty Springfield to the Smiths. Or that, at her hotel earlier, Liverpool and England defender Jamie Carragher bounded across the foyer to make his bashful introductions. “I’ve got a reputation to keep…” grumbles one band member when everyone’s asked to join Cilla in posing, arms open, in a “Welcome to Liverpool” gesture. “C’mon,” says Cilla from the corner of her smile-for-the-camera. “This is showbusiness…”

Her enthusiasm is infectious and the Deltasonic mob start to close around her. Soon, she’s chatting with Zutons singer David McCabe, who has it easy, she says, because in her day, “Everything was in mono, and we had to record the A-side and B-side in three hours.”

When it comes to charting Liverpool and pop’s early symbiosis, Cilla presents a perfect pilot. Born into an Irish family, she talks not only of the influence of migrant Celtic musicality (even the Basement formed in Omagh), but of sailors returning to port in the Fifties weighed down with American music not available in London.

“Everyone would bring back these fantastic records. Black music – Fats Domino, Chuck Berry… you name it,” she explains. “Even Ringo went away, for a time, on the boats.”

She knew the Beatles back when she was a waitress, when they were happy to act as her backing band for an audition. Today, their legacy is unavoidable as you wander round the city; here, there and everywhere – as the portly busker outside Marks & Spencer’s sings – in the form of plastic Penny Lane signs, the Cavern Quarter shopping centre, or the 600,000 visitors they reckon visit each year on account of John, Paul, George and Ringo.

“But that’s just nostalgia,” says Payne. She and Harding prefer to enthuse about the variety of venues (“Zanzibar has loads of different bands on every night”) and record shops (“Hairy Records is boss! The fella who runs it’ll spend two hours talking to you about some obscure B-side”) found in a city known for its preen-free musical communality. Perhaps Liverpool’s biggest musical achievement wasn’t the Beatles, but the ability of subsequent artists not to feel overshadowed by all things fab.

The influence of late Seventies and early Eighties acts such as Echo and the Bunnymen and Teardrop Explodes, for instance, are still audible in today’s indie charts; the electronic pop bombast of Frankie Goes to Hollywood and Pete Burns’ Dead or Alive have helped keep Liverpool in the top spot in the civic No 1 singles stakes (boasting more than 50 to date), while acts like Clinic, Shack and Half Man, Half Biscuit operate beneath most of the nation’s radar while remaining cherished at home, special-reserve pop held back for the locals.

Today, the Deltasonic label is the nearest thing to a one-stop shop for Liverpudlian talent. Founded in 2000, its first act was the Coral, a Hoylake septet whose odd otherness signalled the start of a new cycle of interest in Liverpool bands. With Miles Kane of the Rascals having just recorded a collaborative album with Arctic Monkeys’ Alex Turner, expect scrutiny of the city’s scene to continue.

“It’s hard for us to imagine how other people see it, though,” says Payne. “Maybe Liverpool’s always been looked at as a musical city, but it’s just where we live,” she finishes, as Harding starts asking Cilla if there will ever be another series of Blind Date. “We just don’t know any different.” BM

Sir Paul McCartney

The apparent cuteness of Liverpool’s most successful son is one of the most deceptive fronts in pop. He is as tough as they come, and the city of his childhood is at the heart of that resilience. He still speaks fondly of his home town: “I love Liverpool, that’s all there is to it.” The city is now home to his LIPA fame academy, and he is set to perform at least twice there during "08". But he also learnt hard lessons there.

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