It takes some balls to turn an admission of guilt into a romantic love song. We all know that, as a singer, that’s one quality that Tom Jones has never lacked. So perhaps it’s not that surprising to learn that, on his new album, Pontypridd’s most celebrated export has taken the opportunity to apologise to his wife Linda for all his past infidelities.

Having apologized so publicly, a part of you hopes that he may then go on to plead forgiveness for other indiscretions. That version of Prince’s Kiss springs to mind – as does his decision at last year’s Live Earth concert to cover Arctic Monkeys’ I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor in much the same way bears cover other bears’ territory.

Mercifully, however, 24 Hours signals an important development. Unlike recent albums, there are few arch interpretations of other people’s tunes. What covers there are – in particular, an electrifyingly raw demolition of Tommy James & The Shondells’ I’m Alive – are well-chosen.

Times Archive, 1972: Tom Jones at the London Palladium

Jones amply proved that he is still bringing a substantial flutter to the hearts of millions of young mothers and a tremble to many a more mature female knee

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• Jones says sorry to his wife in song

The most significant development here though – as evidenced by The Road and the title track’s momentous come-hither to the afterlife – is Jones’ belated decision to get involved in the songwriting process. Co-written by emergent young studio popticians Future Cut, bespoke creations like Give A Little Love and Feels Like Music hark back to a world – somewhere between light entertainment and guttural R&B – that, back in the 1960s, belonged to Jones. With Latin-flavoured belters like In Style And Rhythm given a close analogue intimacy, it’s not too great a leap to imagine Jones mounting the stage at some late-night Soho haunt like the Bag O’Nails and letting rip whilst Michael Caine, Nanette Newman and assorted Beatles engage in small talk.

It would be miraculous, of course, if it were all as charming as that. Jones has walked the tightrope between supernatural self-confidence and rutting arrogance for so long now that an occasional loss of balance is inevitable. When he grunts, “Daddy always gives you what is good for you,” on Sugar Daddy, the effect is as immediate as swallowing a bad oyster – no matter that the song was penned for him by U2.

With the right song, however, listening to Tom Jones remains a pleasure as simple as that watching a bloodhound sticking its head outside the window of a speeding car. On this form, long may the road continue.

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