Global warming has once again brought out the daffodils early - although even if it hadn't, you suspect that the Morrissey fan positioned 8ft away from his idol would have still found a way to secure a bunch. To some, Morrissey's iconic status will always be intertwined with the impact of his arrival with the Smiths more than 25 years ago.

That he is comfortable with that legacy was confirmed by his decision to open his first UK show in nearly two years with How Soon is Now. The song was as you remember it, but the singer - who sang much of it while lying against the drum riser - bore only a passing resemblance to the effete young thing who sang it in 1984.

If the greying quiff, brown shirt and tie gave Morrissey the air of a hard-bitten Seventies football manager - in the Brian Clough or Don Revie mould - the parallels seemed apt. He addressed the crowd with a brisk: “Hello, West Ham”. His band, too, played with a fists-up zeal, redolent of football teams that emerge from the tunnel to a world that they're told wants them to fall flat on their faces.

This may not be so far from the truth. The recent furore over Morrissey's latest remarks about immigration has threatened to overshadow the singer's return with a new greatest-hits album. On this occasion, any contrition that Morrissey may have felt was restricted to the anti-racism stall in the foyer. Away from the unambiguous wording of those leaflets, singer and band steered National Front Disco to an almost ear-bleedingly visceral climax.

In truth, the anti-vivisection stall nearby probably held a greater clue to the singer's governing motivation. In Morrissey's world, animals are far less disappointing than human beings, and the set list seemed to reflect this. Over the sound of a gathering storm, he drew the titular refrain of the insubstantial Life is a Pigsty to parodic extremes.

Rather better was The World is Full of Crashing Bores - which Morrissey's sidemen dealt with in much the same way East End henchmen might have once dealt with a snitch. As long as the band - in particular the bludgeoning attack of drummer Matt Walker - had a song that was big enough to withstand their power, the results were frequently breathtaking. A macabre Death of a Disco Dancer intensified into a blood-thickening crescendo of noise, abetted by the guitarist Boz Boorer blowing random notes into an oboe. After a chest-baring encore of Last of the International Playboys, the ensemble emerged to take a bow.

It's worth bearing in mind that Morrissey and Boorer have now been collaborating for more than three times as long as the singer's alliance with Johnny Marr. And yet still people continue to ask when he'll re-form his best band. Given another 25 years to get nostalgic about these shows, we may yet come to the conclusion that this was his best band.

At the Roundhouse to Sun (box office: 0844 4828008), then touring

Editor's choice

• The End: the worst movie endings ever
• Introducing The Times Proms Podcast
• Heath Ledger tipped for Oscar