The sea of denim gathered at London's Mermaid theatre last week suggested this was perhaps not a typical outing for the BBC Concert Orchestra. In fact they were here to record a special live session with Richard Ashcroft, the former Verve frontman who has just released his third solo album, to be aired on Radio 2 tomorrow, writes Gabrielle Proctor.
Probably not a typical outing for Ashcroft, either, certainly not since the height of his fame in the mid-90s. An introduction by the resolutely middle-of-the-road Jonathan Ross was the first sign that we weren't necessarily in for a night of wild rock'n'roll. The audience, a competition-winning crowd that was never going to be anything less than appreciative, was the second. Were we getting old?
And then the man himself was there. Sporting ubiquitous leather jacket and dark glasses, you couldn't help wonder how he managed to find the microphone (dim lights rather than failing eyesight, though he is now in his mid-30s).
Yet he proved surprisingly genial, chatting to the crowd and clearly enjoying himself as he and the band, including Pete Salisbury, the original Verve drummer, worked their way through a set that took in most of the high points of a now-long career, as well as a few tracks from the forthcoming album.
It was a bit Rolling Stones, a bit Johnny Cash, even a bit Neil Diamond at times. Just not Jesus. Ashcroft took the opportunity to set us straight on the "Jesus business". He'd been misquoted in the NME, and no, he hadn't compared himself to the son of God.
But this was ultimately a performance for the oldies among us, and it wasn't really until the appearance of The Drugs Don't Work that the crowd started to act like they were at a proper gig. Still, part of the charm of the event was that it wasn't a date of the type Ashcroft will play later this month.
This was an evening for those who like their rock sitting down. The orchestra was at least as engaging as the band and the civilising effect of the fairy lights and theatre-style seating made it feel both less participatory and yet somehow more intimate. More grown-up.
In the end, though, the crowd rose out of their seats, cheering with one hand, photo-messaging their mates with the other and singing along like young people are meant to do (all right, to Bitter Sweet Symphony, but still). All that remained was for Ashcroft to take a mock-swing at Ross with his guitar and he was gone.
