There was one album of covers in 1993, one of originals in 1994 and then nothing until 1999, when he released As Time Goes By. Impatient fans must have considered it an annoyingly appropriate title - especially as, once again, there were no new songs on the album There weren't any new arrangements, either. Instead, there were 15 absolutely straight jazz-band renditions of 1930s standards.This seemed a more inspired and glamorous idea in concert than it does on the album. On Tuesday, neither Ferry nor his clothes were any more crumpled than they were in 1972: he'll still be the king of floppy fringes when Hugh Grant's gone bald. On stage with him was a willowy young harpist and a willowy young string quartet, all in black vests and leather trousers.

The other musicians, led by Colin Good on grand piano, were male. Funnily enough, they were all in black tie and they weren't at all young and willowy They were very good, though. There was a mass exodus to the toilets when the ensemble did the sort of swinging Dixieland jazz number you might hear on a Woody Allen soundtrack, but those of us who stayed heard arrangements that glittered like the lights which flecked the backdrop.It was Ferry who was the weak link. He seemed nervous and gauche, and while his voice was healthier than the wheezing on As Time Goes By, it was still too cold and breathless for Cole Porter and Kurt Weill: his rendition of "September Song" was a close relative of Clive Dunn's "Grandad". He was rejuvenated only when he ripped into the faster, off-kilter art-pop of "Street Life", "Love Is The Drug" and "Let's Stick Together". Much as he might enjoy crooning Rogers and Hart, he can yelp this stuff better.

He should record some more of it before time goes by even further.. Hailing from Modesto, California (a fine spot to buy a tractor), Grandaddy's excellent 1997 début album, Under The Western Freeway, was that rarity, a record that gained a reputation largely through word of mouth. The musical vision of leader and songwriter, Jason Lytle, somehow combining the work of Neil Young, Brian Wilson and the dormant Pavement into a warm and instantly appealing hybrid, was quickly recognised and acclaimed. Also, the impressive facial foliage sported by several members of the band was commented on. Hailing from Modesto, California (a fine spot to buy a tractor), Grandaddy's excellent 1997 début album, Under The Western Freeway, was that rarity, a record that gained a reputation largely through word of mouth. The musical vision of leader and songwriter, Jason Lytle, somehow combining the work of Neil Young, Brian Wilson and the dormant Pavement into a warm and instantly appealing hybrid, was quickly recognised and acclaimed. Also, the impressive facial foliage sported by several members of the band was commented on. After touring extensively, little was heard of Grandaddy until the announcement of a new album, The Sophtware Slump, out next month.

It's easily the equal of OK Computer, sharing similar themes of social dislocation and environmental decay, and tonight's show is eagerly awaited and sold out well in advance Those who've held faith are rewarded. Older songs like "AM180", almost designed to delight small children with its addictive/annoying keyboard hook, "Summer Here, Kids" and "Everything Beautiful Is Far Away" now sound like classics, and are received as such, but the forthcoming single "The Crystal Lake", an ode to a lost rural innocence, the pointed, deliberately unwieldy "Broken Household Appliance National Forest" and the gorgeous "Hewlett's Daughter" are as good as any of their previous work.As ever, Lytle, switching between keyboards and guitar and wearing a "Future Farmers" baseball cap, stoops like a former farmer (though his Michael Eavis-esque beard has been somewhat tamed) and the electronic equipment teeters on the verge of collapse, but the band provide a powerful counterpoint to the fragility of their frontman's material. Even on the evidence of this relatively rusty showing it's obvious that Grandaddy are likely to break through, much as the Flaming Lips did last year, and next month's tour has to be seen as essential viewing.. After looking through endless requests for cleaners or dead-end jobs, something stood out at me like a diamond in a bag of nutty slack. Amongst all the dross was a job that was perfect for me – HMV, the UK’s top record retailer, was looking for a sales assistant in their Liverpool branch “Wow!” I thought. “What an opportunity!” The interview went well and the manager, Paul Johnson, was quite firm, although I did seem to gel with him.

He asked me to name all of the other record stores in town, which was not a problem for somebody who bought lots of vinyl and who would always shop around for the best value. The next question threw me, as I had never been asked this in any previous interview, “Do you play football?” “Yes” I replied The questions then became more surreal. “Do you play in the Wirral Sunday League?” Again the answer was yes, and then it was, “Are you a goalkeeper?” Blimey, I thought, Paul must be psychic, or the HMV football team needed an injection of fresh blood. He then explained that he had been playing a match on the previous Sunday; the score was 2-2, and with one minute to go his team were awarded a corner. The ball was floated towards him; he met it good and true and headed the ball towards the top corner. Just as he turned to celebrate what he thought was the winner, the goalkeeper had leapt up and turned the ball over the bar. “You were that bloody goalkeeper, weren’t you? I knew I’d seen you before.” He was correct I was that goalkeeper, and we had a good laugh about it.