The joyous reception that follows is proof positive that this best band still means something to a lot of people.

It’s freezing outside, but the atmosphere inside the Sheffield Octagon is suitably warm.

We should be grateful for any version of Doves right now. They are still one of the most vital indie rock bands in the country.

We are all grateful that Richard Willis Hawley keeps finding new ways to redefine longing, heartbreak and nostalgia – a magical evening.

Ash have earned the right to play whatever the hell they want, and there can be few complaints in the wake of career-spanning 21 song set.

Seldom have any of them left me with a feeling that the show I had just witnessed was just for me.

If the more recent tracks are anything to go by, however, this is far from a swansong. Doves are just getting started.

There is no encore. Nor is an encore needed. Sprints do what they need to do and leave the stage to rapturous and loud applause.

This is a band that deserves a wider audience. Or maybe they work better as da irty little secret. Either way, the music is great.

Manchester just got the first dose. Doctor’s orders: turn it up until the neighbours call the council.