Big Star were the lost boys of American rock, coming out of Memphis in the early ’70s with three timeless albums. These were a unique combination of the best elements of country, garage-band rock and harmonious pop – passionate, intense, intelligent, psychedelic, joyous, heart-breaking but eminently hummable tunes.

While I’m in love with the three Big Star albums, I’ve not been a keen follower of Chilton’s later stuff, so the name Big Star has very specific associations for me. I’d have been more comfortable if they were calling this the Alex Chilton Band. No disrespect to original member Jody Stephens, who’s clunky yet sparse beats are an integral part of the Big Star sound, or to Posies members Johnathan Auer on guitar and Ken Stringfellow, who although on bass, was adopting the late Chris Bell’s role performing occasional vocals centre-stage.

I’m not ashamed to say I got somewhat over emotional as ‘September Gurls’ was casually thrown away early in the set, and stood weeping openly as dry-eyed exes passed and threw me sympathetic glances on their way to the bar. It’s difficult to explain why I was overwhelmingly disappointed – unconsciously, I was expecting too much. Rationally I reasoned that Big Star was thirty years ago, and things can never be the same again.

It was wonderful to hear Chilton’s rasp on a few more Big Star songs, including the less obvious ones, although a good version of Todd Rundgren’s ‘Slut’ was the nearest they got to real rock’n’roll aggression. They generally eschewed any hope of piercing the vein of tender and twisted melancholy, going instead for a good time chirpy pop vibe, which is fair enough, but makes for a pleasant rather than breathtakingly exciting or moving gig.