For Glen Campbell, now a craggy 72, it has been a long and winding life: a solo career that glittered three decades ago; stints as a Beach Boy; four Mrs Campbells; acting alongside John Wayne; eight little Campbells; the usual drugs and drink shenanigans and now a semi‑retirement involving golf and Jesus.

A singer and (as a spry trot through Mason Williams’s Classical Gas reminded us), a guitarist rather than a songwriter, Campbell was always ripe for rehabilitation and his new album covers songs by mostly hip artists. “A guy talked me into it,” was his less-than-ringing endorsement.

Some of the new material worked magically well. Travis’s swinging Sing may not have been written with a pedal steel guitar in mind but they are clearly made for each other; likewise Green Day’s Good Riddance (Time of Your Life) and the mandolin. And, as behoves one whose 50-year career has been built upon interpreting others, Campbell wrung every bereft nuance from The Replacements’ Sadly, Beautiful.

Campbell was a jolly cove, attempting surreal one-liners, flattering the audience and delivering the hits with professional good grace: a twangy Wichita Lineman; a spring-heeled Rhinestone Cowboy with its spine-tingly wise “there’s been a load of compromisin’ on the road to my horizon” line and a Southern Nights misguidedly re-interpreted as London Nights.

Occasionally, though, not least on a lacklustre Galveston, an overly diffident band meant things went a little bit cruise ship; he seemed to lose interest halfway through the always grisly It’s Only Make Believe, and John Lennon’s Grow Old With Me would be mawkish if Metallica covered it. Still, who couldn’t forgive an old man a little misplaced sentimentality?