The Teenage Cancer Trust week at the Royal Albert Hall is already a London institution, but it is becoming a victim of its own success.

This year’s line-up ­— the hardly elusive Kasabian; plodders such as Stereophonics — lacks the wow factor of the previous eight years when, among others, The Who, Oasis, Coldplay, Muse featured. Bullet For My Valentine just don’t have the same stellar ring.

Last night the 2009 week began with its most innovative bill, but the unquestionably noble cause was hardly helped by a far-from-full venue and a malfunctioning video screen which meant that the audience couldn’t donate by text. Luckily, the music was mostly sublime.

Antony Hegarty and his six instrument-swapping Johnsons went the long way round. At its best, his music breathes intimacy, but in the frigid Royal Albert Hall, Hegarty hardly helped himself by sitting at a piano towards the back of the stage, surrounded by Johnsons, all as feebly lit as himself.

Consequentially, the atmosphere was initially flat and though Hegarty would never leave his piano, the more the evening progressed, the more at one he seemed with his surroundings.

In fact, he was almost giddy, apologising for his non-existent squeakiness before One Dove and attempting a fairly impromptu a cappella tribute to the Teenage Cancer Trust. Yet, Hegarty is more comfortable breaking hearts than splitting sides.

For obvious reasons, Boy George, his dueting foil on the recorded You Are My Sister, couldn’t be with us. It was delivered solo and lost none of its stomach-tightening power.

Another World and the title track to his current album, the commercially disappointing The Crying Light, showed that nobody does grief quite as beautifully as him.

When he went for a bigger sound on Aeon and Shake That Devil, all notions of wussiness were dispelled. There was no encore, but it was a victory nevertheless, albeit on points rather than via the anticipated knock-out.

Earlier Florence Welch and her four-strong, harp-led Machine veered wildly from baroque to rock and were a head-turning delight, even when singing of domestic violence on the appropriately clattering Kiss With A Fist.

Art-rock to the core, she exuded Kate Bush-esque tightly coiled sexuality and a big voice which made the Royal Albert Hall seem small. And her songs were strong enough to seduce the unconverted.