He's considerably less boggle-eyed this evening. There's not even a slight hint of the loopiness that blighted Robbie Williams's performance of comeback single "Bodies" on The X Factor a fortnight ago, more than 13 million viewers tuning in to witness what seemed like a small boy on his first day at a new school, high on the E numbers in his packed lunch and a little too eager to make friends.
The tabloids piled in, of course, with: "Mummy, who's that strange man on X Factor?" the wittiest headline. But they were only pursuing a thread begun by 2006's defiantly self-indulgent, resolutely uncommercial Rudebox and subsequently helped along by the growth of a substantial beard, not to mention an enthusiastic interest in the paranormal. By the time Williams heralded his return with a couple of carefully staged interviews about potentially life-threatening problems with prescription drugs and an attendant rejuvenating trip to rehab, it was open season on his sanity. To cap it all, "Bodies" could only reach No 2, despite generating Williams's biggest opening-week sales for a single since 2000's "Rock DJ". Here he was trounced by last year's X Factor winner Alexandra Burke, whose "Bad Boys" marked the show's 11th No 1. That was it. Light entertainment's quirky past had been battered by its efficient, market-driven, unforgiving present.
Little wonder, then, that The X Factor is still on his mind, with Williams professing support for the nutty Grimes twins after only a few minutes (it's a sign of his current place in pop's pecking order that this remark will generate almost almost as much publicity as the gig itself).
So, much rests on tonight – if not Williams's status (you don't destroy a career that's produced 55m album sales with one bad day at the office) then at least his self-respect. As if the stakes weren't high enough already for someone who recently confessed to chronic stage fright, the show, the opening night of the BBC's annual Electric Proms extravaganza, is also being shown live in 250 cinemas across Europe. Unsurprisingly, little is being left to chance; that much is obvious from the vast assortment of backing musicians overseen by venerable musical director Trevor Horn, producer of Williams's new album, Reality Killed the Video Star, but best known for applying his titanic vision to ABC, Frankie Goes to Hollywood and, more recently, the Pet Shop Boys. It's not so much a band as a battalion: a brace of drummers, a pair of guitarists, a couple of bassists, another two keyboard players, full horn and string sections, plus a roster of backing singers that, for some reason, includes Lol Creme of 10cc.
It's all showbiz slick, right down to the white stairway that rises from the centre of the stage, with the song choice equally apposite. Past hits – with an emphasis on mopy, I'm-screwed-up tunes such as "Come Undone" – are slotted alongside the better tracks from Reality Killed the Video Star's equally self-absorbed, distinctly mixed bag. The mission statement is clearly "classic Robbie", designed to heal the mortal wound that was Rudebox, after which even its author confessed to feeling that he was "not a pop star any more".
To some extent, this works. The anthems still strike a chord, and the faithful will never tire of them, especially "Angels", of course, although "Feel", the 2002 single which marked his commercial zenith, remains Williams's best moment, musically speaking. It's a model of his strengths: straightforward, slightly soppy but inflated to singalong proportions and lightly dusted with cleverness, in this case a rolling piano riff and shades of George Harrison in the guitar.
His physical tics still do the trick too – all the nodding, winking, and mucking about designed to invite fans inside his spotlight – as do a couple of mini stand-up routines, one about his auntie, the other about confusing the disabled section at one of his gigs with VIP, with Williams the butt of the joke. But it's all terribly cosy, and the feeling that he belongs to another era is impossible to deny. "We're getting on, aren't we?" he says at one stage, drawing attention to his greying temples and possibly comfortable with the notion that he's now a mums-and-dads' night out. An airing of his next single, "You Know Me", expands on this idea by locating the enervating midpoint between West End musical and the balladry of Shakin' Stevens.
Pop's wow factor is now to be found elsewhere – not in The X Factor's sinister sparkle, but the roughneck charm of Dizzee Rascal, and the DIY success of N-Dubz and their peers. Williams, however, is a singer who was in his pomp at the turn of the millennium, and is now looking forward to entering comfy middle age along with his audience, hence the lifetime achievement award he'll pick up at the Brit awards in February. In this way, he's much like his former colleagues in Take That, although he'll never be humble enough to match them for pathos, no matter how many times he declares, "I've got a new best mate and his name is Gary Barlow."
In honour of Trevor Horn, the finale is a fervent but ragged cover of Buggles' "Video Killed the Radio Star". Ironically, it's precisely the kind of thing that, were Williams a mere X Factor contestant, Simon Cowell might commend as the right song for the right artist at the right time, before sending him through to the final on chutzpah alone. He probably wouldn't let him win though.
