Eric Clapton went professional and joined the Yardbirds in 1963, which provides a convenient peg for an anniversary-themed tour. Characteristically, though, the man who titled his current album Old Sock is making little fuss about reaching his career half-century. This gig, second of seven at the Royal Albert Hall, is free of celebratory bells and whistles: he simply ambles on, plugs in and gets on with it. But his music is the reason even the restricted-view seats behind the stage are full. While Clapton spends considerable chunks of the next two hours locked into a country‑blues torpor, he can still produce fire and drama, and when thus moved, he makes the guitar sound like the coolest instrument ever invented.

He allows himself a rock-star touch in the form of a Persian carpet, but otherwise tackles the gig in frills‑free style. The baggy jeans and polo shirt are the nearest a man can get to wearing pyjamas in public, which could explain the lassitude that afflicts the opening Hello Old Friend and My Father's Eyes – but when he swaps acoustic guitar for Stratocaster, he's away. Black Cat Bone, the ancient ode to the powers of a witchy woman, makes a virtue of the rasps and snags in his 68-year-old voice; Crossroads allows him to open up the riffing throttle, which he does with such passion that the decades dissolve and we see something of the 25-year-old who was at the top of his game when he played the song with Cream.

The early 70s get a pallid look-in: Layla is sung acoustically and seated, inviting us to snooze, and even Clapton, it seems, can't be bothered to make an effort with the heroically soporific I Shot the Sheriff. The day is saved with a blazing Sunshine of Your Love, a powerful reminder that his brand of guitar rock once moved mountains.

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