Robbie Williams, The Academy, Leeds, review "I hope I'm old before I die," sings Robbie Williams, voice soaring on the lusty wave of the crowd's singalong accompaniment to his nineties hit. "I hope I live to receive Channel 5" he adds, chin up, nose in the air, mock happy that he has, at least, achieved this modest ambition. Who's dead? Who's dead?" he yells at the end, the implication being not him, anyway. Williams has survived more than 20 years of the kind of superstardom that can drive people mad, and now he's back for more. It has been (as he repeatedly points out) five years since his last solo stadium tour, and though he neglects to mention his little stint with his old band mates in Take That, this comeback clearly means a lot to him. There was a sense of inevitable commercial decline over his last two albums, compounded by an impression that he found fame exhausting, overwhelming and increasingly unappealing. Which is presumably why he has opted to overcome whatever nerves or reservations he may harbour playing old hits in front of a small audience in a north of England club venue. "You gonna help me to remember how to do this?" he asks, although his hyper-energetic, jumping, jogging, body-popping, wisecracking, crowd-conducting display suggests he hasn't lost any of the onstage flair that made him Britain's favourite pop star for over a decade. His voice, live at least, is nothing special. He delivers smart, twisty lyrics with a kind of bolshie, masculine oomph that gets shouty on the high notes, with lots of character but not much in the way of timbre. But Williams is up there with the very best live entertainers, a charismatic, compelling frontman, almost instinctively adept at marshalling a band and holding a crowd. He has a real comic talent for improvisation. When a woman faints in the front row, he turns it into a call-and-response singalong, keeping the room crackling while simultaneously making sure that she is taken care of. Even the band are smiling at his live wire antics. A greatest-hits set that is genuinely jam-packed with hits, it is a reminder too of what a great songwriter he can be, making mainstream pop with inescapable melodies and big emotional moments. Hearing a whole room affectionately bellowing Come Undone boggles the mind, a self-loathing anthem transformed into an act of communal benediction as he stands, arms stretched out, confessing, "I am scum, and I'm your son." The timing of William's return is the only peculiarity, with reports of a helicopter on stand by to whip him out if his wife goes into labour. Five years off, and he decides to make his comeback just when his first child is due? He jokingly asks the crowd if he should leave if his wife calls, then shrugs at their predictable response. I can always wait til she gets pregnant again. There is a new album on the way in November, Take The Crown, and though he elects not to preview it tonight, Williams wraps up with a new song, a country ballad called Loser. A lyrically forthright mea culpa about ego and ambition, the chorus asserts that the singer no longer cares about winning. But I'm not convinced. He looked fit and happy on stage, in command of his considerable talents and ready to take a tilt at the top again.