Gig review: Billy Idol at First Direct Arena, Leeds

"Leeds," William Broad - better known as Billy Idol - tells the city's First Direct Arena, "let's have some fun, yeah?"

The onetime Generation X frontman is clearly in the mood to party. In West Yorkshire, at the tail-end of a tour postponed from the summer due to health issues, it is proof that good things come to those who wait.

The 66-year-old – still dishwater-blond and fearsomely lean for a man who qualifies for Saga Holidays – hasn't headlined halls of this size on British soil for thirty years, since the waning days of his commercial heyday; now, buoyed by the resurgence of generational nostalgia, he commands an audience stretching from six-year-olds decked out in double-denim to pensioners clad in biker leathers, every inch the four-quadrant pull for old-school rock aficionados.

Most artists of a similar vintage would treat such an elevation back into arenas with hits-only affairs, and the majority of his ninety-five minute show fits such an approach to a tee – Dancing With Myself's sugar-dirt thrum, Cradle of Love's bombastic drive and Flesh for Fantasy's low-slung groove are all dispatched in a giddy opening act.

But Idol gambles on a selection of new cuts too, culled from a pair of recent EPs. The standout, Cage, might be mistaken for freewheeling hair metal in another light; here, it proves a surprisingly energetic bon-mot, pleasant proof the singer still packs a barbed spike, even if the rest of his fresh material doesn't match its impact.

Still, he returns to the biggies that built his career in the era of MTV superstardom throughout the night. Judging by the reaction, it is what the fans are here for and he duly delivers in spades, even if his snarl isn't quite what it once was.

Soft-popper ballad Eyes Without a Face conjures the odd lighter in the air as an analogue anomaly to cellphone beams; Mony Mony swaggers forth, its synth stabs replaced by muscular riffs and militant drums; Rebel Yell threatens to shake the stage to pieces, aided by long-time guitarist Steve Stevens' freewheeling riffs, replete with a tease of the Top Gun theme the latter composed during Blue Highway's elongated coda.

When White Wedding arrives at the close of the night – pugilistic, purring, still absolutely brilliant – there's something irresistibly imperious about the way Idol prowls the stage, like a lion poised to pounce.

"Billy f***ing Idol, yeah!" he tells the crowd. He's not wrong.