All that apart, there are no serious grounds for disliking Hucknall. Even at his egomaniacal worst (the video for 1991's 'Stars', where Hucknall, carrot locks flowing majestically, runs through space dressed in one of God's old nighties), there were just enough tunes to see him through. Simply Red have made their share of deeply dull stadium music, but there was always the odd original gem ('Holding Back the Years', 'For Your Babies'), or well realised cover ('Money's Too Tight To Mention', 'If You Don't Know Me By Now'), to keep even the most cynical pop fan interested.
However, if Simply Red are surprisingly good at Cardiff, the crowd are better. As Hucknall is introducing his ridiculously huge band (I stopped counting after about 11), some wag shouts: 'What's the singer called then?' And, while I've seen people hold lighters in the air in silent homage, I have never seen a crowd hold their cigarettes in the air before.
As the set unfolds, it becomes clear that Hucknall intends to play it safe, sticking to old hits. And quite right too. At one point, he squeakily asks the crowd if they want to hear some new numbers, and it is a credit to their manners that no one shouts back: 'No, of course not.' In the end, Simply Red play quite a few new numbers, all of which send everyone racing off for a fortifying lager or Fab ice lolly.
This thirtysomething crowd, part noisy hen party, part lairy stag night, haven't paid a disgracefully inflated £27.50 a head to act as guinea pigs for completely fresh material, or even relatively recent material. They want to hear the stuff from Picture Book and Stars, songs which, for them, were first-date soundtracks or marriage-proposal anthems.
And they want to hear Hucknall's voice of course, which is better than any white guy's deserves to be. If it is true that, to be convincing, white male soul singers, should aim to sound like black female soul singers, then Hucknall is blessed indeed. At Cardiff, his voice soars into the high notes, dips seamlessly back down into the low ones, and goes for riffing little walks when it feels like it. All without him breaking into a sweat.
People are technically incorrect when they go on about Hucknall's great voice. He hasn't got a great voice, he's got seven great voices. Fashionable he will never be again, but, long after the snobbery and childish sneering have faded, Mick Hucknall's voice will probably be remembered as one of Britain's best.