The argument against live albums, and it’s a good one, is that the whole point of live performance is to create an unrepeatable experience which by definition can’t be captured on tape. Sure, some extemporising magic occasionally manages to survive the electronic bottling, but so do shortcomings like dodgy levels and the odd vocal slip-up. The result being that a band’s live recordings are usually the concern of serious fans only.

With all that semi-obvious rot behind us, it’s time to say that Live It Like You Love It isn’t half bad as far as the paradoxical genre goes.

The opener, ‘Love Is The Key’ from the Charlatans’ last studio release Wonderland, is a bit ropy; Tim Burgess struggles with his self-inflicted falsetto and the rhythm section seems a bit unsure. But by ‘Tellin’ Stories’, things begin to take shape. Burgess is back on familiar Manc-drawl territory, and the others seem a little happier in their skins. ‘One To Another’ is done justice too, but by this stage the frailties of the audio mix have become apparent. The drums are quite murky and the vocals too quiet, taking away from a sonic potency you know is there but can only infer rather than enjoy.

We’re on to the greatest hits now. Burgess dedicates ‘The Only One I Know’ to Sean Ryder, and then sings it rather badly. ‘Impossible’ sounds even more Dylanesque here than on Us And Us Only, but is the better for it. ‘North Country Boy’ pulses with a baggy energy that will, despite reasonable protests that the era wasn’t really that long ago, invoke nostalgia for the halcyon, scrumpy-soaked days of Madchester.

We’re in the home straight now (albeit a long one – the album is over 70 minutes long), with the cinematic ‘Weirdo’ handsomely delivered.

A sprawling, triumphant ‘Sproston Green’ rounds off the proceedings nicely, segueing into a coda of pure ’70s psychedelia, all massive Hammonds and schizophrenic drums rooted by a pulsating bassline. You can almost taste the mushrooms.

Bottom line: Live It Like You Love It is still largely a gospel for the converted, unlikely to win the band any brand new disciples. But if you have at least a passing familiarity with the Charlatans’ studio material, you could do worse than put this record on, close your eyes and pretend you’re there.