My Morning Jacket deliver a typically expansive set in Manchester.

It's clear that My Morning Jacket belong in this rarefied group; the youthful hipsters, age-diverse general music enthusiasts, jam band aficionados and veterans of the psychedelic wars in tonight's (6th September) near-capacity crowd at the Ritz in Manchester can't have that much in common beyond their shared love of the Kentucky five-piece.

It's not hard to compute why the band inspire such die-hard devotion; My Morning Jacket are a dynamite live act, one of the few currently active outfits who can boast of an old-fashioned double live album (2006's electrifying Okonokos) that presents a career peak - and ideal introduction - rather than a stop-gap indulgence.

Primary songwriter and, besides guitarist Carl Broemel, onstage focal point Jim James recently spoke about the physical toll of touring. In the middle of a gruelling schedule (and in town the day after an appearance at the End of the Road festival), these tireless road hogs initially appear slightly worn-out tonight. The first few tunes are hardly phoned-in routine; most acts would save the high-voltage stomp-funk of opener "Victory Dance" for an encore. In comparison to the band's explosive peak dynamics, however, the opening stages of tonight's typically generous two-hour set are marked by road-honed professionalism rather than the spark of true inspiration: arrangements stick faithfully to the studio originals, James's high notes soar more warily than usual and, strangely for a band with such a close bond with their fans that this tour’s setlists are open to guest curation (which might explain the welcome appearance of such rarely aired deep cuts as "Master Plan" and "Bermuda Highway"), not a word is spoken to the crowd all night (although James eventually starts to communicate with the audience via hand signals and beaming smiles).

By the time we reach a spectacularly pumped-up pairing of "Circuital" and "Believe (Nobody Knows)", any signs of restraint have evaporated. The latter especially is a revelation: slightly overly glossy and slick on strong new album The Waterfall, tonight’s fearsomely muscle-flexing take defies you to snicker at the song's ample fist-pumping, arena-slaying potential; with My Morning Jacket in full flight, the only option is to, well, believe. At the opposite end of pop-savviness, an otherwise lovingly handled "Dondante" - James's falsetto gliding weightlessly towards the clouds by now - descends into a noodle-off between James's guitar and Broemer's sax that's either manna from heavens or tedium personified, depending on your personal allowance for extended improvisation. Just as attentions start to wonder, the band switch seamlessly to the soaring instrumental coda of "Lay Low", with James - looking not unlike a psychedelic teddy bear in shades with his unkempt, freely flowing reserves of hair - lifting his guitar towards to rafters as if it was an offering to appease the decibel-hungry deities of rock 'n' roll, who would no doubt also be sated by the mighty roar of the Springsteenian "Gideon" which follows.

The wild stylistic leaps between and sometimes during My Morning Jacket’s albums can be baffling to the non-initiated, which might explain why they're still attracting far smaller crowds in these parts than the wealth and depth of their back catalogue merits; for example, 2001's sparse alt. country mini-classic At Dawn isn't obviously the work of the same band as this year's magnificently mad psychedelic prog-pop opus The Waterfall, much as the retro-futuristic, funky space truckin' of 2005's Z appeared to originate from an entirely different galaxy to the one that begat the cosmic Crazy Horse-isms of It Still Moves (2003). Live, the eccentric genre-hopping introduces a powerfully compelling element of surprise and spontaneity: you never know what you'll get next, but with seven consistently strong albums to draw from, it's bound to be good. By the time the evening's brought to a close by a typically thunderous run through customary closer "One Big Holiday" (the one predictable thing about MMJ shows), it's blatantly obvious why the band's faithful fans wouldn’t dream of missing a show.