Richard Ashcroft: Astoria, London

HE'S A CURIOUS beast, the Sensitive Lad. From a distance he's indistinguishable from your regular lad, all bravado and cheap lager, still dressed in the white shirt he wears in the office. But give him a soul-searching anthem and he's bellowing for the skies, hand on his heart, beer can aloft, tiny tear in his eye. He came into being when Weller swallowed the first bitter pill of rejection, and found his place in the high street with Oasis. But in this era of poncy Strokes and bloody nu-metal, he's lost, looking for direction.