Enrique Iglesias RDS Simmonscourt

Maybe this is boy power. But it's hard to tell sometimes whether Enrique Iglesias is the victim of horrid sexist objectification, or if his toyboy/gigolo performance is in fact an empowering form of new masculinism. What is clear is that Iglesias Jr is what Michelangelo's David would have looked like if the sculptor had given it more aesthetic consideration, topped off with leather trousers and a designer-dirty T-shirt.

Such details are important, for the music isn't. Still, you can't hold that against Enrique. Criticising his concert for its music content is like panning a blue movie for its dialogue - it's not what people came for. The most adventurous sound heard all night was a vocoder, sprinkled liberally through the eyebrow-raising Love to See You Cry.

Enrique has a neat trick of making himself more desirable by feigning anaemia or injury. Collapsing on his raised platform two songs in, he remained on his back for the number's duration. Later, a jaw-droppingly lewd dance with his backing singer on Can I Have This Kiss Forever was conversely energetic.

Far more shocking, however, was the fact that Enrique and his backing band seem to have missed the boat for the millennium by some 20 years. Achingly 1980s, One-Night Stand jittered with power chords and delayed sugary riffs. When his own store of perky dance-pop ran out, Iglesias reached for 1980s staples Purple Rain, Space Cowboy and, amusingly, Just Can't Get Enough.

Amiable between-song banter suggested that the hazelnut Adonis has charms deeper than his pectorals, but it's the Latin lover role that he must perform. Singing a torrid Hero to audience member Mavis ("Beavis?" he inquired sweetly. "Mavis," she repeated. "Beavis," he nodded.), he placed her hands on a part of Enrique that many dream of caressing and a jealous few might like to kick.