Robbie Williams

A primary question: what exactly do we want from our pop stars? Information? Entertainment? A mixture of both, with side orders of cheap emotion and sentiment? There are few pop stars around ambitious or talented enough to achieve even a hint of these. And then there's someone such as Robbie Williams, a man who manages to make it all look so easy, so natural, so consummate. "Jesus, I'm good at this", were his opening words on Saturday night, his second at Lansdowne Road. Frankly, you'd be a fool to argue.

A natural who has graduated with flying colours from the school of choreographed posture-pop, Williams's demeanour is part cat-who-got-the-cream and part humble man-of-the-people. His charm lovebombs both genders to such a degree that his appeal is a foregone conclusion.

Comparisons with the appeal of Freddie Mercury abound: from the intro of Queen's Fat Bottomed Girls to the closing cover version of We Are The Champions, Williams works the crowd like a master showman. Comprised of all the hits the crowd know inside out (including Millennium, Lazy Days, No Regrets, Let Me Entertain You, Angels, She's The One, Rock DJ, Strong), the strength of the show lies as much in the music itself, which is divided between high quality hook-laden indie/pop/rock and ballads, as in the delivery. Smart, wily and speed-dial button-pushing, Williams has borderline arrogance and lip-curling charisma in abundance.

Another crucial factor in Williams's appeal is his honesty - he's the least fake of major pop stars we have, someone who is as much in awe of the crowd's response as the crowd is of his presence. Pre-empting U2's imminent appearance at Slane by covering Beautiful Day, the second question that has to be asked of our pop stars is: can they take us to a higher place? So many can't. But Williams? No better man. Like he said - he's good at this.

Damned good.