There's a fine line between showmanship and egomania, and for most of tonight's show R Kelly teeters just on the right side of that divide. All too aware of his sex-symbol status, the R&B star whips the faithful into a frenzy with his soulful crooning and bulging pectorals. But that's before he plunges into a breathtaking display of self-indulgence that leaves the crowd slack-jawed with amazement.
You can't accuse him of playing safe. In a pre-recorded video clip relayed over a giant screen, Kelly tells us he wants to "try something a little different". Perhaps aware that his ululating swingbeat ballads have lost ground in the R&B stakes to the clipped sassiness of Destiny's Child, he seems eager to put on a show. In fact, Kelly gives us a full-scale spectacle: dancers, an elaborate set, costume changes. The opening number, the Latin-tinged Fiesta, sees the stage awash with colour and activity as the star makes his entrance.
Throughout the evening, Kelly adopts a range of fantasy personae, from Harlem pimp to African monarch. This panto-like theatricality adds a welcome garnish to his somewhat bland music. In particular, his vigorous groin thrusts during songs such as Bump and Grind seem to keep the fans amused. The audience, mainly women aged 25 to 40 and dressed up to the nines, especially enjoy this side of the performance. When Kelly sings, a cappella, "Ladies, can I take off my clothes tonight?", the arena is filled with whoops of delight. You would expect his admirers to feel short-changed, given that the most we ever see of him is the briefest flash of torso.
During the final song, however, Kelly loses the crowd's goodwill altogether. He sings around half of his biggest hit, the torchsong I Believe I Can Fly, then he rushes off stage. On the screen appears a Disney-style cartoon representation of Kelly knocking on the doors of heaven, pleading in song to be let in. A gatekeeper croons that R is a sinner, and banishes him. But all is not lost - the ghost of Kelly's dead mother appears and tells him to pray. He does, and is greeted by a choir of angels singing his praises. Mouths hang open across the arena.
When the real Kelly returns to the stage to take a bow, only the faintest ripple of applause greets him. Even his most devoted fans don't know what to make of the crassest use of religious iconography since Michael Jackson dressed up as Jesus to perform at the Brit awards. Alas, no Jarvis Cocker appears to sabotage this outrageously arrogant interlude. But it hits home the message that gimmicks can't compensate for the paucity of decent songs.
R Kelly is at the Manchester Evening News Arena (0161-930 8000), tonight, and the NEC, Birmingham (0870 909 4133), tomorrow.
