Philip Kirkorov Lithuanian Fan-Club "Sueno d'Amor"

KITSCH MASTER WOOS YOUNG AND ELDERLY

The first time pop sensation Filipp Kirkorov appeared at the Eurovision Song Contest in 1995, it took some of those who were seeing him for the first time a few minutes to work out which side of the gender barrier this shaggy-haired, baby-faced apparition actually was on. Throughout much of the '90s, the king of kitsch of the former Eastern Bloc only got more outrageous and more wrapped up in his own ego, appearing as the Phantom of the Opera in New York, and writing groundbreaking songs like "Zaika Moya" that, while wildly popular, were hardly likely to tear down the walls of music and drive Radiohead into retirement.

Kirkorov has brought his latest style to St. Petersburg for another marathon run at the Oktyabrsky Concert Hall - a leaner look (metaphorically speaking, anyway), no sideburns and more stubble. But it's merely cosmetic: there are as many firecrackers going off onstage as there ever were, as many dancers in PVC, as many glares and smirks that either send you into a frenzy of applause or scare the bejasus out of you and, of course, just as much of the bouncy, conservative and (what's the word? oh yes) appaling music.

But despite all this, Kirkorov is, unquestionably, a master - not a master in terms of composition, taste or dress sense (Val Doonican would have arrested Kirkorov's jacket for fashion crimes), but a master of entertainment. The man knows his audience, and he plays them like a flute.

When the show opens, the screen at the back of the stage confirms the old stereotype: images of Kirkorov on a thousand stages around the world, footage of him being greeted by a million adoring fans, and so on. Appearing out of nowhere with a couple of tame pyrotechnics and that cheesy grin, Kirkorov starts off with one or two hits that are, to the dispassionate ear, the same as so many others and instantly forgettable. It goes like that for about 20 minutes, the crowd strangely subdued, wanting to love their man but not quite able to do it.

But gradually, Kirkorov moves through the gears as he sings the swingy "Mokry Blyuz" song followed by a Sinatra-style number, a mournful ballad and a selection from his Spanish-language album "Sueno d'Amor". The pitch rises and with the timing of a true pro, Filipp (you're now on first-name terms) step into the audience - not many people between the ages of 20 and 50 here, it must be said - to be bombarded with kisses and flowers.

Then comes one of those songs that goes "Booboobababadum" in the chorus, so that even the babushkas can sing along, and, lo and behold! Fil pulls one up on stage, hands her the microphone and away she goes. (There is real mastery at work here, too, if you watch closely). Our suspicion was that she was a plant but who knows).

And that's it: Fil has won! Enough foliage to open a flower-shop, panties flying through the air, more costume changes - a triumph. Not to mention the fact there's no lip-synching, the band is live and the Kirkorov voice is in its usual, rafter-shaking form. You may not like the music, but you have to admire the show.

Written by Barnaby Thompson