Usher

Oh dear. Fabulous piece of man-candy that he is, you’d think it would be enough that Usher is gorgeous and a superb dancer, as well as being a very competent vocalist. Sadly it wasn’t enough, and the sparse crowd in the Point started to feel it just a couple of songs into the set.
Arriving in a white suit that’d make Dickie Rock proud and boasting dance-moves to make Michael Jackson’s pedestal wobble, Usher exploded onto the stage, accompanied by his very striking dancers, lights, cameras, hydraulic lifts and the rare ability to wear shades indoors and not look foolish.
After the initial (programmed) explosion, however, it was really all downhill from there. The naive among us identified the picking-random-pretty-girl-from-the-audience-and-serenading-her stunt from previous gigs. The bland ballads followed the usual formula and, charming though the 25-year-old is, the whole performance came across as a cheap composite of a hundred other pop acts: glossy, over-produced and soulless, right down to the single white glove he sported on one hand.
Competent singing, excellent dancing, but the songs are just underpants of the highest order, and until he hires a new songwriter, Usher will never be a serious contender.