Hot Chip

Alison *Goldfrapp *strides out onto the glowing soft-focus stage like a tightly wrapped pop present; super confident on glittering silver platforms and a black micro dress, under a cloud of curly blonde hair. A wall of billowing white material flashes and glows behind her (a quartet of predictably choreographed dancers will emerge, twitching not quite in time, after the first song). Her matching all-male backing band take their places on various flashing podiums, lit by a bristling array of spotlights and lasers. It's a slick production, like a stadium pop tour in waiting, set for now against the impressive interior/exterior facade of Brixton Academy's stage.

The attention to staging and spectacle works in a few different ways: for one, it has much more in common with the multi-media populist onstage writhing of Kylie or Madonna than the marriage of resolute individualism and stagecraft of, say, Björk. There is no focus whatsoever on the beautiful instrument that is Alison Goldfrapp's singing voice, which for the most part is hidden behind swathes of backing-track replicas. Often, I can see her mouth moving but only hear a pleasing but artificial chord of voices coming from the speakers - frustrating, when you know what she is capable of. Occasionally, a striking high note emerges from the murk of the pop production: she's still a thrilling vocalist, even when thoroughly miscast in the unfortunate way that the Goldfrapp entity seems to insist that she is.

Still, it's a sensually appealing show. The stage shifts colours in a hypnotic rhythm; Goldfrapp strides around the place on her gym-slim legs; her backing boy-band are T4-slick in Scissor Sister outfits. This seems to be enough for the audience, made up of static late-20s young professional types, punctuated by the occasional flamboyantly dancing homo-superfan.

But there is no substance here. Goldfrapp herself is coldly professional, disinterested, going through the motions expected of her. Which is kind of fine if you're listening to the darkly sweet fruit of her studio sessions. But live? Without passion or spontaneity, any gig will ultimately be boring. Perhaps an element of blandness is required for true commercial success. But for conjoined artistic success, some element of creation and integrity must remain: as slickly seductive as Goldfrapp's show is, I'm left wanting something more.