Pity Conor Maynard, tonight's support act. With a No 1 album under his belt, "the British Justin Bieber", as he's been labelled, deserves a bit more than to have to play while people are still taking their seats. But he owes Ne-Yo, who discovered him when Maynard sang a Ne-Yo track on YouTube, so here he is. His brief whooping-and-dancing slot provokes mild excitement, but the Bieber comparison brings its own problems, the most pressing being that it raises expectations he can't yet meet.

Ne-Yo, on the other hand, was first in the queue when they were handing out confidence and sex appeal: his twinkly smile alone has fans eyeing him like cats spying a particularly succulent mouse. So far, so R&B dreamboat. But this Las Vegas songwriter is cut from a different cloth to Usher and the rest. At several points, he praises women who "don't necessarily need a man" (apart from him, one presumes), and dedicates She Got Her Own and Miss Independent to them.

During My Other Gun, we see footage of his baby daughter; later, he heartily advises us to Realise Every Dream – which happens to be the subtitle of his current album, RED. Moreover, there's no stud-muffinry; his tight black clothes stay clamped to his body all night. If it weren't for the cavalcade of dancers apparently dressed for a Helmut Newton photo shoot, this would be quite the most female-friendly gig of the year. There's also a good deal of talent underneath: he's a crystalline crooner on So Sick, a rumbustious wailer on a duet with Maynard, Turn Around, and, during a surprise visit from Stetson-wearing country singer Tim McGraw, a deft balladeer. A nice evening with the good egg of R&B.

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