Gig played on 05/10/06

One needn't bother to rush to see Missy Elliott. Despite the fondlings of security and problems trying to find a spot to stand, there's still plenty of time to indulge in over-priced booze and aggressive jostling before she deigns to turn up. Warm-up comes courtesy of a shockingly bland MC doing the usual shtick about representing the UK, forgetting to actually use the accent of his homeland in his delivery; and Fundamental (not that one) three handsome boys performing undeniably homoerotic synchronized dance moves around their pristine baseball caps. They'd go down a treat at G.A.Y.…

But maybe that's the point of Missy Elliott. She really ought to be straddling the gap between pop ubiquity and hip hop underground in a way that we so rarely see. And indeed, initial indications are good. Missy could surely have sold out far larger venues than the Hammersmith Palais, and the minimalism of the stage-set up (just a DJ platform and black curtains) combines with the intimate venue to boost the anticipation.

And when Elliott arrives, carried on a mass of deep bass and a stream of lithe dancers, the crowd goes to the next level. The fact that she demolishes "Get Ur Freak On" early in the set to a rapturous response heightens the feeling that we're going to be in for a perfect fusion of muggy club action and an all-singing, all-dancing, pop show that ought to be the perfect counter to the likes of Madonna's extortionate extravaganzas.

But she doesn't keep the pace up. The dancers are terrific, sure, as is her supporting MC. But too often they're allowed to take up the slack and act as a distraction to the fact that, for their money, tonight's audience are being rather short-changed by the clutch of songs played. Instead of the music the punters have paid to hear there's far too much running to the wings of the stage and through the throngs to shout out to the boys and ladies in the house.

It's all very well trying to connect with your crowd in such a way, but surely it should be the music that's being used to get to our feet, heart and brains? And then there's the predictable and mawkish shout-out to "Tupac and Biggy" and "all those we've lost" (lady, them's shot and dead, not down the back of the sofa) and a frankly embarrassing moment when she announces: "I love London, Paris, Africa…" an unfortunate mis-equation that serves to make her look profoundly ignorant.

All the elements were here for an incredible show that would cement Missy Elliott's reputation as queen of both underground and mainstream. As it is, the crown on her jumper sparkles only with fool's gold.

by Luke Turner