Justin Timberlake apparently chose the UK's finest sheds for his first solo tour because Britain was the first place to send 'Justified' to Number One. Not bad going for a man who six months ago was more famous for shagging Britney than the rather dubious efforts from his band N*Sync.
Most of the crowd here - G.A.Y. types shrieking it out with market-bling-chic teens, and the odd professional couple blending in with hard-looking curious hip hoppers - just know him for 'Justified', it's fine singles, and his ripped torso on every magazine cover bar The New Scientist. Thankfully, we are spared any N*Sync medleys - bar a Nelly-free version of 'Girlfriend' - and instead focus on the debut album, and what with it being a splendid 21st century blend of 'Off The Wall' era Jacko and early seventies Stevie Wonder, we're clearly in for a treat.
Opening up with 'Rock Your Body' - with pyrotechnics so fierce you fear the resurrection of a grumpy Saddam - Mr Timberlake opts to do just that, and, impossibly, succeeds in making Wembley Arena the funkiest place on Earth. Armed with a huge full band - complete with horn section, DJ and four backing singers - there's also eight dancers in trilbies and sleeveless hooded tops throwing a variety of hip-hop shapes to get the party truly started.
After a magnificent 'West Side Story'-esque 'Senorita', clouds start to gather and the familiar Timbaland-isms creep in for a show-stopping 'Cry Me A River', a song that instantly makes Robbie's entire output redundant. As - admittedly rare - songs about breaking-up with Britney go, it's the daddy, and tonight's version is utterly magnificent, and as if being the foxiest 22- year-old in showbusiness wasn't enough, Justin whips out his guitar and proceeds to melt every heart in a five-mile radius with a sweet 'Take It From Here'.
Beyond the wall-to-wall glory of seeing the Prince Of Pop tentatively approach the throne, there are few quibbles. However, with tickets starting at £25, a 70-minute show, stuffed with drum breakdowns and band introductions (including a slap-happy Level 42 moment from the bassist) is not enough. Such quibbles are easily forgotten though, as Justin freestyles Planet Rock from the top of a crane, whilst a DJ mucks about with Kraftwerk's 'It's More Fun To Compute', or tap-dances in trainers before disappearing through a grand piano after 'Still On My Brain'.
Finally, after a brief encore, comes an ass-busting 'Like I Love You', bringing the house down on an evening that suggests the King Of Pop may, at long last, have a worthy challenger. Ready to abdicate Jacko? Or must we wait for Justin Timberlake to storm the gates of Neverland?
