Chiselled cheekbones? Check. Hair still bleached, short and spiky? Yes, if not quite as blond as it was. Sex God bod? Absolutely. When Billy Idol strode on stage at Brixton in skin-tight trousers and black leather trenchcoat, groups of women gasped. The blokes weren't unimpressed either.

Hardly heard of in more than a decade - although his last, original album came out only three years ago - the Los Angeles-based singer was back in his native Britain to promote a current “Best Of” collection, possibly forgetting that he had a Greatest Hits out in 2001. That Idol has retained his pin-up looks was an essential gig ingredient, rather than an asset. Never hardcore enough to be cutting-edge and too late to punk to claim innovator status, his early 1980s heyday was fuelled as much by his raunchy image as by his albums. Unfortunately, when he started to sing, his real age, 52, was revealed.

The opener Cradle of Love was so tamely delivered that it could have limped in on crutches. Gone were Idol's growl, snarl and once monstrous ego. Instead, it was left to the lead guitarist and longtime co-writer Steve Stevens to steal the limelight with his windmilling arms, legs-akimbo poses and bouffant, jet-black hair that may well have been a wig.

Idol sounded sexier in a lower register on the evergreen hit Dancing With Myself, but his energy levels remained low and he struggled to command the stage. Twenty minutes in, however, White Wedding seemed to jumpstart the singer. Idol was epic, relocating his growl, punching the air and, eventually, leading his four-piece band through a blistering song that will live on long after he is gone. He followed with two new numbers, a moody, mid-tempo tribute to John Wayne and the frantic New Future Weapon, as remarkable for its passion as for the sight of Idol removing his coat to reveal bulging, tattooed biceps. Thereafter, the concert picked up, but encountered new problems.

Surely Idol has enough hits not to pad out 90 minutes with pointlessly extended intros and outros? Or, on the crowd-pleasing ballad Eyes Without a Face, resorting to repeating the second half of the song. It seemed not. When Idol vanished for a costume change, Stevens indulged in a Slash-style solo so lengthy you feared the singer had gone to the nearest pub for a pint. A cover of the Doors' LA Woman and a magnificent Rebel Yell almost made up for it, but possibly only because, by then, Idol was exposing a tantalisingly taut six-pack.

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