IT'LL STILL SELL A SICK-BUCKET LOAD

The curious thing about Robbie Williams' surprise gig (I know, we simply had no idea either) is that, despite having a small-ish venue and getting it packed with acolytes and the sort of people who care enough to pay a grand to be there, even then the new songs get a fairly muted response.

Not that it matters, of course. Nobody actually buys his records for themselves, do they? They're purchased as last-minute gifts - often by parents who don't realise that their daughters outgrew him long ago, or for mothers who really regret that time they said they liked Angels during Christmas Top of the Pops once; or absent fathers looking to make up for missing contact time because they were dicking about on the roof of a public building dressed up as Superboy. (talking of which, didn't this week's Fathers4Justice stunt at the Houses of Parliament fall rather flat? Apart from about twenty minutes on the front of news online, we didn't see any coverage at all.) It really doesn't matter if the music is any good or not; he's the entertainment industry of a box of Cadbury's Roses - a cheap way to say thank you, and a fairly safe bet.

music robbie williams