There were two Barbra Streisands on stage at Madison Square Garden. There was Babs the Voice, the one devoted fans paid $500 to see because of the sound she extracts from her lungs and her soul. And there was Babs of the Autocue.

Let's do the Autocue first because, like the show itself, it really shouldn't be allowed to get in the way. She had a nice touch in self-deprecation, talking of knishes and fumbling her piano playing.

But it was over-scripted. When a George Bush lookalike joined her for a double-act you could applaud the sentiment (stem-cell research, global warming, Iraq) but you winced at the jokes. At a previous night's concert, the exchange was heckled, provoking a "fuck off" from Streisand.

And why, oh why, Il Divo as support? What has a Simon Cowell operatic Frankenstein got to do with La Diva, other than the name?

Enough already. In the end, Babs the Voice was triumphant. It started somewhere deep inside her belly, rumbled up through the dirty streets of her childhood Brooklyn, dripped over the rocks of her failed relationships, to emerge raw, sweet, sad, urgent, all in one. When she sang the words: "I would be successful, but so very much alone," there was no teleprompter about it.

She hit plenty of high notes: The Way We Were and Evergreen and songs from the stage show and film of Funny Girl such as My Man and People all had the audience quaking. She brought the aerodrome of Madison Square Garden down to the size of a Brooklyn bar.

And when she sang the opening lyrics of Somewhere from West Side Story it seemed complete. Until, until ... Il Divo came back on stage and the spell was broken. Someone please take Streisand aside and tell her: stick to the voice, it's more than enough.