Right now, there are two very different bands trading as the Gipsy Kings. There is the outfit that has notched up a couple of subtle and delicate flamenco-Latin studio albums over the past two years, and then there is the brash, sing-along band that appears at the Albert Hall. Before their lawyers get overexcited, I should point out that both outfits have the same personnel: massively successful, slightly burly middle-aged men who come from two Gypsy families in the south of France and have now sold an astonishing 18 million albums.

With success like that behind them, one might think they would want to prove they are exceptionally fine musicians, as well as being a commercial phenomenon. And that is what the more interesting version of the band has been doing in recent years: getting rid of the synthesisers and drum kit to show off their virtuoso guitar work and rousing vocals on new acoustic songs that sound remarkably fresh and classy. But there was no sign of that at the Albert Hall. Instead, here was the old-style band, seemingly unable to break away from the safe, well-worn formula.

In place of subtlety there was bombast. The Kings played at full tilt from the start, with the glorious sound of their six guitars diluted by the wash of keyboards and the drums and percussion. They were slick as ever, with four strong singers led by Nicolas Reyes, and virtuoso, rapid-fire guitar work from a bored-looking Tonino Baliardo. But there was little variety, and it was only minutes before the crowd were urged to get to their feet. There was a brief respite in the second half, when the keyboard player left the stage, but then the sing-along, clap-along songs continued as they headed for the inevitable finale of Bamboleo and Volare, when smartly dressed fans young enough to be the performers' daughters tried to storm the stage. Their audience were happy, but the Gipsy Kings must know that their other band is far more interesting.