Pink's career has supposedly had a wobble, but no one has told her. This extraordinarily entertaining show features druids that turn into dancers, Pink as a policewoman dominatrix, hilarious potshots at pop rivals in Stupid Girls, and choruses programmed to force 18,000 pairs of hands into the air. That's just the opening numbers.

The visual effects are plenty, but the show's subtle triumph is in the pacing, which allows Pink's throat-lozenge vocals - three times as loud as the band - to skip from raucous rock to shimmering pop. The newly gym-toned 27-year-old barely pauses for breath: quite a feat when she's stripping to a bikini and being "caught" by a fisherman's net, which then suspends her upside down above a trio of dancers who illustrate the Kama Sutra with upturned Lycra bottoms.

The emotional breadth of the material changes faster than Pink's undies. She establishes rebellious credentials with Trouble, and presses emotional buttons with Family Portrait and the new Janis Joplin-y One That Got Away.

New album I'm Not Dead marks a partial return to the pop that made her name, but Dear Mr President tackles politics with disarming honesty. The question to Bush - "What kind of father might hate his daughter if she were gay?" - gets the night's loudest cheer, although she repeatedly lays down gauntlets to her peers. Britney never had this gravitas; Madonna's shows are more indulgent than Pink's barrage of hits.

Two hours flash by in a heartbeat. She then appears writhing with a female dancer on a trapeze while being showered by pink glitter, perhaps the most outrageously fun climax in a stadium pop masterclass that's impossible to fault.

· At Cardiff International Arena tonight (box office: 0870 534 4444), then touring.