The have sold four million copies of their debut album, Devils Night, but Eminem's alter-ego rap troupe D12 struggle to overcome the impression that they're little more than a one-man crew. And if the point of this evening's performance was to redress the six-man group dynamic, it proved overwhelmingly unsuccessful. Exacerbated by tardy timekeeping, a shamelessly short set and Slim Shady's not-so-subtle scene-stealing, the show served only to highlight that D12 are indeed riding the coat-tails of their unofficial frontman.

Entering one by one - the multi-monikered MC an unassuming fourth - to the snarling sonics of Shit Can Happen, the 55-minute performance quickly descended into the Eminem show. Whether brazenly baring his bottom or attacking the microphone with a fearsome flow, the spotlight shines on Shady. Stalking the stage, spitting lyrics to the pulsating Pistol, Pistol, one hand clamped on crotch in typical rap pose, Eminem is utterly mesmerising. Even the most accomplished performer would be hard pressed to keep up with his prowling, testosterone fuelled stage-presence. Despite the enthusiastic attempts of the other five (Proof even catapults himself into the crowd at one point) D12 are ultimately unable to wrestle attention away from the main man.

It doesn't help that few people seem to know D12's music, outside of the drug-addled Purple Pills, leading to the inevitable conclusion that it's the music of Marshall Mathers they really came to hear. By the time the encore rolls round, the call for more is almost embarrassingly underwhelming.

Rap fans are a forgiving bunch, used to no-shows and poor performances, but tonight not even Eminem could assuage their annoyance with a late-running, too-short show free of the hits they wanted to hear.

Rather than the rapturous applause he's used to receiving, disgruntled boos were the only sounds left echoing about Eminem's ears.