It's hard not to like Pink, the "missundaztood" rock chick who resisted attempts to sculpt her into a tattooed Britney. Even if her reputation for being truculent might be a trifle staged (she should stop turning up freshly primped and smiling for album-launch gigs, or people will talk), she's the exception that proves the dolly-bird rule. Back after a three-year break, during which she acquired a husband and more body-art, her presence is bracing, and this half-hour showcase is a lapel-grabbing introduction to her new record, I'm Not Dead. Pink is indeed alive and in excellent fettle, having adopted a Gwen Stefani-ish look and a power-rock sound. Both suit her, but it's the blonde curls, red dress and (during the opener) riding crop that provoke squeaks of admiration from the predominantly female audience.

Is the uncharacteristic femininity intended as a defence against the irritation her album will cause in America? As a pop artist, she hasn't played safe. One of the songs previewed tonight, Dear Mr President, is a highly accusatory message to George W, sung acoustically to heighten its impact.

Stupid Girls will also put noses out of joint, being a baleful put-down of famous-for-being-famous size 4s. Two miniskirted, bejewelled dancers preen for imaginary paparazzi as Pink sardonically runs her hands over her own curvy tush. It's easy to understand why: a self-made woman who plainly calls the shots in her career, she doesn't suffer fools. Her own vocal ability is considerable, and, when not pitted against thumpy arena-rockers such as I'm Not Dead, distinctive.

She ends with the most distinctive song of all. Get the Party Started is an anodyne disco number at heart, but when Pink gets her teeth into it as an encore, it blossoms into something as foxy and impudent as she is.