Robyn's scrappy dynamism has less in common with the regimented spectacles of pop's arena league than it does with Cyndi Lauper or a pre-imperial Madonna, only with more warmth and humour.
Dressed in yellow and black, and small even in platform shoes, she brings to mind a bumblebee as she buzzes tirelessly around the stage. She seems genuinely touched that so many people know the words to her tongue-in-cheek rap Konichiwa B******
and she spins in circles with almost childlike glee during the colossal climax of Dancing on My Own. Even the two windmills that flank the stage look more like oversized toys than expensive props.
The show's energy is rave-like, with two drummers, two keyboardists and an LED screen blasting images worthy of the Chemical Brothers.