Avril Lavigne

Avril Lavigne doesn't look happy. She's wandering back and forth, traversing the stage of the sold-out Brixton Academy as a backing track blares out behind her. Her band, coiffed, keychained and apparently miming, are jumping around like lotto-winning locusts. Avril's not miming, her voice is belting out across the expanse of the Academy, but she seems content to pace around wearily, occasionally pumping the air with one fist. She looks bored. Disillusioned.

Everyone else here, mind, is stupidly happy. You've got the two balconies full of t-shirted, be-tied and bunny-eared 10 year olds, screaming Avril's name. You've got the multitudes of punkmetal kidz, resplendent in Korn tees and eyeliner to prove their trooness, but nevertheless wiggling and bouncing to the pop hooks of 'Sk8er Boi'. You've got the two bearded, leathered meeetttaaaaaarrghhhhl dudes at the back, headbanging and grinning insanely at each other for the duration of the gig. And let's not get into the number of dads here, who of course have only turned up to ensure the safety of their beloved children for the duration of the evening, and have NO interest in the 18 year old Ms Lavigne at all. No-one's too cool to get out their happy face and dance.

And it's a great show. She plays the contents of her album, and it sounds fabulous. Forget the sub-Alanis comparisons you've heard - frankly, this girl could be the fourth Dixie Chick - hell, she was gonna be a country star until her People changed their minds and went for the more credible punk demographic. These are basically country songs with a backing track riff - but they cross over well. The tunes are there. Whoever wrote these songs knew what they were doing. 'Complicated' is a triumph, all lilting melodies and defiantly sung choruses, and her best song, the fantastically angsty 'Losing Grip' (this has got to be a single at some point) is suitably beefed up to fill the 6000 capacity venue, as Avril hollers, 'Why should I care?/If you don't care then I don't care/We're not going anywhere'. She even successfully pulls off a cover of Green Day's Basketcase. It's a walkover for her - the entire population of the Academy, for the third night running, is deservedly hers.

So why does she look so washed out? In a recent interview, Avril shrugged, "It's cool. I'm doing what I always wanted to do." Tonight leaves you wondering whether that's true or not. When Avril donned her Chuck Taylors and spiky wristbands, did she reckon on playing to a room of glow-stick waving ten year olds? Avril's a complete success. She sounds great, she looks great. She's brilliant at what she does. The one thing she fails at is credibility - her songs, with lines like 'take off all your preppy clothes' are perfect pop nuggets, but are also permeated with the faint odor of contrivance. The elitist punk rock kids loathe her and dedicate websites to her hopeful downfall. And the world sees her as the anti-Britney, conceived simply to provide a sassy - and easy to swallow, kids! - mirror image to Britney/Christina/Shakira et al's shiny pop goodness. The one thing she desperately wants to be is cool - and her sharp rise to fame, and the demographic that have adopted her, have ensured that cool is the one thing she'll never be. She's been called the new P!nk, but you get the feeling P!nk gets her own way a bit more than Avril does. For tonight, she's got the world at her feet - but is it the world she wanted?