PINK plunges 100 feet from a crate festooned with huge balloons, grabs a loud-hailer and barks out the chorus to 'Get The Party Started'.
This spectacular entrance is merely a taster of what is to come as the Philadelphia singer brings her 'Funhouse Summer Carnival' tour to Dublin. Later, she hangs from trapeze wires above a crowd that, at a cursory glance, appears to be 95pc female.
That's before she rolls, Flaming Lips-style, over our heads in a giant hamster bubble.
As a visual spectacle Pink's show is unquestionably in the blockbuster league. Alas, a certain lumpiness bedevils her songbook, with its unsatisfying mix of bubble-gum fem-pop (the men in her songs are either wimps, drunks or cads) and tattoo-encrusted heavy rock.
Skewing towards the bombastic, anthems such as 'Bad Influence' and 'Please Don't Leave Me' sound forever on the brink of regressing into Aerosmith cover versions.
Especially dreary is an acoustic section where she cradles a guitar on her lap and wades through the po-faced metal balladry of 'Dear Mr President'.
Craving more of the fists-in-the-air stuff, the audience displays its indifference to Pink's 'sensitive' streak with a chorus of 'Ole, Ole, Ole'.
Still, the music is ultimately irrelevant. Stomping around in huge heels and a skimpy showgirl outfit, Pink is the pop equivalent of a force-10 hurricane -- regardless of how bludgeoned the soundtrack is, it is simply impossible to take your eyes off her.
A shame, then, that she sees fit to hand 15 minutes over to her song-writing partner Butch Walker, traipsing on for lead vocals on The Who's 'My Generation' and The Police's 'Roxanne'.
If Pink's career contains any message it's that strong women don't need to share the limelight with the men in their lives. Why doesn't she heed her own advice?