First of all, let me say that I have no arguments with the hype surrounding James Morrison's voice. It's as wonderful as his press releases claim, as soulful and mature as any of the great soul singers, and he has a mastery over it that allows him to write impressive melodies.

Shut your eyes at a Morrison gig (as I did regularly last night - although mostly through tiredness) and it's hard to believe he's just 21 years old - and white!

His husky voice is reminiscent of Terence Trent D'Arby at the height of his powers, or Rod Stewart when Rod Stewart could still sing.

Secondly, I'm sure James is a very nice person. He continually thanked the audience for being "great" and, despite this being deliberate stagecraft, he seemed genuine enough.

But - and I guess this is the crucial point when reviewing someone's music - his songs aren't any good.

Last night's sell-out gig proved that Morrison had all the right moves, and his fourpiece band was a slick operation, producing all the right sounds. But good music - music that sticks in your head and still sounds fresh and exciting a decade later - needs more than mere competency. It needs a special something that Morrison lacks.

His songs politely ask you to listen to them, rather than grab you in an uncomfortable place and demand your attention.

And, as if to prove this point, last night's audience would not shut up. I was disappointed as talked loudly through a warm-up set by folk-based band The Webb Sisters.

But I was astonished when the incessant jibbering continued throughout Morrison's show. It was constantly audible through his rockier numbers and almost drowned out his quieter offerings. And these are supposed to be his devoted fans!

The only time the talking ceased was while Morrison played his big hit You Give Me Something. But even that moment was ruined when he threw it over to the audience to do the vocal duties - a bit of a travesty from someone who has little more than a voice to offer.

At one point, up the back of the auditorium as the crowd yacked over a quieter number, I noticed through the window that there was a 10-per-cent-off sale at a book shop across the road. That remains the high point of my evening.

While Morrison could be described as the musical version of Pot Noodles - instantly satisfying without having any long-term benefit - his "fans" could do him the courtesy of keeping their mouths shut.