I was invited, last minute, to see Il Divo last night. For free.

Il Divo is the male quartet envisaged and assembled by American Idol judge Simon Cowell. They tour the world thrilling audiences – mostly female and” of a certain age.”

I went in with an open mind. I was expecting a “three tenors” experience. It would be a “best of” set featuring operatic hits performed by four suave, lantren-jawed twenty-somethings doing a sort of sexed-up set.

That’s no what Il Divo is about.

They are a sort of New Kids on the Block package. They apply “classical treatment” to pop songs and classics so you end up with Sinatra’s I Did it My Way in a four-voice harmonized falsetto. There’s lots of video, lights, a live orchestra, swagger and a big stage that juts out into the audience.

If this is what you like – and there were legions who did – they did a good job. The largely “octo-audience” gave standing ovations and cheered for more.

Personally, I found their music banal and the performances schmaltzy almost to the point of lounge lizardy. I’m pretty sure one of them was winking at the audience. And the shiny suits did little to win me over.

I kept expecting them to appear in man-thongs, each decorated with their flag of their country. (The Divos are American, French, Swiss and Spanish – a Simon-Cowell-targeted-demographic tactic for best audience numbers, no doubt.)

The boys could sing, no question, but there was nothing resembling those Pavarottian “High Cs” that knocked people’s heads off at the Met in NYC in the 72-3 season.

A low point of the evening – IMHO – occurred when someone threw underpants on stage. Oh, the the cliche of it all.But in some ways, this was relief too because some people – including the Divos themselves – laughed.

I’m convinced that no one is more surprised by their global success than the Divos. They said so much. I’m also convinced that they are doing their act with tongue firmly placed in sculpted cheeks.

The audience may take them seriously, but they don’t.

And for that, I like them.