James Brown, Hammersmith Apollo, London

The anticipation alone is astonishing. Here we are, soon to be in the presence of a bona fide legend, a man who shaped the course of modern music with his unfeasibly funky take on R&B. As we are reminded in the run-up to his show, James Brown is "the Soul Brother Number One", "the Godfather of Soul", "the Funky President", "the Hardest-Working Man in Show Business". Only now I'd have to argue with the latter title.

The anticipation alone is astonishing. Here we are, soon to be in the presence of a bona fide legend, a man who shaped the course of modern music with his unfeasibly funky take on R&B. As we are reminded in the run-up to his show, James Brown is "the Soul Brother Number One", "the Godfather of Soul", "the Funky President", "the Hardest-Working Man in Show Business". Only now I'd have to argue with the latter title.

I guess it's to be expected that, at 75, Brown isn't the man he used to be. But so long is the wait for the soul legend to appear on stage that you wonder if he's taken a wrong turn behind the scenes and accidentally wandered on to the street. There are drum rolls, there are funky intros, there's even an old-school MC in a white suit and dicky bow whose job it is to whip the crowd into a frenzy ("Everybody shout: "James Brown! James Brown! James Brown!"). Killing more time before the boss arrives, we are introduced to the members of Brown's band The Soul Generals. Given that there are 10 of them, this takes a while.

Finally, after what seems like several lifetimes, our host arrives, all nylon hair and gleaming teeth and doing the famous sideways slide. But after singing the first refrain of "Let's Get Funky", Brown moves to the organ where he taps out a few inaudible notes, leaving the saxophonist to take centre stage. It's a scenario that is repeated throughout the evening: Brown sings the opening lines of his greatest hits - of which, admittedly, there are a lot - before stepping aside for his band to take over. Fortunately, the Soul Generals are first class, effortlessly recreating the propulsive funk that turned their leader into a legend. The three backing singers may look like they've fallen off the back of a cruise ship in their blue satin get-up, though they too negotiate Brown's back catalogue with ease.

The second half of the show brings further diversions. "Get Up Offa That Thing" heralds the arrival of two turbo-charged dancers who eventually whip off their skirts to reveal the initials "JB" etched on their underwear. When Brown moves back to the microphone to the opening strains of "It's a Man's, Man's, Man's World", you can feel the collective shiver run through the crowd's spine. Alas, after no more than 10 seconds, it is abandoned in favour of another solo. "I Feel Good" and "Gonna Have a Funky Good Time" suffer a similar fate. By the end of the show, all of the Soul Generals have had their solo spot, some of them twice, while everyone bar the roadie has joined Brown for some synchronised foot shuffling. So much has been going on that you almost forget that the Godfather of Soul has only sung four songs, "Soul Man" and "Sex Machine" among them, from start to finish.

Almost, but not quite.