READ REVIEWS OF ROBBIE WILLIAMS' CONCERTS

THEY say that in this business, it pays to have some kind of an attitude. Robbie Williams knows he's got attitude but he's accepted the fact that it suits him perfectly and it does his career good.

What's really with this man that makes him such an interesting subject, whether of adulation, ridicule, criticism, or plain conversation? Some say it's the aura, a genuineness of character and transparency that translate into someone real and humane. Others reckon it's the ability to transform a song into something with a timeless edge, a voice that speaks and a heart that pounds.

Fast-rising Robbie Williams was recently voted as one of Britain's most influential musicians. About 600,000 voters who cast their ballots think that Williams is a better songwriter than Cole Porter and a better singer than Michael Jackson. Raised eyebrows, anyone? Certainly, specially to most cynics like this writer, because Williams wasn't even the most gifted among the members of the once top-selling European boy band Take That. So, what makes him dazzle millions?

At 26, Robert Peter Williams is now dubbed as Britain's favorite son, after being known as Cheeky Robbie when Take That was still hot.

But behind the brave and usually poker face, and beyond his sensationalist pop tactics, Williams is a well-equipped singer and songwriter, too tough to bully and too smart to be pushed around.

As a performer, Robbie has foresight. He is not afraid to experiment. In fact, he has done a lot more than most of his peers, even in rule-breaking industry terms. When he does interviews, he lets his hair down, talks dirty if he likes, comments freely about social issues like drugs, and he even dresses in rock-y drag.

As a songwriter, he's got wit, flair and an appreciation of his own ludicrousness, as one of his latest songs, "Strong," makes clear: "My breath smells of a thousand fags/ When I'm drunk, I dance like my dad/ And I've started to dress a bit like him."

"I just go up on stage, sing the songs I'm supposed to sing, and just do what I do," he says nonchalantly. "I don't have to act. I don't have to put my best foot forward. I just have to be me, I guess," he intones.

He admits, though, that once not too long ago, he wanted desperately to perform so he could impress, a stance most of our local actors and singers have mastered. His cool-dude, boy-next-door image, which was built up over those six successful years with Take That, has been difficult to shake off and forget.

"In fact, people were waiting for me to end up as a booze-up, washed up, car-crashing pop, like many before me who separated from their groups and went crashing down faster than a torn parachute," he says.

Oh yes, he had this drug-binge period but he explains why: "To be cocooned for so long, then suddenly be released and not have a clue of what you're doing, that's scary. It's inevitable for someone young and stupid to just fall on the wrong side of the tracks and be encouraged by the wrong people. Granted that I used to be an idiot, but a lot of people helped me along the way to be that idiot! It's sad…"

Williams has stocked up a huge pile of lessons learned. "I'm a lot more confident now, and a lot more assured. I like myself a lot more and it's a shame that it should come with success. That thought always worries me: if success isn't there, does that mean I'll hate myself again?"

Well, much of the anxiety has been used for a better purpose--songwriting. In his new album, Robbie says, "There is a more reflective side of the sadness, instead of the angst when I was writing my last album ('Life Thru A Lens'). The sadness is a lot clearer now--and so are the other emotions I put into the songs I'm writing."

There is "Let Me Entertain You," a sincere, little dance pop number that features the declaration "I'm a burning effigy of everything I used to be." For a while William's anger over his teen days dominated his music, but these days, songs like "Karma Killer," which is about the former Take That manager Nigel Martin-Smith, have given way to more diverse and thoughtful lyrics.

Even his collaborations are promising, like his partnership with Guy Chambers, the former World Party keyboardist whom Williams considers his musical partner for life. Chambers is comfortable writing the melody while Williams provides the words, the face and the attitude. Their works reflect a three-dimensional angle of their own personalities: "Millennium" is smooth, a hip hop-laced dance pop; "Man Machine" is aggressive and guitar-driven rock almost throughout. And then there's the power ballad "Angels," which catapulted Williams to near immortality in the Gen-X music genre. All three songs are part of Williams' new CD, "The Ego Has Landed" which is being marketed locally by OctoArts-EMI.

Perhaps the most interesting of the cuts is the carrier single "She's the One," a ballad that begins with a lonely voice and piano accompaniment then climaxes in crashing drumbeats and tear-jerking strings.

It's a love song that carries itself with panache, with its heart on its sleeve. For the most part, however, the new album is generally mischievous and loud-mouthed in verse, and forthright and frolicsome in music.