EDMONTON - Not Devo -- Il Divo!

I had to explain that a lot yesterday leading up to last night's poperific spectacular at Rexall Place. So let's get it straight. As entertaining as opera versions of Devo songs would've been, this foursome of multinational pop-opera stars hasn't covered Whip It or Working in a Coal Mine.

Yet.

For now, these Armani-suited specimens of crooning man-candy continue to do what their svengali-slash-producer-slash-mean-American Idol judge Simon Cowell has groomed them to do: Drive women wild with grandiose, poperatic versions from the American songbook. Il Divo is the three tenors plus one (OK, two tenors and two baritones).

They are Josh Groban to the power of four, they are Luciano Pavarotti divided into more or less equal quarters, you get the idea. They are not Devo, the band who were not men. Il Divo are more than mere men, they are super-men who represent a pungent synergy of pop and opera music that tackles everything from ABBA to Frank Sinatra. No one's mom - or grandmother - is safe.

While the show came off like a slow-motion romantic stroll through the streets of Paris, with almost nothing more than 40 beats per minute, it reached the height of ridiculous, cheesy bombast more than once. This was especially true when they all bellowed their brains out at once, their varying vibratos creating complex interference patterns that not only obliterated the meaning of the lyrics, but also caused grown women - including your mom and grandmother - to absolutely lose it. Along with proffered presents of all sorts - teddy bears, flowers, rolled-up love notes - regular shouts of "I love you!" emanated throughout the arena as the members of Il Divo paced glacially about the stage, singing their wares.

Each showed off his particular charms, as required by the production's strict choreography (and don't think that walking very slowly doesn't require careful planning to end up on the proper marks; they'd even nod to one another as they passed). There was David Miller, the dashing American; Urs Buhler, the exotic Swiss; Sebastien Izambard, the enigmatic Frenchman and - "last but not least" - Carlos Marin, the smiling Latin lover. Carlos drew the most cheers for good reason: He can do more with a sly wink and a knowing smirk than all of Julio Iglesias's sons combined - plus Julio.

At one point in the first half of the show, Carlos spoke, saying exactly the same thing he was reported to have said in Winnipeg the other night, "Good evening, ladies. You're looking gorgeous ... Ah, what a beautiful view, heh, heh, heh ... Did you miss me? Did you miss my (dramatic pause) little curl?"

(He's got this curl of hair that hangs over his face; it apparently has an extra aphrodisiac effect on Il Divo's intended audience).

Cue laughs, after which he adds, "Enough cheesiness!"

No, not enough cheesiness! We demand more cheese, more romantic pop ballads puffed into grand arias, more versions of Moody Blues and Celine Dion and West Side Story songs rendered in Italian and delivered fourfold what they need to be.

Il Divo can't go over the top enough for my liking.

It makes sense that there's an American Idol connection here. The quartet - backed by a small orchestra whose violins sounded so slick as to be canned- seems to value their singing over the songs they sang. That said, however, partial standing ovations were earned from such familiar tunes as Simon and Garfunkel's Bridge Over Troubled Water, one of several "surprises" promised last night.

They slaughtered that pop classic and others, supported by impressive visuals and backdrop films that seemed to revolve around identical beautiful women skilled in the art of staying very still.

Before the show started, there were six of these living mannequins perched on the IL DIVO logo high above the stage.

Anyone who remembers the Robert Palmer videos from the '80s might have found all of this eerily familiar.

There is no Il Divo version of Addicted to Love that I know of at this point. I know, I know - don't give them ideas.