Accept no substitutes. An album, a film, a band and a brand name - for many, the Buena Vista Social Club is Cuban music. Under its sepia-hued logo, the once forgotten singer Ibrahim Ferrer has become a global superstar . . . better late than never.

As light flooded over the audience during delirious set-closer Candela, the effect of the sprightly Ferrer and his sharp big band was glowingly obvious. Overcoats lay in heaps on the floor; close to the stage, several individuals danced, possessed by the beat of the timbales; apparent strangers were united in torrid tangos. All in a day's work for the 17-piece big band.

Of course, substitutions were inevitable. Absent from the grand piano was Ferrer's fellow sensation RuebΘn Gonzβlez, replaced by a young pianist with hummingbird fingers. In the five-song lead-up to Ferrer's entrance, the superb trombone-player Jes·s Ramos took up band-leading duties, whipping the Social Club into a taut Hyde Park Mambo, a sultry El Reloj de Pastora and a dawdling El Trombon Majadero that segued briefly into the Hollywood schmaltz of Somewhere Over The Rainbow.

Flat-capped and sharp-suited, Ferrer ambled onstage to a clamour of admiration, as the gentle and hopeful Bruca Maniguβ drifted out. Throughout the set, a series of dazzlingly improvised solos led into one another like a show-off relay; the dexterity of each musician showcased again and again. Routinely, at the euphoric finish of each song, we were reassured of the genuine article: "Ibrahim Ferrer! The Buena Vista Social Club!" the band exulted.

The smoochily crooned highlight, Como Fue, lilted and seduced before the flute and trumpet sparring of Marieta hauled the crowd from their seats. Ferrer and his companions were not at all shy and, happily, seemed far from retiring.