But really, it's the dudes who should appreciate James Blunt the most. His tunes are like emotional Enzyte, natural male enhancement for all the guys who come up a little short in the feelings department.

Seeing Blunt live is like engaging in couple's therapy en masse, husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, tipsy gals and happy strangers all gripping one another like toddlers clinging to their mothers' legs.

Seriously, get your lady tickets to see this dreamy English troubadour, and it'll totally make up for when you got drunk and hit on that Denny's waitress in front of her, or for that time you gave her a vacuum cleaner for Christmas.

But fellas, have that ego in check before strolling into the concert hall, lest it quickly become consumed in more bruises and lacerations than you'd find at a hospital ward.

At The Pearl on Friday, Blunt received more lusty catcalls than a stripper strolling through a prison yard.

During the quieter songs -- i.e., most of them -- Blunt's pliant, pleading voice was nearly drowned out by one loud, throaty "I love you!" after the next, bellowed out by his many female admirers, geysers of hormones in high heels.

The only time a hush fell over the crowd was when Blunt unveiled his ubiquitous ballad "You're Beautiful." The girls were quiet for a moment, busy imagining he was singing about them.

For his part, Blunt started throwing emotional upper cuts right from the get-go, knocking the swooning crowd further back on its heels.

"You're listening to the sound of my breaking heart," he sang on the spare, flickering "I Really Want You," wielding his sentimentality like a machete.

Blunt is skilled at making the opposite sex melt like a Hershey bar left on the dashboard in July. He compares women to angels and tells them their smiles are as bright as the sun.

It would all get real treacly, real quick, but Blunt is quick to deflate those moments that veer toward the maudlin.

"You seem to be here to have some fun," he said to the near-capacity crowd early on during his 18-song, 90-minute set. "You do know we play miserable songs."

Maybe so, but they're not presented as such.

Beaming throughout the show like a teenager who just lost his virginity, duckwalking to and fro with his mouth agape, standing atop the monitors and his piano triumphantly, Blunt is an animated presence on stage.

Live, his songs are a bit more robust and full-bodied, alive with heart-pounding piano and a sturdy, forceful rhythm section.

During an extended "So Long Jimmy," the band delved into a fiery psychedelic jam, complete with roiling organ fills and frothy solos.

Later, band members donned goofy fuzzy hats and shades for a raucous "1973."

And though Blunt sounds as if he's singing nearly every song on bended knee, it'd be wrong to dismiss his repertoire as a series of tear-stained love letters to the lover who got away.

This wasn't solely a night of love songs. Blunt also alternated meditations on war ("No Bravery") with songs about the pitfalls of celebrity ("Annie").

Still, romance always hung in the air at The Pearl, and Blunt possesses enough self-awareness to understand the role he plays without putting on any airs about it.

"I'm a puppet on a string, I just need this stage to be seen," he sang on "Out of My Mind." "We all need a pantomime to remind us what is real. Hold my eye and know what it means."

And for all the guys in the house, their ladies pressed against them, passions stirred, it all meant a reason to smile just as broadly as the man on stage.

Contact reporter Jason Bracelin at jbracelin @reviewjournal.com or (702) 383-0476.