Big talent, high sap content

A Josh Groban gig is the musical equivalent of shopping at Costco. Everything comes in these huge, economy-sized packages: He's got that gigantic, triple-helping voice blanketed in an all-you-can-eat buffet of instrumentation provided by close to 30 backing musicians.

Oh, and don't forget the 12-pack of schmaltz, more syrupy than a case of Nyquil.

An evening spent in Groban's presence is an exhausting one, his repertoire overstuffed with one crescendo after another, lots of loud, crashing cymbals, preening strings and so much melodrama that it feels like being trapped in an orchestral soap opera.

"Some of you may or may not know that I love theater," Groban announced toward the end of his two-hour set Saturday at the MGM Grand Garden.

No way!

At 26, Groban's pretty much a Hallmark card come to life, his lyrics rife with generic, one-size-fits-all platitudes that seem as if they were cribbed from a sack of fortune cookies.

He compares lovers to stars and says stuff like "I am not a hero / I am not an angel / I am just a man" with the straight face of a seasoned "Saturday Night Live" vet.

His tunes are pop pep talks littered with maudlin self-help maxims that would make Dr. Phil blush.

"You are loved, don't give up," he sang at the onset of the show, setting the stage for an evening of gooey over-romanticizing that was akin to wading through a tar pit of sentimentality.

It was a relief then, when Groban turned to his nouveau classical pieces, sung in Italian, which stand out primarily because you can't understand what he's saying.

Then the focus shifts to where it should, namely Groban's booming voice, which is a gorgeous thing to behold.

Groban possesses one of pop music's most resonant, distinctive timbres, and he'd sound compelling reciting the ingredients to a tube of a toothpaste (perhaps he should try it sometime; it might make a song such as the terminally sappy "You Raise Me Up" a little easier to swallow).

Groban's most effective tunes tend to be his most unadorned, when he favors understatement over ostentation, such as on the flickering piano ballad "Lullaby" or the tremulous slow burn of "Un Dia Llegara," with its touches of flamenco guitar.

With so much New Age soul-searching going on, Groban's smart enough to leaven things with a self-deprecating, aw-shucks onstage demeanor that cuts though the pretense a bit.

Clad in jeans and a black sport coat, he goofs on his inability to dance and graciously signs autographs for his many female admirers mid-show, enveloped in the ruffled, approachable air of a high school music teacher.

No wonder your mom digs this dude so much.

To his credit, Groban also knows when to step aside from time to time, such as when he made way for a fiery solo from violinist Lucia Micarelli, who stormed through Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" with such force that her bow frayed into tatters.

But ultimately, Groban's over-emotiveness becomes downright draining -- "There's a storm in my heart," he howls -- and by show's end, you feel like an extra in some overwrought production for the Lifetime channel, waiting for the shaggy-haired director to mercifully yell, "Cut."