SMILE and the world smiles with you. Frown and you're probably Faye Wong. Even by the spoilt standards of Canto-pop's pouty pantheon, Wong towers head and shoulders above her peers; a petulant princess non pareil. Fans were treated to fey Faye's latest display of industrial-strength weltschmertz at the recent Heineken Music Horizons '97 concert, where she achieved the amazing feat of making fellow performer Richard Marx look good. Despite the screams and cheers of her loyal, enthusiastic - and frankly, crazy - fans, Wong stood there like her feet were Superglued to the stage and plodded through four - count 'em! - ballads with all the enthusiasm of a neurasthenic sloth. Then, as Marx, the Gipsy Kings and other performers gathered for the grand finale, Wong decided she was above such mundane things as putting on a show and instead chatted to a Taiwanese singer. Now, perhaps this was all part of the act, the artistic expression of the sorrows of young Wongster, the poor tortured little darling. And perhaps Tung Chee-hwa will give his next policy address in a feather boa and gold lame G-string. No, methinks what we have here is a classic case of Spoilitus Bratus, a malady which seems to be increasingly common in the rarified atmosphere inhabited by our Canto-royalty. Fans should boycott she of the triste tonsils until she shows a bit less inclination to bite the clapping hands that feed her. As for Wong, she should take a reality check and perhaps a lesson in humility and public relations savvy from one of the artists whose oeuvre and image she has shamelessly pillaged, the ethereal Icelander Bjork. Wong has dubbed her latest offering When You're Happy, I'm Happy, from which we can only conclude that whoever 'You' are, you're letting the side down badly. Perhaps she's referring to her Beijing popster husband, Dou Wei (whose name roughly translates from Putonghua as 'Doo-wop sho-waddy-waddy'). If this is the case, Dou, old bean, you're doing something wrong. Or perhaps she's warbling about Wong Junior, the Beijing-born tot who might be suffering from a case of colic after being whipped across the border to join mum in record-quick time courtesy of Hong Kong's avowedly non-starstruck Immigration Department. I'd say one of her other recent albums was more honestly titled: Annoyed. On this whingefest, Wong sings five of the songs without actually resorting to lyrics. Small children often use this technique. It's called a tantrum. We all know money can't buy you love, but with the $60 million Wong is reputed to have landed for signing with EMI, you'd think she could at least afford a smile or two. Mind you, she then has the cheek to say, 'I am not one of those musicians who make a living because of their music'. I'll wager there is any number of struggling singers who would be delighted to join Wong in not making a living on a cool $60 million. Still, it must be a terrible burden to stagger through life, burdened by movie star looks, a towering talent, a loving family and a fat wad of cash in the bank. Come on, Faye. It's only rock'n'roll. You're allowed to like it.