Birmingham NEC

...get 'wiggy wiggy!', and, indeed, 'get jiggy!!'..

Around about the time they stopped being [a]5ive[/a], [a]Five[/a] became the [a]Slipknot[/a] of Fun-Pop Frippery, sort of, the nation’s first and only in-fighting, all-cursin’, tattoos’n’booze berserk rock’n’roll boy band. And now J, the ‘bonny builder’, the one the 40-year-old mums want to have sex with immediately (baying for his loins tonight in tinsel deely-boppers), is going out with Mel C; that’s how hard HE is!?!

As the tyrannical Blokezone phenomenon reaches its all-time use-free zenith with the howling parody of a parody that is that lot called, spectacularly, Northern Line, [a]Five[/a] are the only remaining boy band on Earth who know anything about sex-thrill proper pop tunes you actually might want to ‘jig’ to – ‘Slam Dunk Da Funk’, ‘Everybody Get Up’ (with its pilfered Joan Jett bass brilliance), ‘If Ya Gettin’ Down’, ‘Don’t Wanna Letchoo Gooooo!!’ – all performed in synch-perfect Britney mic perfection with the vim of East 17 and the trew-twirlin’, pop-sharp tunesmith brilliance of the mighty Will Smith (before he went wrong).

Singin’ and dancin’ like tuff-enough US R&B pop lords, [a]Five[/a] have front-of-stage explosions exactly like AC/DC! They have five pornographic saucestrels in hot pants and the attendant dads, here with their SONS, are purple in the face! They descend on ropes like kinksome fireblokes, wear state-of-the-art style mag hip-hop posh togs, talk all the time about their hairy legs, use De La Soul samples, get ‘wiggy wiggy!’, and, indeed, ‘get jiggy!!’. By the ear-scorched end, several thousand out-size Kenny Everett sponge gloves with the words ‘Five Will Rock You’ are doing the FreddieMercury-arms-aloft, clap-along stadium caper as five 30ft fiery geysers gush to the moon from the stage floor.

It’s, er, blinding. Alright, ‘Keep On Movin” is cheese-core cobblers, they don’t beat themselves up onstage at all, they thank ‘our record company!’, and everyone forgets they were ever here one nanosecond after the lights go up, but what do you want? Well, it’s the spring and you want The Isley Brothers, really, but tuff. It’s the 21st century. And the rest of it’s up to you.