For their entrance they descend on strings, because they're '*NSYNC and that's the kind of thing they do. '*NSYNCare the band Backstreet Boys dissed in the press. They're the group whose album sold 2.4 million copies in its first week of release. Er, they're the ones whose main vocalist Justin Timberlake is dating Britney. They might not have struck a big chord over in Blighty yet, but get ready, 'cos they will. '*NSYNC are going to be big, big, big.
And 60,000 throats are going to be sore, sore, sore after tonight, because this 110-minute show, even without the costume changes, giant video screens, conveyer belt stages, confetti bursts and free glowsticks, is a pulsating, sonic-tremor-inducing pop explosion.
Amiable harmonies sung by perky-bottomed, taut-chested, 20-somethings may be nothing new to anyone who's had to live through Bros, Five and Ant & Dec. But here in America, it's still something of a novelty - one that's fast catching on. Tonight *NSYNC are playing to their biggest crowd and making the most of it.
There's uniform crotch-grabbing and mirror-image floor-humping on 'Space Cowboy (Yippie-Yi-Yay)'. There may be no Take That arse-revealing red leather devil trousers, but they do perform 'Tearin' Up My Heart' and 'Digital Get Down' in kinky doctor coats and monk habits. It's typical boy-band fodder, bolstered by the band themselves fair belting out the hits, while intermittently spanking their behinds. Nothing that hasn't been seen before, but the scale is just bigger all the time.
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