Gig played on 25/05/06

Those of a fragile disposition may want to take a seat before reading this next shocking sentence, but tonight wasn't the best gig London has ever seen. Not the most fashionable or credible, the most imaginative or musically experimental. It was, however, one of the most fun in years, a dazzling day-glo exercise in the thrills and joys of pure, naked, shameless pop. And in these constipated, guitar-soaked, myspace blighted times, it couldn't be more welcome.

It may be a decade since Take That last touched teenage hearts and loins, and it would be fair to say that the wilderness years have dulled their youthful sheen a little, but from second song "Pray" onwards, it's transparent they have lost none of their considerable light entertainment skills. The choreography is as tight as ever (almost tight enough to compensate for Gary's enduring, endearing lack of natural rhythm), the harmonies as lush, the dancing as ridiculous and Mark Owen still doesn't feel that dry humping the cameras at his age lacks in dignity. Thank the Lord.

Nor have they changed. Gary remains the gruff, bullying one, Mark the self deprecating imp, Jason the dazzling dancer and Howard, erm, vaguely pointless. And the first shock of the night is just how little a certain Mr Williams is missed. The other shock is the audience. There's the predictable gay hordes and the thirtysomething housewives wallowing in nostalgia, but at least half of the audience are girls in their early teens, girls not even born when the band first took to gay club stages in leather chaps. This leads to two questions: how did they discover Take That? And can they keep this ear-splitting screaming up for the whole show?

Yes, resoundingly, as the That deliver crowd pleasing punch after punch. There's a boisterous run through a Beatles medley, including an ecstatically received "Hey Jude" which ends when the boys falling writhing to the floor with each other. Obviously still nervous of those gay rumours, then. There's a lovely moment in a wonderful "Babe" when Mark Owen gets the audience to wave their lit mobile phones in the darkened arena, transforming the place into a twinkling sea of stars (waving lighters clearly being inappropriate in Blair's Britain).

And there's a brilliantly catty, self-effacing skit about being in a boy band (a voice intones "must always be ambiguous in their sexuality…must never be real friends unless one breaks down and has to be discarded.") But the real joy lies in their transparent joy and energy, and in the music, man. So yes, Gary may have spent the last ten years polishing "A Million Love Songs", and it's still a turd, but "Why Can't I Wake Up With You" remains a gorgeous, longing, harmonic treat and "Back For Good" is absolute perfection, champagne pop with a chorus as sweet as a first kiss.

Robbie Williams could spend the rest of his life locked in the studio and never match it. Nice to have you back, boys.

by Jaime Gill