Tonight's double bill of creaky-limbed pop nostalgia seems fitting: All Saints and the Backstreet Boys formed in the same year, 1993, and both bands have struggled to keep the pop dream alive. For All Saints, whose heyday was in the late 90s as the combat-trousered alternative to the Spice Girls, there have been two breakups: the first in 2001 following an argument over a jacket ("There was no way she was getting that stupid jacket," said chief songwriter Shaznay Lewis once the dust had settled); the second, in 2009, was more out of necessity following poor sales of their third album, Studio 1, which had limped into the charts at No 40.
Contrary to Melanie Blatt's claim that the band would never reform again, they slink back on to the stage at the O2 to the clattering sounds of Chick Fit as if nothing has changed. In front of a giant flashing All Saints backdrop, they saunter around as they always used to, sporting zipped-up Adidas jackets like the coolest gang at school, while the choreography of debut single I Know Where It's At is delivered with as much gusto as a school PE lesson the morning after a heavy night.
But tonight is the perfect reminder of why All Saints have yet to succumb to the lure of The Big Reunion. Unlike, say, Atomic Kitten, they have more than one good song, and, as evidenced by the perfect harmonies, more than one good singer. In fact, in the closing Never Ever and Pure Shores they have two of the best pop songs of the last two decades – the former creating a mass singalong from the start of Nicole Appleton's monologue, while the latter's airy production and arena-sized chorus survives Melanie "I am nearly 40" Blatt forgetting the words to the second verse.
While age doesn't seem to have tempered the Backstreet Boys' energy, the production budget has flatlined. Nick, the returning Kevin, AJ, Howie and Brian (who now looks uncannily like Ashley from Coronation Street) used to fly in on hoverboards; tonight they walk on to a bare stage where two plumes of smoke are pumped out, rising a meter off the floor. Decked out in matching pastel suits, the band can still perform the dance moves, however, augmented by fedora hats on All I Have to Give and intricate mic-stand choreography on As Long As You Love Me. At its best it's a rampant rush of nostalgia peppered with stone-cold classic pop songs, from the deliciously OTT drama of the closing Everybody (Backstreet's Back) and Larger Than Life, to the clutch of multi-chorused Max Martin-penned ballads.
Unfortunately, they also have a new album to flog and the show's momentum is constantly interrupted by the announcement, "This is a new song written by us." At one point guitars and stools are brought out for an interminable acoustic section that's greeted with indifference by the spectators. When the Backstreet Boys stick to the hits there's no stopping them – a celebratory I Want It That Way nearly blows the roof off – but as a pop show, it's missing that certain something.
