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Spice Girls review – nostalgia, branding and bad British values


Of all the things that might have derailed the Spice Girls’ reunion, a lack of interest wasn’t one – there are 80,000 people in Croke Park as their sold-out stadium tour commences. Nor was Victoria Beckham’s non-participation. The bombshell came this spring when Mel B revealed that she and Geri Horner had once slept together. Horner denied it, ruing that this came out “on Mother’s Day, of all days”, lesbian revelations perhaps being best saved for a monetisable Pride team-up.

Amid a rumoured rift, it takes a while for the pair to go near each other, though eventually they join Emma Bunton and Melanie Chisholm in holding hands and exchanging knowing glances. The matter almost sneaks out: Mel C uses her powerful strength to pick up Mel B, who screams. Bunton declares: “She loves a good – cuddle. I was about to say something else!” The sense of a boundary almost being broken around a once-anarchic brand, now guarded with a rictus grin, is as nostalgic as the hits themselves.

It’s not that Horner has a problem with sexual dabbling – the Spice Girls have expanded their message from “girl power” to welcome “all ages, all races, all gender identities, all countries of origin, all sexual orientations, all religions and beliefs, all abilities”. They make the lyrics of 2 Become 1 less heteronormative (yet Spice Up Your Life’s dodgy “yellow man in Timbuktu” remains intact). “Whether you’re a king or a queen, we celebrate you, but there’s a lot of queens here tonight,” says Horner in a heavily rehearsed interlude, winking hard enough to cause a hernia. There are, though, noticeably fewer rainbow flags than at your usual stadium pop show – the prevailing mood is more turbo hen do.

Each girl has her own dance troupe – the “House of Sporty” etc – in a silent nod to black, gay ballroom culture. It’s not that you’d expect the Spice Girls to scream about Paris Is Burning, but it’s still a reminder that they don’t buoy outsiders so much as buoy their brand by referencing outsiders. The closest they come to articulating any specific values comes in a video shown during one of five costume changes: Horner adds Queen Elizabeth I to her historic claims that Margaret Thatcher and Winston Churchill were the “original Spice Girls” because – it’s hard to hear – she executed someone or other.

These days, Ginger is less provocateur, more self-appointed keeper of British values: she acts the lady of the manor, and performs at a bemused, regal remove, singing robotically – inaudible, glitchy at points (though this may be down to sound difficulties). On the day that Theresa May announced her resignation, it is a miracle that Horner does not reiterate her support for the beleaguered PM, who doesn’t seem to have accepted Horner’s invitation to attend. Perhaps she’s read the room, though given that she starts the show wearing a queenly gown emblazoned with a Union Jack, perhaps we’re lucky she didn’t claim the Rev Ian Paisley was the original Spice Girl. A charitably deduced philosophy from her mad Spice lineage might be one of “individuals with conflicted legacies”, a group to which the Spice Girls belong. The impact of their 90s feminism-lite is assured – look at the front table of any mainstream bookshop – but when every influencer is pushing wan wokeness, their inclusive new ethos is subsumed by they culture they created.

To their credit, they know fans want nostalgia and don’t mess with the formula. It’s admirable that they haven’t done a Take That and written new, age-appropriate (read: boring) material, instead insisting on the silly pleasure of their youthful back catalogue as women in their 40s. But as on their 2007 reunion, three albums cannot sustain a two-hour show. The thinness becomes more acute as they repeatedly reference the military chant from their 1997 film Spice World in which they avow “strength and courage in a Wonderbra”, adding a military beat that sounds like Beyoncé’s superior Run the World (Girls). While we are spared Headlines (Friendship Never Ends), written for their last reunion tour, nobody needs Let Love Lead the Way, a soupy R&B puddle from their last album Forever. The crowd’s attentions noticeably lags outside the hits.

Related: 'Tens of thousands of tots empty their lungs': relive the Spice Girls' first tour

The only Spice Girl invested in more than nostalgic cosplay is Mel C, fittingly resembling a superhero as she carries the high notes and vocal runs and nails the dancing. They are most themselves when referencing the group’s infamous brand partnerships. (Pre-tour, they unveiled a new deal with old crisp buddies Walkers, and Horner revealed her ginger makeover in an Instagram #ad for a hair dye company.) After the G-funk squirm of Say You’ll Be There subsides, Horner starts complimenting Bunton on her sparkles, which feels like a prelude to name-checking the crystal company (journalists get an embargoed press release about their provenance) – until Mel B cuts her off. Before closer Wannabe, Horner gets her way, weirdly complimenting Bunton on being “such a good Baby” and handing her a lollipop – another mainstay of their 90s capitalist crusade.

Incidentally, the new branding is great: a graphic monochrome redux of their iconic logos. But no savvy makeover can compensate for the elephant in the room, if it’s not perverse to call the professionally slender Victoria Beckham that. There is not, as was rumoured, a loving tribute to Posh, who finally gets her dues in the breakdown of Wannabe. “Easy V doesn’t come for free,” Horner sings, before changing the words: “WHERE IS SHE?” And she and Mel B cackle like a pair of gleeful Tory backbenchers.