JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE AT LONDON'S O2 ARENA - LIVE REVIEW

If the somewhat lukewarm reaction to the second instalment of Justin Timberlake's studio return - last year's The 20/20 Experience - 2 of 2 - left the unexpectedly sour taste that the former 'N Sync man may have fallen from the all-singing, all-dancing perfect popstar perch he once occupied, then tonight is when JT shows a firm middle finger to the doubters.

As the computerised pulses of behemoth dancefloor anthem 'SexyBack' bring the two-hour set (the first of two nights at the London venue and the start of an extensive tour) nearly to a close, there's a moment when the music pauses just long enough for Timberlake, having seemingly barely broken a sweat, to look the arena dead in the eyes.

"I still run this bitch," he smirks with the knowing grin of someone at the peak of their power, before kicking back into the track as if nothing happened. It's a brief second of overblown, playful, cocky genius (everything a popstar should be) and, for the 120 minutes previous to this, Justin justifies the brag entirely.

Emerging onto a sleek, monochrome set complete with big-band-style plinths, a full band, brass section, backing singers, suit-clad dancers and a screen showing various shots that resemble a high-end car commercial, 'The 20/20 Experience Live' is visually like Michael Jackson pulling a Sinatra. Of course, Sinatra likely didn't have a portion of the stage on wheels that elevated, Transformer-style, allowing the singer to move up and down the venue, passing over screaming fans' heads like a smiling pop god, but let's not dwell on the specifics.

Timberlake, meanwhile, opts for two simple outfits - a black and white suit and a black and black suit. It's an aesthetic that represents the entire show: slick and classy, but persistently laced with a very evident sexual throb.

See, despite the large and very audible quota of giddy prepubescent girls here, JT live is often a more-than-PG-rated experience. Aside from the obvious lyrical fixations of opener 'Pusher Love Girl' (which equates the object of his lust to an addictive drug dealer), we get 'Tunnel Vision' - backed by a screen showing various topless, writhing females - and 'Drink You Away' - preceded by a long spiel about how fun it is to get drunk. If this were Robin Thicke, there would be outrage, but as the kind of guy your mother would approve of, Timberlake's wholesome hometown-boy appeal keeps it just on the right side of risqué.

As for the set, it rarely falters. An early cluster of 'Rock Your Body', 'FutureSex/LoveSound', 'Like I Love You' and a revamped 'My Love' (opening with a stripped-back, spotlit piano before dropping the beat) segue seamlessly into each other, the singer only stopping to gee up the crowd further at opportune intervals, while first half set-closer 'Cry Me a River' is still the best thing he's ever done. 'Until the End of Time' sees the singer take to a huge, white grand piano, and covers of Elvis's 'Heartbreak Hotel' and Michael Jackson's 'Human Nature' find him strumming an acoustic guitar, while the singer even raps (and well) at various intervals.

But if there's one thing Justin really can do, it's dance. And tonight the immaculately choreographed routines that dominate the set are so flawlessly fluid it's as though his entire body is made of liquid. Not for nothing has JT been dubbed the new MJ.

He finishes with 'Suit & Tie', 'SexyBack' and recent sing-a-long anthem 'Mirrors', having mined two hours of one of the most prolifically hit-packed pop careers in recent times. No one is in any doubt that Justin does, indeed, still run this bitch.