Words by Christopher Kevin Au // Live images by Sean Finney

When you think about it, televised singing competitions are fucking weird.

Unless you possess the superhuman qualities of Shannon Noll, it seems that competitors on shows like Australian Idol and The Voice almost always plummet into obscurity once their small screen time is over. They’re thrust back into the mundane routines of ordinary plebeian life, reminiscing fondly about the time they sang an Aerosmith ballad with lukewarm results. Still, it makes for primetime viewing: The tense eliminations, the grandiose stages with flashing lights, and most of all, suspenseful backing music that makes Delta Goodrem’s verdict sound like the word of God.

It’s no wonder that my mother loves The Voice more than I love My Kitchen Rules, so much so that we actually went to a live recording of last season’s semi-finals. They made us sit down for six hours straight, fed us gummi bears and gave Strike bowling coupons to the best dancers. We also had to ask for permission to go to the bathroom – I found out the hard way when I went to take a leak and got yelled at by the production lady. Still, it was worth it, if only to hear some words of wisdom from the gospel of Delta Goodrem, live from the holy grounds of Moore Park.

Another show which has followed a similar format is The X-Factor, a colossal franchise which has shone light on potential star vocalists from Israel to Indonesia to Iceland. Over in the United Kingdom, The X-Factor has churned out contestants who have managed to bypass the reality television curse, sitting alongside Shannon Noll as glistening success stories and certified trophy winners. Most notable of all from The X-Factor alumni is blockbuster girl group, Little Mix.

Consisting of four bold ladies, Little Mix are all about silky pop hooks, colossal sing-a-longs and unapologetic sass. They’re the sort of group who come on Nova 96.9 when your Uber is stuck in a traffic jam – you think about changing the station, but you get anxious about your faultless five-star passenger rating, and BAM – 30 seconds later, a Little Mix song is stuck in your head for the next seven months. They’re good at what they do. Very good, as in they’re four albums deep and still drawing stadium crowds across the globe.

Their most recent full-length, Glory Days, has been hailed by critics as their best yet. Australia is now being treated to the accompanying stadium tour, so I decide to go and see what the fuss is all about when they hit Qudos Bank Arena at Sydney Olympic Park. The crowds consist mainly of children and their parents, who are gleefully buying LED bunny ears and Little Mix mugs, keyrings and calendars. You know that an artist has a cult fanbase when their merchandise range is this extra. It’s like bands in the noughties who produced mouse pads, very crucial and convenient merch, bring back the mouse pads.

My night is off to a bad start when I purchase a $9.00 hot dog that makes 7-Eleven’s cuisine seem Michelin-starred, but immediately gets better when I take my seat and ‘Despacito’ is blaring on the speakers alongside ‘Unforgettable’ and ‘Slide.’ Little Mix are running 30 minutes late, but I don’t mind, they’re playing French Montana songs! The group finally strut onstage just as it hits 9:00pm, which is later than the bedtime of most of the attendees, so this show should be an extra treat. They’re dressed in matching checkered outfits that sit somewhere between 90s R&B and Formula One grid girl, huge look. Special shouts to Little Mix member Leigh-Anne Pinnock for wearing leather pants with one leg, this will be fashion forward even in the year 3000.

They start off with their roaring single ‘Power’ – a collaboration with UK grime kingpin Stormzy – and while he was in the country last week for Splendour in the Grass, he unfortunately doesn’t make a cameo tonight. Still, Little Mix hold it down with choreography, attitude and charming British chat through tracks like ‘Wings’ and ‘Hair,’ the latter of which is pure pop brilliance that makes me really sad about balding at 27 years of age. They even play Sean Paul’s guest verse on ‘Hair’ on the mega-screen, so 10 extra points for that.

‘Secret Love Song’ is hauntingly powerful, a rare moment of emotive vocal prowess on a night that’s dominated by flashy, hyperactive jams. The turn down is very welcome. ‘Salute’ gives some serious ‘Yvan Eht Nioj’ vibes with its assertive army chants, but adds some defiant grit to the set, and Little Mix save the best for last: ‘Touch’ is a pop-house crossover that sucks you into its irresistibly slinky production, and better than most of the 73 billion dancehall-flavoured tracks that have dropped in the past year. The grand finale is the galloping ‘Shout Out To My Ex,’ a PG-rated middle-finger to a former flame that finishes the night off with a bang.

Performing for 60 minutes, Little Mix offer a punchy, pop-filled set of positive vibes. Hell, they even urge everyone to get home safely from the gig, which is a nice touch of motherly responsibility. The average age of attendees tonight is probably like nine years old. I’m almost two decades older than most of the ticket purchasers, and most gigs I go to consist of people who stand up the back of the venue with their arms folded, checking their phones every seven seconds for messages from their drug dealer. If anything, it’s nice to see attendees who are actually enthusiastic about seeing their heroes onstage – a flagrant reminder of when us grown-ups were carefree kids, and actually cared about stuff like seeing bands with wide-eyed optimism.

Despite your preconceptions about acts spawning from The X Factor, tonight’s show proves that there’ll always be a place for acts like Little Mix, and the pure, unadulterated power of pop.