Suede, O2 Arena

If you stick the phrase "Britpop Revival" into Google, the first page of results suggests that there has been one in 2009, 2008, 2007, 2005 and even 1998, barely a handful of months after Britpop was the epitome of Cool Britannia.

Lead singer Anderson has previously admitted to being addicted to heroin and crack, which is almost as embarrassing as admitting that the pre-fame Suede were managed by the young Ricky Gervais. He has cleaned up now and the substance abuse does not seem to have done any long-term damage. His birth certificate says he is 43, but sweeping onto the O2 stage bang on schedule at 9.15pm he looked as if he had the hair, body and the cheekbones of a man half his age, resembling a boyish Bryan Ferry by way of a pre-lapsarian Terry Duckworth from Coronation Street. Anderson oozed so much febrile energy it was six songs in before we even got a pause long enough for a "good evening".

The music has certainly stood time's test, but felt heavier than when I last saw the band at the ICA nearly a decade ago. Guitarist Richard Oakes, who replaced Bernard Butler – Marr to Anderson's Morrissey – pounded out beefy powerchords, while John Lennon-lookalike Mat Osman and drummer Simon Gilbert laid down a riveting rhythm, at times lending the band the feel of a disco Joy Division. Low-key fifth man Neil Codling was impressively versatile, moving effortlessly between keyboards and guitar.

Their lengthy 23-song set reminded fans what a terrific singles band Suede were. Even their B-sides were better than most band's A-sides. And when they got stuck into those A-sides the O2 felt as if it was about to levitate. The 1992 debut single "The Drowners" had an epic quality, "New Generation" and "Trash" were glitterpop incarnate, while the fizzy, Bolanesque "Animal Nitrate" tore the roof off. "So Young", their haunting ode to youthful excess, was as emotionally persuasive as ever, despite, or maybe because of, the irony of a sea of fortysomethings singing along.

Suede always had a nice line in debauched glamour, but there was also always a darker side, which was still present too. "Pantomime Horse" started off funereal and got bleaker. And Anderson's less-than-subtle lyrical flirtation with narcotics stuck out like a sore thumb on "Heroine" and in his acoustic number that kicked off the three-song encore, "The Living Dead" – "Where's all the money gone... all up the hole in your arm".

But most of all the gig was a reminder of what a classy, quintessentially British band Suede were and are, mixing the glam of Bowie with the suburban adolescent angst of The Smiths. And in Anderson they possess a truly great frontman. The acoustics were not great, but his voice was keen and sharp. Clad entirely in black, Anderson moved like a compelling post-punk ballet dancer, waggling his bottom, leaping, twirling and even pogoing during the frantic instrumental break of "Can't Get Enough". By comparison, someone like Brian Molko of Placebo has as much androgynous charisma as a portion of cabbage.

Anderson was clearly having the time of his life, relishing his return to the limelight as he repeatedly stepped down into the crowd. In the past his clothes might have been ripped off of his body by sex-crazed fans; this time there were polite pats on the back. Old Britpop fans clearly don't die, they just get better manners.

Suede perform "The Beautiful Ones"