Live at Chelsea: Holly Johnson, Tony Hadley, and Heaven 17 – Royal Hospital Chelsea, London

There are few decades whose music inspires such enduring devotion as the 1980s. Four decades on, its stars can still fill arenas, festivals and, as it turns out, the grounds of a Wren masterpiece. After a four-year hiatus, the Live At Chelsea concert series returns this week to the Royal Hospital Chelsea, opening with a triple bill of bona fide 80s royalty: Holly Johnson, Tony Hadley and Heaven 17.

The setting alone is worth half the ticket price. Sir Christopher Wren’s 17th-century courtyards, with scarlet-coated Chelsea Pensioners dotted among the crowd, make for one of the most magical outdoor venues London has to offer. Even the weather, behaving like a moody teenager, swinging between dark clouds, bursts of rain and flashes of evening sun, can’t dampen the atmosphere. If anything, it feels entirely appropriate for a British summer concert.

Heaven 17 opens proceedings and does exactly what a good opener should. Glenn Gregory’s vocals show signs of strain in places, but the performance is energetic and engaging, warming the crowd nicely through Temptation and their synth-pop staples. A decent start, if not one to trouble the memory for long.

Then comes Tony Hadley, and with him the performance of the night. It would be easy to assume that a voice as distinctive as Hadley’s might have faded with the years. Not a bit of it. The power remains, but so does a warmth that wraps itself around every note. He is playful too, flirting shamelessly with the audience between songs and visibly enjoying every minute. The set list is judged to perfection, skipping through Spandau Ballet’s hits with enough additional material to keep things varied. Through The Barricades is beautifully and powerfully delivered, with stunning supporting vocals from percussionist Lily Gonzalez, while the inclusion of I’ll Fly For You, a song rarely given a live outing, is an unexpected gift. By the time he closes with True and Gold, both received rapturously, the crowd is entirely his.

Which makes what follows all the more deflating. Holly Johnson arrives as the headliner, but the voice that once roared through Relax and Two Tribes has diminished considerably, and the energy on stage never matches the occasion. There is also the problem of material. Where Hadley had the full sweep of Spandau Ballet’s catalogue plus his solo work to draw from, Johnson’s well of genuine hits runs shallower, leaving stretches of the set treading water. The crowd’s goodwill carries him through, and the big Frankie Goes to Hollywood numbers still land on the strength of the songs themselves, but it’s affection doing the heavy lifting rather than the performance.

Therein lies the evening’s one real misjudgement. This is a wonderful night with its running order printed upside down. Had Hadley closed the show, sending the crowd home on the high of True and Gold, this would be an unqualified triumph. Instead, the night peaks an act too early and ends on a gentle decline rather than a crescendo.

None of which should obscure how much pleasure the evening delivered. The format works, the setting is glorious even under capricious skies, and a portion of the proceeds supporting the Chelsea Pensioners gives the whole enterprise a warmth beyond the music.

Live at Chelsea runs until 14 June. Tickets here