WHEN 7,000 odd young girls scream, they don't have one way of screaming, they have three.
First, there is the one where surprise is the main factor. It's a short, stabbing screech more like the reaction to a slap.
Then there is the happy, expectant roar like thousands of bubbling chip pans. Finally, there is the scream that obliterates the sound of the PA and gives the sensation of somebody aggressively rubbing your eardrums with Brillo pads.
There was plenty of opportunity for contemplation of the art as Boyzone "came home", opening their series of Dublin festive concerts at the Point Theatre on Saturday.
But if the concerts principal sponsor has its way, screaming should shortly become completely unnecessary.
Just before Boyzone finally arrive, the consumer electronics giant which sponsors the show gets to project its glossy advertisements on the video screens that flank the stage.
Lots of pretty and fundamentally non threatening young people are seen frolicking in a manner that only young people in a photographic studio can do.
Every now and then their pleasure is invaded, postponed temporarily by the appearance of a sprightly pink mobile phone or an equally non threatening candy coloured pager.
John Reynolds, one of the men behind the Boyz, watches from a balcony. He deflects towards the electronics companies PR woman questions about the efficacy morality of trying to sell these products to a predominantly pre and early teen audience.
"These days it is becoming more and more important for families to stay in touch," says Jan Dawson, her words suggesting the big, ugly world outside, the world to which tiny Boyzone fans must soon return, a world in which only access to mobile telecommunications could possibly keep your child safe.
"It's all about families keeping in touch," Dawson adds. On stage, all five Boyz grab their crotches in unison.
Boyzone never simply sell records or concert tickets. They always get you involved in some state of the art marketing, aligning your children with branded snack foods, shovelling vanloads of potato chips and toffees into them and, presumably not long after, getting involved with pushing the hippest dental plan on the block. But say for a moment you weren't a begrudger by profession, then you might mention that despite the odd faux pas the show certainly provides enough hip swaying, enough coy grinning and enough sweat beaded foreheads to keep the Boyzone audience happy.
And it is, of course, this audience's happiness that really matters, as Reynolds takes time to point out.
"That's what it's all about," he says, a finger gesturing towards the ocean of tiny heads and bobbing fluorescent necklaces below. "There's 7,000 kids down there getting an awful lot of pleasure ..."