(Originally published on MySpace in 2007, of its time, and what a bitch!)
The Klaxons are a jolly exciting ‘new rave’ combo from somewhere down south. Jamie Klaxon plays bass and drinks lots of beer. James Klaxon plays keyboards and looks like he could be quite posh. (I don’t know if he is posh, he just looks it.) Simon Klaxon plays guitar and lots of girls like him. Steffan Klaxon plays drums and looks like he could be in A-Ha. Their music is a rock/pop fusion that you can alternately rave and head-bang to. My favourite is ‘Atlantis to Interzone’ which makes inventive use of keyboard demo settings. One goes ‘DJ!’, another ‘Ah ah ahhh’ and then someone presses a button that makes a scary siren noise.
I recently went to see the Klaxons. I happened to be in Berlin, and so did they, which was lucky cos tickets for Leeds had sold out. Now, I go to gigs quite often, it’s one of my favourite leisure activities. Normally I stand behind a tall person at the back, enjoy intermittent glimpses of the band, and try to make the most of what I can hear. But in Berlin things are different. When you are in a foreign city on a budget mini-break you tend to let your hair down. I did this by getting very drunk on nice German beer and barged my way down to the front where the crowd surfers reside. Getting a bit tipsy would not ordinarily be a problem, but I did get so drunk there are gaps in my memory. For instance, I remember taking a few photos, maybe 10 or so, but when I got home I there were 58 – including pictures of random legs, arms and pedals.
Anyway, the following I remember very clearly. Some young girls next to me kept shouting band member’s names and saying things like ‘Simon, I love you!’ and ‘We love you, Simon!’. Being a drunk person, I found myself compelled to join in, so during the next break between songs shouted ‘Jamie! Your knickers are showing!’ Because they were. Jamie Klaxon may be a man-boy in a cool band, but tight black trousers with overflowing white boxer shorts don’t suit him. He is not one of the Rock Steady Crew. Of course I had more beer following the encore-less gig, and on my way out happened upon Jamie Klaxon in the corridor, coolly talking to a gaggle of patient, pretty girl fans. Instead of alerting them to the recent increase in STIs, I marched (well, probably wonky walked) up to him and launched into a stream of what I now realise could be construed as mild verbal abuse. ‘Jamie! Your pants are showing! It’s not a good look! It’s not a fashion statement! Why didn’t you do an encore? You didn’t play for very long! Yes, you do need to write some more material! Your gig in Leeds sold out and I couldn’t get tickets! You don’t play the Faversham anymore do you ….’ His expression was a combination of ‘who is this drunk bitch?’ and ‘why are you being mean, don’t you know we’re ace?’
For days now I have had guilt. I do genuinely like this band. Getting drunk is wrong, children. But that don’t make sagging right for everyone. Thankfully JK isn’t going to give a toss about what I say. I could’ve hurled a different joke that was funny only to me, such as ‘Simon! Give us a go on your hair!’, but I didn’t.
So – I apologise, Jamie Klaxon, for my mild verbal abuse and drunken awfulness. But, bloody Nora, please sort your knickers out.