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Klaxons at KOKO Review

Klaxons
Klaxons KOKO late 2007 For this particular gig I managed to blag some back stage tickets off my ‘It Boy’ friends Arthur and ‘Bonehead’- (bonehead –Yeah I Know it’s a weird rubbish name but Obla di Ola Da – Life goes on and so does Eastenders). Anyways I got this back stage sticker and I planted it on my chest. I then squirmed past the predictably over weight bouncer and made my way to Atlantis. On arrival I was greeted by the expected mosh of neon douche bags and bizarrely spectacled east/South London crew with their thumbs on the pulse of ‘movement’. I was awarded a cold reception – granted, but I felt I held my own. Moving through eyes that glutted themselves on Mikita Oliver and Television skies I located my friends. You have to literally have sex with these people before you manage to breach the gates of acceptance and end up with the glorious prize of averagely interesting conversation. This is still something I have only barely managed to do – one must bare in mind that the last such party I attended I pressed my penis and testicles against a skylight hoping that those in the loo beneath would look up and marvel at the vegetable carrion that gawked down at them, all this under the watchful eyes of a bemused Dirty Pretty Things. Any road, slowly establishing my feet in the Hoxton quicksand I moved to the side of the stage, Klaxons on the frontier of fame were beginning their set. They started with the opening track ‘Bouncer’ a fairly non-descript cover that neither, inspires or awakens even an iota of conviction. I wasn’t quite sure why I had arrived, but they quickly moved on into a realm that I hold as a seminal Pop moment for the 21st Century. Music is subjective – an obvious statement but I mention it in defence of my appreciation of this band. I have always been interested in ‘Beat’ poetry; Ginsberg, McClure, Perkoff, Burroughs and yarddi yadda yadda and these boys ‘Klaxons’ are the first since The Doors to puncture the popular realm in respect to the abstract use of words to produce imagery and the infinite. It is approached in a dissimilar way, in respect to the fact that they complete sentences that have coercion throughout. In Morrison’s more elaborate work he abandoned structure, resulting in the same painterly quality but one that was condensed into imagination. Klaxons use abstraction in a more accessible way. It manages to obscure the average contemporary listener into thinking that they know exactly what it means. Set this aside and they give an impressive show, one that allows me to understand why they are headlining such a formidable venue. The show is invigorated with energy. Med the French man (mentioned earlier) blasts a klaxon from the side of the stage. I am under the impression that his will effect the music negativlely if its nossle’s not compressed at the correct moment, but it is perfectly timed (thank God my farther wasn’t honking), If anything it enhances the sound. My band certainly would not derive any benefit from a mad French man honking an MFI gastric hooter. This was the moment I felt initiated into the band. This intiation is well short as I am sure they recognise me but have no idea who I am short of naked ball presser from Milo (of The Big Pink’s) roof. Rumbling into their best track – the cover ‘Not Over Yet’ they stake their claim as one of the most moving contemporary popular bands around. Followed up by tracks such as ‘Atlantis to Interzone’ one gets a real understanding of their purpose. Something that has to be admired about Klaxons’ unflinching direction, the music bleeds conviction. It’s evocative dragging the stomach outside into the cosmos past and present. I’m not a cock and although this might sound precious, I am willing to believe. I think this feeling would not be changed even if I knew Jamie Reynolds skid his pants last year whilst wanking picturing Timmy Mallet boning a panda bear. I could bosh hell dust and find myself dribbling beneath the salient hill, I could die listening to this track. Hats off to the slightly gay bastards, it’s smashing.

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