Klaxons

Indie rave, is it? Electro punk, is it? Klaxons only have one album - Myths of the Near Future – so why are they claiming this mighty stage, this Academy of Brixton? Just look at it’s majestic vastness. Nothing but memories can fill a hole this big. The fear on these grinning faces says otherwise, though. That is heightened anticipation they’re drunk on, yes? Perhaps they’re dazzled by their own fluorescent jackets. Ridiculous! Nice, dry comfortable clothing is the way. Easy does it, people. Let’s get settled for the band. Here they come now. Dressed like Mad Max royalty and gay Robin Hoods. Hmmm, maybe nice, comfortable clothing wasn’t the best bet after all.

Whoooa, belligerent bass is kicking things off. Must be ‘The Bouncer’. Perfect for an ironically large crowd to chant ‘Your name’s not down, you’re not coming in’. The addition of a live drummer seems to be helping, those punchy warehouse beats are filtering right up to the rafters. The sirens are ringing out, it’s the second movement - ‘Atlantis To Interzone’ - and things are getting a little bit lively. Watch out, there’s a surge of ‘little people’ lurching towards the stage. Look at them, appearing from nowhere. It’s cetainly getting warmer now. Someone on stage is bigging-up the crowd for ‘making this dream come true’. So what’s the reward? Another bout of dynamo destruction, falsetto singalong ‘Golden Skans’. Boy, they’re tight. They bleeding should be. They’ve been playing these songs for a year and half now. There’s a fair few arms aloft, it’s a lushuous lawn of arms. The first shrieking bars of ‘As Above, So Below’ are sounding out and these kids don’t seem to be tiring. Bang, another song, this time the high-octive wailings of ‘Two Receivers’. That’s taken the sheen off the nice, dry clothing. This is breakneck stuff. Perhaps a breather is needed. Oh wait, maybe not. What’s this? Is it the synth-lovers perfect combination of rave, pop and heavy rock - ‘Magick’? Now, this is Klaxons at their chaotic best. Phew, the temperature is really shifting. This audience isn’t just participating any more, it’s performing a hedonistic air raid. Forget the lawn of arms, this is a wild plain violently swaying in a thunderous, klaxon-like wind. And the pits are getting ever-so clammy. Various neon missiles are being launched toward the stage, despite glowsticks being implicitly prohibited tonight, at the band’s request. They must be done by now, there’s nothing left to play…..EXCEPT the post-punk carnage of ’Gravity’s Rainbow’. Frenetic euphoria is everywhere, coated with a thick glob of sweat. Heed the warning of last song ‘It’s Not Over Yet’. Ha, it’s NOT the final instalment. That pleasure is left, rightfully, to the apocalyptic ’Four Horsemen Of 2012’. Then, yes, finally, it’s over. Breathe easy. Returning to life. That Mercury prize is definitely deserved.