Sunday, April 15, 2007

Klaxons at Studio B, or how I forgot how much fun other people's sweat is.

Dear Web Journal,

I have a little secret for you. I don’t know what the fuck “new rave” is supposed to mean. And to add to my confusion, Klaxons, the NME-named forerunners of the current “new rave” music trend penetrating the States from over the pond and the undeniable stars of Friday night’s gig at Brooklyn’s Studio B, have said they are not “new rave” (all self-respecting musicians discard labels, right?). Which leaves me hoping there is some complex musical theory to back it up, whatever “it” is, including time changes and, um, other music terms I don’t really understand. Because just throwing in glow sticks and a bunch of kids on E like its the late 1990s shouldn’t be enough. But sketchy “new rave” label or no, Klaxons were a fucking great time.

Doors were supposed to open at 10 pm on Friday, but by the time I walked that long, slightly scary walk from the Bedford L stop and arrived at 10:30, the lines outside were massive. Luckily enough, I ran into some friends “saving my place in line” at will call and had a nice spot at the front. Thanks friends! Once inside we went to the front of the stage to wait for the opening act. The crowd quickly filled up and though I was not too impressed with Brazil’s Bonde do Role, I was impressed by Bonde do Role’s female singer’s leopard print pants:

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And my friend Nathan was even MORE impressed by how sexy he thought she was. I have to hand it to Bonde do Role though, even if the music was just Portuguese screamed-talked-sung over Guns n' Roses and even a *gasp* sample from The Darkness, the energy was the perfect pace setter for Klaxons. Plus, her leopard pants were REALLY, REALLY cool. In that I-would-never-wear-them-but-I’ll-totally-support-you-if-you-do kind of way.

After a laborious set change (what is it with Studio B only having ONE person set up instruments?) Klaxons came out to one of the most welcoming crowds I’ve seen in a long time. And I don’t mean just in “Too cool for school” New York, but anywhere I’ve been. At the precise moment they took the stage, a gap opened up and I was pushed through by the crowd to the very front. Right in front of the cute one, too:

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No really, everyone around me was totally jonesing for this kid. Including this annoying British girl (aren’t they all) who tried to elbow her way past me. Where exactly she thought she might go I haven’t a clue-the crowd was so large and packed so thick there was nowhere to move. Her explanation for the pushing was “Excuse me, I have to get there so I can get Jamie to take his shirt off”. Now, what makes her think I am going to give up my perfectly good spot at the front of the stage, where every second finds me slammed (deliciously) into a very large amp by the lurching sea of sweaty people behind me, so she can “get” some skinny white boy (albeit the cute one) to take his shirt off? Furthermore, after taking a good look at this girl, nothing about her convinced me she had some special “get guys to take their shirts off” power. Because if she did, then maybe we’d have to be friends.

But I digress. Although not really, because it brings me to my next point. Klaxon's music is really sexy. I don't understand how or why, but it is. And the reaction of the crowd totally backs up how sexy it is. This may sound weird (it would be unlike me of it weren't), but I had forgotten how great it feels to be covered in your own sweat and the sweat of everyone around you. They played everything you'd expect, opening with "The Bouncer" (or maybe not, I don't really pay attention to set list orders. I mean, who really cares anyway?) and mixing their numerous singles through out the rest of the set. "Magick" (my favorite) and "Gravity's Rainbow" sounded especially good to me. The show ended too quickly, I wish I'd tried to see them multiple nights while they were in New York.

And oooo look, it's the cute one again:

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And the, um, other Klaxons:

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And some sweaty, happy people:

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So thanks, Klaxons. I'm glad you were worth the hype. And blah, blah, blah.

Love, Rachael

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