It’s when we’re loading out of the venue in Nottingham that I realize we don’t have any booze. I mean, we’ve a few bottles of beer, there’s the remnants of a bottle of vodka kicking about in the van.
But we need booze, lots and lots of booze; and quick. It’s a Sunday night and it’s coming on for 11 o clock. My head sinks into my hands.
It’s all over, that’s it. Jesus Fuck! Why didn’t anybody think of the booze!

Luckily that’s what we hire tour managers for. Iain’s on it, a consummate professional, a Mother Theresa for the Rohypnol generation. He’s on his phone and yes, something’s happening... There’s the promoter, and they’re having a chat and here’s some bar staff and, Allah fucking AKBAR! They actually appear to be carrying crate after delicious crate of booze into the back of the van, and spirits too! Iain you are a fucking genius.

We get in, and park around the corner, waiting for the people who’s party it is to turn up and direct us there. The vans already pretty full, Iain’s a bit dubious about carrying this many people as there’s Cops fucking everywhere. The crates of Grolsh are taking up a lot of space aswell, although they double as seats for our extra passengers. Our hosts turn up, cram in & we van to Radford to set up.

The house is massive, two floors and a large kitchen/living room that we set up in the corner of. People don’t start arriving until 1am & we relax with a few games on the table football at the top of the stairs. Before long the house is rammed & we decide to start. I get on the kit & start hitting things but the bass breaks for awhile so its just me and James & Steph Klaxons on cowbell & choc block; the crowd gets into it though. Then we’re on, starting with new one, 17 Virgins. The crowd responds appropriately; jumping up and down in unison like a pack of deranged rapists.



People are falling into the drums & amps & we have to fight for space as the crowd keeps surging forward. Joe stands on the bass cab, Joel’s on the bass drum, Jan tries to stop the keyboards from getting crushed, fighting off the crowd with one hand as the sole microphone gets left for a three way vocal collaboration between Joel, Steph & James. Steph Klaxon takes over completely for Disco Blood, delivering a stunning staccato rendition, “Disscccoo Feeeeling in my blooood…” Then straight into I Know Kung Fu & James Ford hops on the synth keyboard playing half & half with Tom from Haunted House (who, against medical advice, has been dragged out on the road with us, yet again). The crowd shift up a gear, if possible, and the entire living room becomes a barely contained mosh pit. I fucking love this shit.




There’s someone to my right fucking about with a guitar, I vaguely remember kicking him off the drum kit at the start of the night but its only when I see him with a cowbell in his hand that it dawns on me that it’s the lead singer from The Rapture. I start laughing manically, this is fucking nuts. Joel starts playing House of Jealous Lovers, I shift into an offbeat & Luke Rapture starts screaming the lyrics into the mic. It doesn’t get much better than this. The end of our set merges into an all out jam, with The Rapture’s bassist picking up the bass & Luke getting on the kit, I bang the cowbell till my hands are sore. Then after playing for a good hour & a half I stagger off for much needed joints.

A half hour later I walked back into the living room to find Luke Rapture still on the kit and a selection of various randoms jamming on the guitars, a girl stood on the bass drum with the mic, not many people dancing, but it was about 5am now. I asked for the sticks back & got the guy on bass to play the riff from Peaches, ‘Fuck The Pain Away’ The room started filling up again & dancing recommenced. The whole thing ended at around 7. As I carried cymbal stands to the van I saw a police car parked outside but they just drove off without saying anything. One fucking amazing night.


!! MORE PHOTOS & VIDEO COMING SOON !!

Also here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YzTKU0ZjYMw

Day 5: my bones ache almost as much as my head now. I've got the onset of a cold looming over me, or is it hypothermia? Parkinsons? AIDS? It wouldn't surpirse me, there's only so long you can drink with Klaxons before you wind up catching the big one. But there are anti-viral drugs you can take these days, and with a good diet... "its not the death sentence it once was" - Or so a heavily tatooed photographer told me the other night in Sheffield.

Which reminds me: Sheffield. It was fun. Joe and Simon Klaxon dragging a projector screen from its moorings down on the heads of anyone stupid enough to be in the way, Simon running with it to the door before being clobbered by five bouncers who took it upon themselves to dish out some mean justice and split his eyebrow open, squash his nose against a pillar and kick his ribs until they hurt. KILL ALL BOUNCERS. As Primal Scream should have said, if they had any sense, which they don't. Then trying to find our soundman, who had climbed onto an airconditioning unit, 20ft from the ground, bringing a dole chair with him, and sitting - just sitting, watching the night pass by, before having to argue with yet more bouncers who wanted him to get down. So he did what any reasonable citizen would do, climbing into the airconditioning system and crawing around the club, attempting some kind or warped James Bond escape routine. But getting caught short on the way round and having to piss on all fours in the very same air conditioning tubes. Good times & wet knees.

Its good to have a soundman whos on our level, rather than one we have to attack with instruments. Saying that, he's already been sacked 14 times so far. He reckons he's going for the big 100 before the end of the tour. I think its entirely possible. Maybe he enjoys it too much. The only way he'll learn is if we dock the cunts wages. Then perhaps he'll be less inclined to blast 2 grams of gak up his beak in a single afternoon & concentrate on getting the levels right.