Killing Joke

Good luck anyone trying to find a babysitter tonight because it looks like all of London’s 40-somethings are on the prowl this Saturday night, having dug out their faded Bauhaus shirts for a last stab at their youth. There’s a sad little jostling pit down the front and a constant queue at the gents thanks to all these weak bladders and incontinence issues, luckily they have the sad little jostling pit to talk about while they wait. It’s really quite sweet listening to these unreconstructed Cockney geezers with rubbery, pock-marked faces and wispy grey hair lose their shit. But also a bit sad, I hope I’m in government by the time I’m their age.

The people sitting in front of us, yeah, we’re in the circle and it’s a big venue, are definitely from this sizeable tribe. They keep running off to get more drinks and squander what little time they actually have in their seats either talking or playing with their phones, yet this whole evening has so much meaning for them that one guy’s blackberry has the stage as its background and when occasionally the events in front of them swim into focus, they manage a few seconds of singing along before Killing Joke vanish into the fog like the mysterious town of Brigadoon. The guy to my right is definitely having fun, acne-ridden despite being at least mid-twenties, this guy was cased in amber in 1996, complete with hideously greasy nu-metal-era ‘cage’ fringe, massive post-FUBU pants and, probably, a blueish tattoo of the Fear Factory logo. The guy to my left looks like a Christian Nikki Sixx – jet black anime hair and pristine fitted jacket, but about as sexual as caravan trip to Newquay. His tiny girlfriend doesn’t really register with me at the first, but she stands up and starts dancing toward the end. She’s not particularly pretty or anything – that’s totally not why I’m watching her – but I like that tree-in-the-wind style of goth dancing which is designed to come across all fey and ethereal but is actually pure pragmatism: nu-rocks are too heavy to make lots of unnecessary leg movements with.

That’s the Killing Joke fanbase then, 70% aging punks, 15% nu-metallers and 15% goths. Not sure what that makes me, probably the goth because I only came along for those ridiculous ’80s new wave guitar tones that make all their songs sound like a drunken singalong Tears For Fears.

There’s more glaring spotlights than Auschwitz, all pulsing and flashing in epileptic patterns to try and detract from how Killing Joke’s stage presence is limited to a bit of Spandau Ballet swaying from the guitarists, and Jaz Coleman’s wedding-karaoke strutting. His stage banter is even worse, being some sort of ranting Ayn Rand retirement home that alternates between mumbling about what he had for breakfast and slurring some half constructed nonsense about the “European superstate” and depopulation. True to form even the new songs have that coveted Tears For Fears guitar sound, but by the fifth or so I start to wish I was actually watching Tears For Fears rather than a band whose greatest legacy was inspiring a bunch of bands who were terrible by anyone’s yardstick.

Especially Rammstein.

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16 Comments

  1. Bloody Hell! Talk about issues!

    Do not go to the concerts of bands you do not understand or like!

    Of course you do not like any of it. It is not your music you fool. I was there. It was brilliant! Two thousand people totally disagree with you.

    You did actually count the numbers in that hall? Try including the ones not there, or the other audiences around the world? The world…

  2. Is this what passes for journalism these days ? He doesn’t have the balls to state his position – bet he listens to pendulum and stares at his dick wishing it was somewhere else other than in his hand. Appalling and idiotic man.

  3. I am Namadi. I do work for attending toilet in Hmv apollo london hamersmith. I think this writing of KILLING JOKES music band is no very fair, as people come to KILLING JOKES music concert very nice poeple. One gentelmen even ask to suck my Nigerian love-stick in toilet cubicle whilst KILLING JOKE music band play encore. Shame on the demon pigeon, praise the lord.

  4. I love Namadi Yar’Unda, he is clearly real, and a magical man made of pies and love.

    Also, KILLING JOKE have never been good and the only way to review something that every moron and his mum has decided to review too, is to look at it in a different way. This suceeds. I reiterate, Namadi Yar’Unda is lovely and real, and KILLING JOKE suck balls. Actually, Namadi Yar’Unda’s balls. For they are lovely.

  5. Did someone just contribute the old ” If it wasn’t for Killing Joke the music you currently listen to wouldn’t exist” line that EVERY Killing Joke fan spews in your face when you say you don’t like them????

    Guess what ? I’m listening to Etta James right now. She was heavily influenced by Killing Joke. As were Wagner & Rachmaninoff. They fucking loved Jaz Coleman.

  6. Nice picture of the band you got there mate, did you take it on the night? Oh no, that would be Shepherds Bush with a different bass player and a differeny drummer. Actually, were you there at all or just having a wet dream? Shout, shout, let it all out!

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