As anyone who was at Club NME KOKO last Friday will know, The Virgins are currently blazing their way across the UK and Europe in support of their forthcoming debut album.
I just got back from a mini-European tour of my own, beginning with trips to Club NME in Berlin and Hamburg. Both were insane, went on ’til gone 7am and saw hundreds of German club kids bouncing off the Union jack-clad walls on a mix of extra-strong lager, White Russians and their own homemade concoctions. If you’re ever in either city and in need of an indie fix you could do a lot worse than Berlin’s Magnet Club or Hamburg’s Molotow.
The latter is slap back in the middle of the Reeperbahn, a Teutonic sin city and a dazzling neon mile of sex clubs and rancid hookers (four of whom manhandled me several times). It’s also where the Beatles cut their teeth.
Monday brought me to Paris with The Virgins. The New York poster boys ooze charm and seem to attract a whole entourage of model-standard hangers on wherever they go. As we sat down to steak frites (what else) they told me some mad stories from life on the road, which will be in NME in all their gory details in a couple of weeks. After the chat it was time for a quick costume change before cake and pictures:
Then the photographer took them to the middle of three lanes of traffic on Champs Elysees for some more shots, before heading to the gig at Elysee Montmartre, itself the scene of the monthly Club NME Paris carnage:
I followed them onstage. It’s pretty dark but you get the impression of how it feels to walk out in front of 1500 lusty Parisians.
One thing that really stood out during the gig was how funky they are, and how much fucking fun it must be to play those basslines (especially ‘She’s Expensive’).
I gave away a remix of ‘Teen Lovers’ in January – and interviewed the band on the roof of NME – check it out here.