As befits the band spearheading a so-called “nu-rave scene”, Klaxons played their final gig of 2006 at midnight in a sprawling space beneath railway arches that originally hosted illegal house parties. Now London’s largest licensed club, the venue’s makeover summed up much of the difference between old-school rave and its young sibling. Forget dodgy people on drugs with dogs, today’s teenage raver is smartly dressed, finds out about parties on bands’ MySpace sites and, judging by the Klaxons’ crowd, doesn’t need chemical help to have a good time.

Musically, the similarities were tough to spot. Klaxons may have opened their set with a cover of The Bouncer, an early Nineties rave anthem by Kicks Like a Mule, and have a fondness for simple, stabby, keyboard chords, but their songs sounded more like manic rock than rave. Too fast to dance to, but bursting with edgy energy, they incited fans to jump up and down until the room was slippery with sweat. It might not have sounded like a rave, but suddenly it looked like 1989 all over again.

One old rave accessory definitely enjoying a revival is the glowstick. Klaxons have ditched the Day-Glo gear they wore when launching their career this year — the frontline trio of singer/guitarists led by 26-year-old Jamie Reynolds opted instead for yellow T-shirts — but their fans have embraced anything that shines in the dark. Girls sported 10 or 20 neon bracelets on each arm, while boys had glowsticks tied to their hair, dangling from their ears or clamped in hands above their heads. Whistles were enjoying a comeback too, although masks and smiley T-shirts apparently remain passé.

Three low-key singles into their career, Klaxons have mobilised a wide fanbase (they played the same venue six hours earlier for under-14s), wormed their way on to daytime radio and been tipped to top the charts in 2007. Their last single, Magick, a tuneful, stop-start riot of a track awash with woo-hoos, certainly had the feel of a classic when the crowd began chanting along, bouncing to the beat and hugging whoever happened to be standing next to them.

The London-based band’s debut album, Myths of the Near Future, is released next month and will be the true test of their commercial potential. Yet its smartest, poppiest song, Golden Skans, also their forthcoming single, was the least well received of the night. Proper vocals, lyrics you could actually understand and a hip-shaking groove seemed to flummox some fans. A real song? Surely not.

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