Whatever happened to the good, old-fashioned groupie? Never has a community (whose mantras of commitment and generosity are preached under different guises throughout the world) been so maligned, a sad indictment on contemporary media and their stifling of all things pure and good. A recent viewing of Almost Famous, while intended to shock, left me with an unusual hankering for faux-fur and illicit fellatio, and with this in mind I headed to Junction to see the opening night of KT Tunstall’s Tiger Suit Tour.

Now, with such a shortage of die-hard fans to be found these days, a Tunstall gig is perhaps the last place one would label as a hotbed of musical fanaticism. And yet when I decided, in my journalistic capacity, to conduct a few cheeky interviews, the results were surprising. One bespectacled teen, the figurehead of a particularly inane gaggle of ‘country gals’, revealed that she had followed KT on a seven-stop tour the year before, and that her voluptuous entourage had travelled three hours that night just to relive said pleasure. For another spectator, ten-and-a-half (emphasis on the half) year old Abigail, the gig was a lifetime first, and her excitement was palpable. Most unexpected, however, was the tattooed, pierced and rhinestoned hoard of early thirties (i.e. The Aged Rockers), who shunted their way to the barrier with admirable gusto in anticipation of KT’s arrival.

So, what makes this unassuming brunette such an indomitable presence, and what gives her such ubiquitous appeal in this world of musical apartheid? Having witnessed a live show, the answer is clear. Tunstall’s deferent performance was both technically brilliant and infectiously likeable- with banter between the singer and her fans flowing freely, the whole affair felt more like a school reunion than a début showcase of her 3rd album. True, this is not the KT of old. With new band members including the Ash guitarist Charlotte Hatherley, her new material is certainly darker than the hippy-acoustics of Eye to the Telescope, and songs like ‘The Entertainer’ and ‘Golden Frames’ show a growing maturity, not just in style but also content. However, this nature techno (as she calls it) is not a betrayal of her old aesthetic, rather a progression, and sits quite happily next to tracks like ‘(Still a) weirdo’, which are more reminiscent of her Jools Holland days. Industrial noise and heavy basslines were juxtaposed with acapella renditions of chart classics like ‘Hold On’ and ‘Other Side of the World’, with the infamous live looping making an impressive appearance on more than one occasion. With so much pressure on modern acts, especially female artists, to focus on the more visual aspects of a concert, Tunstall was a refreshing display of simple, unadulterated talent. And anyway, she’d look silly in one of Lady Gaga’s leotards.

I am perhaps too young to be nostalgic for the lost art of the groupie, and most of the concerts I go to at Cambridge involve some sort of choral arrangement, but my encounters at The Junction, from wide-eyed Abigail to her hardier counterparts, have inspired me. So, if you happen to wander into Pembroke evensong next Sunday, maybe you’ll see something special – a varsity reviewer, panties in hand, prostrated at the feet of an unsuspecting chorister, begging him to sign her nipples. Coz that’s how it’s done….right?

Mention should also be made of Tunstall’s warm-up act, Slowclub, whose Mumford-and-Sons-meets-the-Ting-Tings blend of folk harmony and rousing drums was entirely unexpected, but rapturously received.