Living as we do, with so many great music venues on our doorstep, it is easy to become complacent. We can become a little spoiled. Growing up out in the sticks, I would routinely travel miles to see some, admittedly, not very good bands play in appalling venues. It didn’t matter; watching live music made me feel part of the world — and while these were far from the bands gracing the cover of NME, they gave me, and every other kid from the country, a chance to mosh, sweat and throw some beer around.

Even as a trainee journalist in London, I would routinely jump on my bike and brave the hazards of Elephant & Castle or Old Street to see a hotly-tipped new band playing in some dingy pub backroom.

Now many of the people I know in Oxford can’t be bothered to cross the road, sometimes literally, to see a brilliant new act often playing for peanuts.

Such thoughts occupied my mind as I lapped up one of the best shows I have seen for some time — a set by synth-pop master Bright Light Bright Light, supported by Oxford’s own Secret Rivals. Both are masters of keyboard pop and brought the crowd to their feet — Secret Rivals with buzzy tales of heartbreak and joyful abandon and Bright Light Bright Light with euphoric anthems.

The headliner, a good-looking chap whose real name is Rod Thomas, is a buddy of Elton John and has recently toured with Scissor Sisters. He is a superstar in the making, with a stage presence to match his killer beats and uplifting dance music.

What was surprising, though, was how few people there were. Competition from Gaz Coombes and Bowling for Soup across town, as well as a Dreaming Spires shindig had probably tempted some away, but many people I knew were at home or in the pub.

Those of us who where there were agreed that it had been an ‘I was there’ gig — one of those shows people will talk of for years to come.

The thing about Oxford, though, is such gigs are commonplace. Every buzz band calls here on their first tour. That’s the problem; we are unimpressable.

Radiohead, The Strokes, Muse, Coldplay and The Killers all played tiny shows at the Zodiac while White Stripes played the now defunct Point.

I can go one better with my own ‘I was there’ moment, however. Again it involved the Zodiac, but this time it was the pokey downstairs room. On a tip-off from an insider, I braved the cold to join a tiny crowd watch a shambolic bunch of hairy, and very stoned, young lads from America’s Deep South. The year was 2003, and the band: The Kings of Leon.

Now whatever happened to them?