I need to get this off my chest immediately. The following will go down in history as the most difficult review that I have ever done in my life; mentally and emotionally. Now that that’s out of the way, let’s do it to it.
Tonight marks my 4th time having my brains blown out by the lovely Californian cuties know to most as The Donnas. I thought it nearly impossible for them to top last summer’s show at the Bank of America Pavilion. Apparently, the fates saw things differently.
The night began in typical pre-Donnas’ concert ritualistic style: burning out my iPod from constant Donnas playage, Double Gulps filled with cran-vodka mixed in Ocean Spray cranberry cocktail, and mini marathons of The Donnas‘ music vids. Afterward, I ushered my chariot “Black Death” nose first into the growing late-winter darkness (the perfect setting for a show of such glorious magnitude).
Well it seems that along with The Donnas, the Gods demanded a major sacrifice tonight; namely my memory. I spent most of the show in an alcoholic stupor that would dumbfound the people at Ripley’s Believe It or Not. Yes, I got that hammered. Who wouldn’t after 2 Double Gulps filled to the logo with Vodka? Anyhoo. From what my monumentally fogged mind will allow me to view, The Donnas had a random rocking band open for them (my buddy and me drank our way through the very first band). Here’s what the 3 chick/1 dude group looked like:
They sounded quite rockin’, but I was truly too damn drunk to give a shit. Oh wells.
Right before the lovely loud ladies of The Donnas stormed on stage, I took a moment to pick the brain of a fellow “Donnaholic” who was sharing my front/second row glory. I asked her: “What do you think of The Donnas?” to which she promptly replied…
That’s me yelling like a dope over her well-thought-out retort.
After what seemed the equivalent of a lifetime, the packed house at The Paradise (as well as my friend Cutter who lost his Donnas virginity tonight) got a dose of god-like girlies.
My gay ass battery died 3/4 of the way through this next one. I was super pissed. Thankfully I brought my back-up.
As I sit here, drowning in some Pabst Blue Ribbon, clouded images have begun to open wide inside my thick skull. I clearly remember Allison Robertson (the sultry shredding machine) rubbing out a gnarly solo right in my face. I know so for two solid reasons: 1) She walked over to me and began destroying her beautiful guitar in front of my eyes. B) I was there and saw it happen.
Throughout The Donnas’ set I was banging my head and air-drumming like a champion. My skills didn’t go un-noticed. I looked drummer Amy Cesari dead in the eye and started playing along with her (despite the constant rain of fists on my back from Lord Dan Goldberg). Smiles are grand, especially from Amy.
Towards the end of the evening, the coolest thing ever happened. It was during their normal closer Take It Off when my buds and I got the shock of a lifetime. Brett Anderson (lead vocalist and prison guard of my heart) Donna-dived onto the first few rows. Not once. But TWICE! The second one planted her sexy self right on top of my gargantuan head. Talk about BITCHIN’!
Here is where things start getting a little sad for me. At shows’ end, my pals and I were huddled under the marquee due to wet misty weather, with the hopes of getting a few snap-shots with the band keeping us dry. Last time I had to bolt early and couldn’t hang to meet the girls (who stayed and chilled with the fans that time). This time around, the musical madams made a B-Line to their traveling conveyance.
I found myself drawn to that song from Ernest Goes To Camp. You know the one I’m talking about.
What could have been the problem? Were they rushing to get to their next gig? Did they know of a local strip club that was open late? Was it time for a romp through a mini-mart to scope for dudes in skintight jeans? I honestly can’t say. I would also be lying if I said that I didn’t shed a few tears while watching them drive off. It was most unpleasant. But to make matters worse, my friends and I got screwed out of late-night fast food at 3 restaurants!! 3!!!. I shit you not, Bill & Bob’s (a roast beef joint in New England for those readers questioning the store name), Taco Bell, and fucking DENNY’S were either closed or simply not serving food. What kind of mental crap is that?!!! We settled for McDonald’s. Majorly unsatisfying.
Overall, this night was as epic as all 4 God of War games. I just hope beyond hope that when The Donnas decide to make their womanly way back to the Boston Cream Pie that they have enough time for a few pics after the show. Every time I see them I walk out high as a kite.
Come back ladies. I will gladly be your Midnight Snack! \m/