Something about the Damnwells show last night at the Lizard Lounge made me want to explode in the sky.
I haven’t been to a show in weeks — the last being Deb Talan at the Jesus Loves You Coffeehouse in some distant suburb (Salem? Lynn?). It was a decent folk show in its own right, even if Deb’s new I’ve Found Love and Been Tamed songs are, at best, boring. Her older album Something Burning is fantastic, and I was pleased as punch that she drew from it heavily for the set list. But that was the last show I went to. Which for this concert slut is frightening.
I remembered last night — weird how one can forget so easily — the sheer joy brought on by mindfucking rock and roll played too loud in a small club. Having relied on my mathematically arranged speakers at home, volume-hobbled because I live in a 3-family house, I have not been overwhelmed by sound since Postal Service at the Mid E. So when the Damnwells kicked in, my head blew apart.
I needed desperately to get outside of myself and bad movies and mac-n-cheese weren’t cuttin’ it.
Lead Alex was a bit chatty for my taste, though he is a silly boy — played with his fly down in alliance with his bass player, who accidentally did the same at the previous show. They played a slew of new songs from their upcoming album, and I was instantly in love, especially having played the two CDs I have to death and hearing the same line-up for the last few shows.
The Damnwells were selling new t-shirts at the show with their cute little yield/heart logo, and my friend went over to purchase a tank top. She is, shall we say, well-endowed to a fantastic degree, and so requested a large. There was a brief fashion consultation by a band member, who advised that she wear a medium. And so it was.
After the set, I confided in one of my friends, “I have a great big hard-on for that band.” There was a great deal of resultant confusion regarding my gender, and I assured him I was 100 percent. With an arched eyebrow, he demanded, “100 percent what? Hey — you never know…”
Make that 150 percent, you smarty-pants. That’s more woman than you can handle.
My ears are still ringing and the concern over conductive deafness arose yesterday. I mean, with the amount of shows I go to, will I end up donning Miracle Ear before my time? Only in life or death circumstances, such as the Village Underground, do I rely on earplugs. It’s just…. well, let’s put it this way. As the Damnwells were winding down, they decided to play a quiet song from their new album. Alex flopped his shaggy hair about, in search of his ears. “I have to remove my earplugs for this one. And now you know I’m wearing earplugs, which is the equivalent of showing you that I’m wearing panties.”
I welcome the deafness.