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JOAN JETT AND THE BLACKHEARTS, the Dollyrots, the Paybacks at Hudson River Park, New York, NY
from: nyrock.com
Photo by: J. Jasper
It's mandated by law that anytime JOAN JETT plays a gig, NYRock is there to report back. Billed as a free show at the Hudson River Park at Pier 54, the lineup featured the Paybacks, the Dollyrots, and JOAN JETT AND THE BLACKHEARTS. Unfortunately, the weather reports were not in our favor – there were threats of damaging winds, torrential rain, hail, lightning, flooding, and Republicans. But would that stop us? Pish.
First thing to know: the Hudson River Park is a pier of concrete. I didn't see a lick of greenery, save for the girl with the emerald Manic Panic locks. Second: there is a very thick, frothy layer of khaki-colored scum coating the Hudson River close to the pier. It's nasty as all get-out yet impossible to stop staring at.
When my harem of rock whores and I were let onto the pier, we made our way to the stage because – as regular readers will recall – the Paybacks are one of the baddest-assed bands on the planet. I had a moment of inner turmoil when I admitted to myself that I was more excited to see the Paybacks than the BLACKHEARTS probably because the latter has played a bunch of times over the past year, and it's not like the Paybacks come into town as frequently. With a dark gray cloud looming to the north, the Paybacks brought their own electrical storm in the form of knee-knocking, titty-twisting Detroit rock 'n' roll led by human hurricane Wendy Case. The wind was picking up, but save for a stage banner coming undone and flapping in the air, and Case's dress threatening to end up around her shoulders, we avoided Ma Nature's wrath – turns out she can be soothed with a dose of rawk.
That is, until the Dollyrots took the stage and the clouds began to leak, but this crowd sure as sugar wasn't going anywhere. The power-pop trio was a Radio Disney wet dream. Singer/bassist Kelly Ogden's voice was like Cyndi Lauper's speaking voice, and the peppy, cheeky songs were as harmless as a stick of Juicy Fruit. But after just being ravaged by Wendy Case's mauling roar, the transition to a singer who sounded like she had a helium balloon stuck between her ass cheeks wasn't exactly smooth.
By the end of their set, it was raining. Efforts to pretend it was just a passing sprinkle were moot, but it didn't stop people from trying. "It's not that bad!" (Yes it is.) "Really!" (No, really.) "We're just a little moist!" (I can wring my hair out.) "She'll be out any minute!" (No she won't.) "I think it's clearing up!" (The sky is dark, jackass.)
vvv
On the upside, we discovered that a JOAN JETT show in the rain is sexier than a JOAN JETT show not-in-the-rain. We were all wet and restless, and no doubt our vixen was delighted. To add to the sexy vibe, Joan almost had a nip-slip. Her vinyl vest was unzipped low enough that she had to do a bit of damage control before we saw a wardrobe malfunction. Joan grinned and said one of her girls would pop out before the night is over. We should be so lucky. You know, damnit, we're a mouseclick away from Internet pictures of Britney's and Paris' vajayjay, but could we be fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of JOAN JETT's nipple in the flesh? No, but I'm still holding out.
Ah Joan, with a smile so charming, she makes George Clooney look like Don Knotts. And watching her watch us that night, you could clearly see genuine humility behind those eyes of hers. (And probably a million kinky delights.) I could elaborate on her cheek bones, her mouth, her gruff voice, her rock-n-roll poses, her booty, etc., but a friend put it best: she makes you feel sexy. My friend declared, stone-faced, "I would sleep with anyone in that band." (Bet she didn't see KENNY LAGUNA, stage right, hidden by a wall of speakers.) But I knew what she was saying. Jett extends her own confidence to fans and you can see the starry-eyed transformation take place. It's a beautiful thing. Everyone needs to feel sexy, and to have Joan freakin' Jett provide the catalyst is quite the experience. It mirrors the way Jett herself absorbed the awesomeness of songs – like "Crimson and Clover" and "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" – and then radiated that awesomeness outward for us to then absorb. Or something. It's probably molecular fusion or some shit. But don't ask me. I was too busy blinking raindrops out of my eyes and ducking an unwieldy umbrella held by a ginormous lady with multiple face piercings.
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