By Kevin Donnellan
The Dum Dum Girls play simple, fuzzy rock music. Like a natural support act for Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. I’d listen to their stuff around once every three months, one listen to their album, then forgotten for another season. One of those bands.
They come onto stage in much the same way that they reportedly always come onto stage; in silence, a mic stand adjustment here, an errant strum there and it’s straight into the set. I could be right-on and not comment on the fact that the band is composed of four hot women who play their own instruments (you wouldn’t do that that with a male band etc…), but who would I be kidding? This is partly daydream time for most of the men in the audience.
From the back of a relatively full Whelans I’ve to stand on my toes to see Dee-Dee, Jules and Bambi (the drummer is sadly still hidden from view). Dee-Dee, the lead singer, is my imaginary girlfriend. But even in my imagination I can’t picture myself being cool (or tall) enough for the relationship to be anything but a severe disappointment for Dee (as I would affectionately call her). Perhaps an ill-advised and underwhelming night of awkwardness…
While these semi-happy thoughts play on loop in my head the set progresses without much by way of variety. Maybe if you listen to them more than once every few months there are subtle differences, but only ‘Jail La La’ and ‘Bhang Bhang, I’m a Burnout’ stand out for me. Audience interaction increases to some mumbled (but seemingly genuine) pleasantries. Well that, and a guy in the audience’s futile efforts to make shadow puppets on the backstage projection.
Forty minutes of well-played, nicely constructed punky, fuzzy rock. Nothing to envelope the audience. Nothing to cause a riot. Nothing to cause offense either. The Dum Dum Girls album will get played again in three months, but that might be the last time I see them live. Or perhaps that’s just my reaction to the knowledge that I’ll never get to share the Sunday papers in bed with Dee Dee… sigh.
