By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
You might remember that back in July I wrote a half-sentence dis of the Donnas' performance at the Voice's own Siren festival: "It was clear that [Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs] has more stage presence and charisma in her itty-bitty, black-gloved pinky finger than all four members of dumb sorority-girl-band-posing-as-punk-rockers the Donnas combined."
I swiftly realized what was about to happen: Either I would die of embarrassment on the spot, or, more likely, Donna A would bludgeon me to death. Instead, she purred, "Bet you thought you'd never meet me."
Um, no. And I hoped I never would.
Thus began the most excruciatingly torturous conversation of my adult life. To make matters worse, bass player Donna F stuck her tongue out at me and otherwise made faces worthy of a 12-year-old. Brought back painful memories of junior high.
Later, Donna A said, "You said we had no talent." I said that I thought they could play their instruments quite well, I just didn't like their music. "You called us sorority girls," she wailed. Yes, dumb, too. OK, maybe that was unfair, but the girls were just not as dirty and punk rock as I thought they'd be. "Oh, c'mon," she protested. "I haven't washed these jeans in two weeks. And," she said, "we were nerds in high school."
She pressed on: "We were so hurt by that because we had stopped in the middle of recording our new album and flew out from L.A. to do a favor for the Voice, and then that very paper dissed us." Something that surely had Siren booking agent Diane Perini pulling out her hair.
Donna A said of our tête-à-tête, not a little gleefully, "You don't know how many times I've imagined this moment." So, thinking of the scene in High Fidelity where John Cusack's character dreams up a million different ways to thrash Tim Robbins, I asked, "What was your most violent fantasy involving our meeting?" She gave me a sideways glance and a wicked grin, and said, "Well, I thought you'd be taller [I'm 4-11]so I can't beat you up." Ouch.
Since he doesn't have J.Lo's big behind to deal with (that's Ben Affleck's job now), P. Diddy can concentrate on his music and fashion endeavors. Even though he is supposedly anti-war, his latest Fashion Week show was a nod to military style, rather than bling-bling (He told The New Yorker last year, "Look at my canary-yellow diamond. . . . Admit it, I am impeccable. I am a damn fashionable motherfucker, and I'm not ashamed to admit it"). OK, we admit it.
And it seems like he's been in the studio with just about everyone these days. Just a few weeks ago, The New York Times portrayed an embarrassingly awkward meeting between Puffy and Oscar-nominatedactor Adrien Brody, the star of The Pianist (and son of Voice photog Sylvia Plachy). Brody, who is also a budding music producer, exchanged splayed hand gestures and head nods with the master.
Now we hear that Urb cover boy Felix Da Housecat is cooped up in a studio, recording with the bejeweled mogul. Puffy has wanted to make an entire CD of dance music ever since he fell in love with house while spending time in Ibiza (I wonder if he discovered a few other things, too. My friend Matos suggested a new monikerP. Did E. It has a nice ring, don't you think?). He had hired a British house producer (who shall go unnamed), but it didn't turn out quite to his liking. Methinks superfly Felix will be a much better fit for the flashy gent.
The latest additions to the clubland graveyard are Exit and Sound Factory. The two megaclubs were ordered by New York State Supreme Court to close down last week under the Nuisance Abatement Law. (Police said there had been 70 drug-related arrests over the past three years, with 11 prosecutions.)
But perhaps the most serious consequence of the closures: Guidos will suddenly descend en masse, ruining the remaining "cool" clubs (i.e., Centro-Fly and Arc), and, even worse, Junior Vasquez fans will have nowhere to go! (Hint: Danny!)