According to Jim:
Half the band wasn’t old enough to get in [the club] and had to wait outside before and after the show.
They’re like pop punk, but instead of punk, they play metal, and by metal I mean full on throat screaming in your face speed metal, like Pantera, and then chop it up with all these infectious little time changes about how you don’t love me anymore. I’ve never heard anything like it. And they’re girls. Super nice, sweet, short. I know I should say women, but no, they are girls…and I am officially old.
He posted photos of the band members. I saw what he meant. It was like looking at a basket of kittens. Is this what happens when you pass the great threshold of 30? People on the other side of it look adorable and 15 even when they’re semi-grown women dressed in tough-girl tattoos and fishnets and backdropped by a mural of blazing hellfire?
(Oh God. E just informed me that the BBC is doing “a day in the life” segment on him as part of some kind of series. They come here next Thursday.
“Am I supposed to be in this?” I asked.
“Well, yes,” my husband said reasonably. “You’re a big part of the day.”)