Three Imaginary Girls

Seattle's Indie-Pop Press – Music Reviews, Film Reviews, and Big Fun

Andrea Zollo and the rest of Pretty Girls Makes Graves stormed the stage. She picked up her mic, laughing. "I gotta pee really bad. I'll try my best not to do it on stage," she told us, before launching into the first song on their debut album, Good Health, which, avid readers of Three Imaginary Girls may recall, has been in near-constant rotation in my car CD player since I purchased it at the CD release party in April.

Ooh la la. You know how I love this band, with their pop-punk rock tunes and bad ass attitudes. I adore them so much it's hard to review them.

Zollo's voice boomed, throaty and full, sounding stronger and less fried than it did when we saw them at the Crocodile last month. Perhaps they took a wee bit of time to recoup from their rigorous tour schedule…?

As always, the band had amazing exuberance on stage, flailing, shouting, banging their instruments… not only are these guys fantastically talented, but you can just tell they're having a great time. And really, that's what rock and roll is all about, right?

"I know it's hot, but we're gonna do a really, really hot song. Everybody clap!" proclaimed Zollo. And you know — astonishingly, we all did. The crowd went crazy, in fact, as they launched into what I believe is the most memorable track on the album, "More Sweet Soul."

I fell for it. "Dress me up, mess me up, I'm ready to go!" I belted along, undoubtedly to the chagrin of the people standing in front of me. Wow, I even see a girl in the front on someone's shoulders. Am I at Woodstock?

Oh, they played a new song! It had maracas at the beginning, then Nathan and Derek screamed into their mics — then Andrea joined in. I didn't catch any lyrics (big surprise), but it was certainly consistent with the energy and punk rock prowess you can expect from PGMG. I am just psyched to see they're writing new material. This means another PGMG CD one day!! Huzzah!!

I'm impressed with how many people are wearing earplugs today. Though in truth, these guys are worth the db shift in hearing.

We will all be deaf in the nursing home together.

I went back to visit with imaginary Mom, who was sitting in the shade. I had to weave; the crowd was packed nearly back to the Beer Garden, and once I hit the garden, it was full again. Mom was shaded, though unimpressed, I'm afraid. ("Her voice sounds like a whiny kid! I just don't like punk rock." Aww, poor Mom, she's being such a good sport!)

Well, at least the sunshine dispersed the sound and smoke, making the experience at least parentally tolerable.

I know I'm no longer impartial; I just love this band too much, and know them too well. So I asked our table-mates what they thought of the show. "Fuck yeah!" they proclaimed. Fuck yeah. Yep, that about covers it.