I went to the Amy Winehouse concert on Saturday at the Electric Factory in Philly. If you were there I was one of the tall pretty broads in the front blocking your view. Anyways, as expected she blew our minds with her voice, and satisfied any and everyone who showed up to see a spectacle, teetering drunkenly about the stage, not a note off key.
One opener. Three words. Patrick. Muthafuckin'. Wolf.
This glamonster poured out all over the stage in a homoerotic farm boy outfit, fueled by
heroin love, and urging the audience to 'join in togetherness' as we gazed uncomfortably at his crotch area (I could write a whole blog about what was going on in his shorts. The term 'sticky situation' comes to mind.) I have never heard of this fag in my life, but that shit was fantastic. Caterwauling, histrionics, glitter everywhere, i'm officially amped. Then he whispers goodbye to everyone and flutters offstage in a trail of sparkles.
Then, lights dim, instruments tune up, and out trots a pony on spindly legs in denim cutoffs and a wifebeater, tatted up, and drowning in piles and piles of weave. Absolutely magical. She killed it, nervous at first but then she got into it, after some liquor was in her, where it all went, i've no idea. She has to be 48 lbs soaking wet, and with that ridiculous ass hair on. I'm glad I got to see her because at the rate she's going homegirl won't be here for me to love and mock for much longer. Yet and still, I love her ghetto ass.