Donald, Nick and Wade are an unlikely rabble of shady East Village street urchins with a passion for rock and roll. In between beards, body odour and booze these boys lived in small drains and dumpsters strumming by moonlight and befriending small dogs for moosical inspiration. After a number of months cohabiting with only each other and abstaining from lady lumps they decided to attempt to tackle some sweet melodies and established themselves as ‘The Virgins‘. When l trot up to meet the lads they’re collapsed in a small corner of the Camden Monarch, the venue for tonight’s gig. After several attempts at squinting and focusing they introduce themselves in a mist of exhaustion. “We’ve literally not slept in days” was Donald’s raspy excusal upon my eager arrival. I feel their pain. Nick is struggling to find the power of speech and coordination…. Wade isn’t moving. I got my family doctor on speed dial, they needed some Tixylix, a hot water bottle and Bambi. It was tricky to get them chatting. I hooked Donald up to a Jack Daniels drip got the others necking the elixir of life, a litre of Captain Morgan’s, and we all got back in the game. These guys have shot to fame pretty quick and full advantage is being taken of staff benefits to the band.
“We’ve had some near arrests, we get in to trouble backstage a lot because we break the law. The laws are different everywhere l just don’t know the differences.” Things got a little clearer from this point on. After being dragged all over the country having the music raped out of them it seems the boys relish their recreational times medicating their souls, in back rooms. “We don’t even have a dressing room” Donald’s got a real cheeky charm l’ve tried to flash a nostril flare and toss of my tufts but he‘s made of stone and gazes into the non chalence distance . When l turn my back lm shocked to find him nibbling on the queue l was using as a prop. He blushes something chronic and mumbles “my teeth are pretty fucked up, l can literally carve my name into any wooden surface.” What a skill music and carpentry, this dude is dynamite. We spend a lot of the time trotting aboot the pub getting Donald knawing expletatives into any taxing textile l challenge to him. He obliterates them all. Whilst we throw down the sawdust Nick and Wade engage in a dramatic domestic on the stairs and Nathan is taken away for medical investigations. Turns out he hasn’t had any cardiac activity for the past three days. Who knew? They Trojan on, crawl onto the stage and play their plimsoles off to the assembled crowds of kids. The groupies come out in force and l go down when l get partially blinded by a murkin to the eye, its insane. They are a bunch of hot totty and this aint gone unnoticed by the clans of hormone infested baby making machines thrusting aboot the stage. Blimey bill. Donald and wade are the main breadwinners when it comes to babes. “Me and Wade met on Ryan McGinley photo shoot. We were just naked for ten days on the beach together” They are a bunch of sexual sallies. Take a cheeky peak at any number of their videos and you wont fail to catch a flash of an edible crotch or flying nipple, its all very out there. “There are a lot of naked men on our videos as well” (Donald was rather enigmatic about me including this for your pleasure). Fair play.
They stormed South by Southwest, are adored abroad and have wooed me with tales of nudity, dental hygiene and meats. The Virgins are odd, ambidextrous music entities, dressed down chic with a twist of geek to go. I liked em. I reckon you would too.
