Last night, during a performance at New York City's Highline Ballroom, the female lead singer of indie dance party staple Brazilian Girls had what appeared to be her period onstage and just, like, rocked it out, man. Was it fake? Probably. You don't wear an all white skintight jumpsuit in front of a gathered crowd if you're within a a few days of Shark Week, even if you're in the most audacious of tampon commercials. But that didn't stop one disgusted male journalist in attendance from 1- thinking it was real and 2- writing a review about how grossed out he was.
Without getting all Pitchfork on you, the concert began with the band's lead singer in a pristine white skintight jumpsuit. As if cued by a Trauma Rama column, she began to menstruate early in the show, but unlike Trauma Rama, her crush did not walk by; she used the blood as a sort of punky prop. Think Lady Gaga with a gender studies degree and without a record label telling her not to involve mock menstrual blood in her act.
I don't want to pick too hard on this poor blogging journalist gentleman, this David Watts Barton fellow, but his review contains some pretty artful ways to politely indicate that nothing is more disgusting than all that YOU KNOW WHAT that happens in the DOWN THERE PARTS of a (cough cough) woman. And because I had a weird morning and am running behind today I've turned the best bits into a free form poem/listicle (poemsticle — super refreshing on hot days) about one dude who is dee-scus-ted by more-than-likely non-real menstrual blood.
- Warning: This review is not for the squeamish.
- white jumpsuit began to…change color. In one particular area. To red.
- “I’m going to bleed all over you people,” she teased. Or threatened.
- she might want to let the band play an instrumental while she slipped into something a little more presentable might brand me as a misogynist (literally) or at the very least, an unimaginative male who doesn’t appreciate the Primal Power of Woman. Thus does political correctness make cowards of us all.
- I grew up with hippie rock and punk rock, when anything went, and when the notion of going with the flow had a somewhat different, but perhaps sympathetic meaning.
- Personally, I would have preferred she have changed into something a little…cleaner.
- I wonder if the rest of the band felt that this attention-grabbing could have been restrained just a touch.
- a bit more like a horror film than I had expected.
Speaking of "political correctness making cowards of us all" - just say "vagina" and "menstruation," dude. It's okay — they're not scary words. It's okay now and it would have been okay 20 years ago. If you say "vagina" three times in the mirror, a ghost isn't going to appear and throw tampons at you while you curl into a fetal position and cry; that's not how language works.
Menstruation-as-art isn't my Diva Cup of tea (SORRY NOT SORRY) but neither is describing art with bashful prudery. No one is suggesting that men celebrate menstruation by jerking off with a used pad every month (Lars von Trier, do not steal this idea for your next film) and Christ — it's a rock show and the blood was probably fake. But you know rock and roll: it's all fun and games until someone gets menstruated on.
Image via Instagram