Review: Brighton's brightest lasses finally graced L.A. with their presence a few nights ago. The adorable factor was through the roof, but the music itself also connected with the sold out club. This was, after all, an opening gig for overhyped Scottish headliners the Fratellis. They play tired-sounding garage rock akin to Artic Monkeys, only with a near-hair metal edge. One of their songs even sounded like Billy Joel. But the Pipettes, oh my, the Pipettes. The femme trio (backed by the all-male Cassettes who dress in Kanye West-style private school threads)bashed through about a dozen songs in less than 45 minutes, most of which can be found on their stellar debut "We are the Pipettes" (arriving in the U.S. this summer). Safe to say, every man, woman and child (OK, there weren't any kids there)was in love with them by the end.
They should remake the last scene of "Spartacus" like so:
Slave one: "I am the Pipettes!"
Slave two: "I am the Pipettes!"
Slave Three: "I am the Pipettes!"
Kirk Douglas' eyes well with tears. Then the Pipettes kick out the jams.
FADE OUT.
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