I was a silent fan of this band called The Virgins sometime in ’07. Silent mostly because at that time, their whole EP had been used for an episode of Gossip Girl — something I had not openly approved of as a full-time dude with dude issues. I guess back then, you couldn’t really like chick things for irony’s sake. But I do remember having four thumbs up for that particular Gossip Girl episode, entirety threaded by the five-song demo of this New York band and all.
Aloof hipsteeze aside, I liked these mofos because their music was refreshingly lo-fi in a time when every record was a little too crisp and clean. Their songs did not try to channel anything cool; they were just loyal to the music they loved. It wasn’t exactly new wave; it was newer wave, a correction, if not a perfection, of the ‘80s soundscape. You’ll hear some Dire Straits and even some Roxy Music in there, but you would also hear The Virgins more than anything else. Unlike bands that go under and overboard in terms of confidence, this band hit it right in the middle and stayed there.
Obviously, Lo-fi may have run its course by now, having ripened under the magnifying glass of every music blog out there, but they’ll always be the band that performed in their pambahay clothes, got shot by Ryan McGinley in their pambahay clothes, and never seemed to sweat after performing in their pambahay clothes.
In other words, it wasn’t just the music; their story was pretty gold too. The Virgins were signed onto Atlantic Records even before “The Virgins†came about. There was basically no group at the time of agreement. Frontman Donald Cumming was cunning. He was the bluff master who had his “band†signed way before his actual band was created, way before members were even recruited—solely on account of his ball pen-labeled, room-recorded, five-song EP, which made the rounds in small gig after small gig in the city.
Soon enough, these four dudes were opening for the likes of Iggy Pop, Lou Reed and Sonic Youth, while landing their single Rich Girls on #68 of Rolling Stone’s “100 Best Songs of 2008†towards the end of the year. A self-titled full-length followed, plus a worldwide tour, including almost every country but North Korea and the Philippines.
But when it came down to it, I knew the debut album was leaps away from the fresh fuzz of their first EP. The album had promising dance tunes like She’s Expensive and Private Affair but there I was, forcing my love and ignoring the fact that the band had actually changed as quickly as I had latched onto them in the first place. There I was, messaging their bassist, asking if I could audition to replace their drummer who had just quit midway through their tours. I basically told him I knew all their songs (actual word used was “stuffâ€) and that I was willing to try out. The sad, sad false hope of a reply, as found on Facebook back in January of 2009, was this: “We have a guy for now but I’ll keep you posted.†Keep me posted? When? What time? Where? Will you guys reimburse my flight? I just remember shaking my head, disappointed when they found someone else.
The Virgins disappeared for a few years before a roster overhaul in 2012, leaving Cumming as the last original bro standing, much to my disapproval. The band was also signed anew onto Julian Casablancas’ Cult Records as the label’s first ever signee. For a Stroke to trust these guys like I once did felt good, but as an overall endeavor, I couldn’t deny my own disappointment. The latest album “Strike Gently†can never compare to their first EP, the grit of which got the ball rolling and every listener’s balls rolling in the first place. The first time is everything sometimes. Cumming had the freedom and time to just be himself and record something so cool. Now it’s pretty much evolved to something that is below-average cool. Cool, but not as cool as the song Love is Colder than Death. I guess like the bands we have come to love and hate, something as good as The Virgins once were is best remembered as an obsession that was sweet while it lasted.