The Donnas

The Donnas are easy. Yes, of course they’re easy in that way (as they like to remind us every chance they can slip a promiscuity-laden pun into their lyrics). But they’re also easy in the slipping into sweats for a night hanging with old friends kind of way. And that’s mainly because the four feisty gals just don’t seem to want to change. They’re still singing about keying the cars of nasty boys, rolling on the floor with nasty boys, nasty boys who wear dirty denim, getting high with nasty boys, nasty boys who bogart the bong, and on it goes. As expected, that same ol’ subject matter dominates the album, but this time around they sound a little more jaded, a little more negative and a little less goofy. The delinquency is still there, but it’s neither juvenile nor silly anymore, which to be honest was the main charm of the Donnas. Their technical skills have definitely matured, displaying impressive guitar riffs, big and snazzy drum work, and a tightness that comes from playing for more than a decade together. But that’s the only thing that’s matured. These gals were once a lovely bad-ass alternative to Britney and her related bubbleheads, but now with younger heiresses like Sahara Hotnights and Avril Lavigne prepped to claw the Donnas off their throne, they’ve got to either evolve or call it a night. Eventually Lita Ford hung up her spandex and even the Runaways ran away from the teen rebel-ette niche.