Only one pair of panties were thrown at last night’s Maxwell show, and it looked like they hadn’t been broken in, yet. The panties were extra large and white, styled like floppy little-boy briefs. A phrase stamped across the back became legible when Maxwell stretched out the elastic with his fingers: “I Heart Maxwell.”
Granted, panties are expensive, and we’re in a recession. They might not have been as expensive as the black brassiere that came flying from another adoring fan. But they’re expensive enough to justify not wanting to adulterate your favorite Victoria’s Secret G-string and hurl it at the Paramount Theatre stage. No matter how much you love thirty-five-year-old, edgily handsome, multi-platinum-selling Maxwell. No matter what he promised earlier in the evening. (In the middle of his set, Maxwell asked if someone in the audience was planning to lie on top of him later that night. He also dry-humped the floor and said “I’m gonna chop you up like vegetables and eat you like you’ve never been eaten before.”). It didn’t even matter that he dedicated “the next song to the future panties that will be on this stage.”
Here’s a clip of Maxwell singing one of the songs he performed last night, “Fortunate”:
