After a two-issue absence from the pages of Bay Times, I’m pleased to be back on board and raring to go again. Taking a well-deserved break put a lot of things in perspective for me, like for instance just how long I’ve been writing this column, which is (gasp!) over a decade, the many purposes and functions it has served over the years, the never-ending list of crusades I’ve attached the Beat This seal of approval to, the personal crusades I’ve maintained and led over the years like the constant tireless commitment to enlightening gays to the vital rebellion of rock and roll, or at least showing those queers out there who like rock music that they aren’t alone, or the consistent pro-drug, pro-honesty, anti-hypocrisy and non-judgmental stance I’ve always maintained regarding better living through chemistry, the many great artists I’ve watched develop and conquer and re-invent and triumph, the many talented and loved individuals who have died, my avid interest in nearly every schoolyard shooting tragedy, well before they were so popular, and my learned views on the changing face of gay male sexual behaviors in the age of AIDS and Aquarius. In looking back upon a decade plus of Beat This it becomes clear that the amount of editorial freedom, dirty words, irreverent and illegal suggestions, highly personal ruminations and things that were just wrong as the day is long, would never have been tolerated, let alone printed by any other local gay publication than the S.F. Bay Times. Whenever I went just a bit over the top with my content, S.F.Bay Times has stood behind me with an unapologetic aplomb, defending my character and level of professionalism when questioned by letters from uptight readers concerned by my references to casual drug use or suggestions of presidential assassination. It is here within these pages where I shall continue to try to fuck shit up, speak the unmentionable, and point you readers in the right direction for the best rock and roll to be had.
Perhaps I’ve been feeling a bit retrospective and sentimental these days because certain events have really sparked a wave of nostalgia running deep and detailed through my consciousness in a powerful way. The main catalyst for this would be the series of “going away” parties for Ggreg Taylor former nightclub promoter and event coordinator who for many years was responsible for really taking this town on a journey through a nightlife that was definitely world class, imaginative, unique and unforgettable. Master Taylor has decided to pull up stakes and move to London, a very popular destination for all opulent superstars these days (Ggreg Taylor, Madonna, my roommates Adam and Michael, etc.), where I’m certain he’ll lead a content, successful and mainly vegetarian lifestyle. His final installment of the going away parties took place at The Eagle Tavern on St. Patrick’s Day, which was also proclaimed Ggreg Taylor Day in San Francisco and he was presented an official plaque by Mark Leno from the Mayor. This get-together was the best party of the year in my book. I hadn’t been so completely enveloped in a huge crowd of familiars in what seemed like years. Many folks who have moved away returned for the event and there was just a huge good feeling going on about it. The sadness that often comes with saying farewell to a friend was kept to an almost non-existent minimum, as it should be. I’m thrilled for any of my friends who choose to strike out into bold new territory. It only means that I’m more likely to travel abroad to visit them, and stop your sobbing, folks, Ggreg will definitely be back for Burning Man before you know it. I’m sure fun was had by all and I wish nothing but the best for Ggreg as he embarks on a new adventure as a strange one in a strange land. One last thing about the party that I gotta say, for being the group of dinosaurs or “old queens” who remember and took part in all those events from ancient times-so many of us can still party like champs and are still looking so totally fuck-able! No lie, this crowd was desirable.
And speaking of the Eagle Tavern, I’m pleased as can be to announce that I’m now DJ-ing the still-going-strong-as-ever Sunday afternoon institution known as The Beer Bust, on every other Sunday afternoon, alternating with owner and extraordinary DJ Joe Banks, who is always a pleasure to hear back in the booth again. I must admit I was very nervous at first, spinning for one of the biggest assembled crowds going on any Sunday, but I took to it pretty easily, the crowd being full of energy, receptive, and even forthcoming with logical informed rock and roll requests, and compliments! I began to wonder if all of these years of one-off rock clubs here and there where I pushed the rock and roll envelope on a gay crowd to varying degrees of success and longevity, have actually paid off. After years of repetitive monotonous dance oriented disco being the norm for the eagle beer busts and most gay bars for that matter, a change in ownership brought a change in the musical style presented. The Eagle would now rock. That change was a few years ago, and presently it seems at long last that the crowd is actually embracing Rock and Roll with enthusiasm and interest. I always thought leather was a more suitable match for rock and roll than it was for say Gloria Gaynor anyway. Come on down to the beer bust and check it out. I think the age-old tradition is more fun than ever and I’ve noticed lately that the crowd has been hanging around well past nightfall, cozy, warm and dark by the fire.
Since my schedule at work has changed lately, I’ve been freed up on Tuesdays and can now attend the ever popular five year old Tranny-phenomenon showcase Trannyshack at the Stud. This weekly club has always been a total blast, sprinkled with the magic dust of San Francisco’s nightlife past; it maintains the ribald and outrageous spirit of drag performance with continually innovative and fresh new talent and future legends in the making. More recently the over all appeal of the club has been brilliantly augmented by the gifted and demented sounds of DJ Pinky Ring, serving up a fresh enough mix of eclectic sounds to keep the crowd there and dancing well after the show is over, not to mention before. The Shack has always featured impressive DJ’s, but with Pinky Ring they’ve really struck gold. The sick motherfucker has got it going on.
This particular night’s theme was Ghetto Fabulous and the designated co host was the legendary Ethylinna Canne, making a trip up from southern cal where she has been residing on the right side of the law since her arrest-incarceration-release-and re-establishment as a productive member of society. For those unfamiliar with the entire story, Heklina opened the show with a number that depicted Ethylinna’s entire history with credit card fraud in under three minutes, filling in the holes in the story with a rather scathing introduction, which didn’t seem to be delivered with a singular purpose of informing as much as insulting her co host. You see, Ethylinna was a bit late in arriving and this brought out all kinds of feelings in Heklina. Granted, habitually late people are annoying, especially for someone trying to present a cavalcade of performances with a good flow that continually engages the crowd, but news flash-Ethylinna Canne is not the only queen who has ever been late! We weren’t the first Trannyshack audience who waited a little longer for show time. Shocking but true, many people have witnessed this rare dynamic before. But far be it for me to want to make excuses for a late drag queen-as the evening rolled on several other comments that came about took precedence over the initial problem Heklina chose to share with all. Before I nit-pick into the issue, one of the things that should’ve taken precedence over all these snide attitudes and aggressively slanderous remarks flying about that night was Putenesca. What a magnificent look, an assault of afro-slut chic that was large, very large and dripping with a raunchy sexuality to match the song she performed, a real gem by the oft-forgotten nasty gal vocalist from the 70’s Betty Davis. Putenesca rules. Also impressive was someone by the name of Cookie who bore some resemblance to the current Miss Trannyshack, only painted ghetto black. She performed a very cool remix of a song by Tricky that features a slow cool female rap about guns and having a fucked up day. Great performance, far more worthy of focusing on than the ugly situation that played out just beforehand.
While Heklina continued on with her diatribe against her tardy co host, it seems that one Ethylinna Canne fan started yelling things back at her, none of which I could actually hear but the comments angered Heklina so much she had the person removed from the club while yelling into the microphone, “You can just get out and go home and do your speed and stay up all night and pick holes in your face and go out tomorrow and we’ll see who looks better.” The crowd sort of cheered Heklina on a bit but a touch of indifference or curiosity creeped across the room. I was instantly appalled by this out of the blue drug reference and judgmental attack on a customer but frankly it wasn’t the first anti-speed reference I’ve heard coming from Heklina while onstage. I really began to wonder why a person who runs a nightclub that stays open after hours and caters to a clientele who may very well be on all kinds of drugs would toss out such a blatant judgment on a patron. Another curious thought that occurred to me was the totally different regard Trannyshack holds for another substance, alcohol. It’s the cute and cuddly substance to do, and when you do too much you “black-out” a trannyshack buzzword used for their official T-shirts that read, “I blacked out at Trannyshack.” I sensed that alcohol abuse was promoted heavily by the club because if you drink too much you enter some state of adorable cartoonlike behavior, desirable and funny and “what becomes a legend most.” While the Tranny crew might often brag about blacking out as if its glamorous or a source of pride, I beg to differ. I’ve seen blackouts before and they aren’t pretty, and I’ve gone to trannyshack and been so overwhelmed by the stench of vomit I had to leave. Is there anything right or adorable about that? Not really, but I wont anticipate Heklina riding someone’s ass out of the club insinuating openly that they are hideous drunks just because they like a performer she’s mad at.
The point is, this is a nightclub we’re talking about, a place where people on any and every manner of drug should be able to come and never get harshly judged or put down or ridiculed for what drugs someone assumes they are on. Heklina’s attack on that guy seemed so personally motivated. I had to wonder if perhaps someone close to Heklina in the past had gotten involved with speed and maybe over- did it and their lives took a serious spiral downward that put a permanent strain on their relationship or caused a great deal of pain or anger that still very much affects him. Sometimes when someone points an accusatory finger at another person, the bigger noise made could be the rattling of skeletons in their own closet. Personally I wouldn’t know, and I felt resentful that I was prompted to think about these things when I was just out for a good time and to see Ethylinna Canne perform, which she finally did, and she was really good but I must admit, how the situation was handled definitely detracted from the overall show for sure. I’m certain that some will read this and say, “Of course he’s offended, he’s a speed freak.” Well, one needn’t have been much more beyond a simple human being to have been offended that night.
Heklina announced earlier that night that she and a couple more queens were going to New York the next day to do The Rikki Lake Show for the third time. Perhaps that explains her behavior on this night, she was just warming up. But at Ggreg Taylor’s party a little bird told me that ironically enough the subject matter of the Rikki Lake episode they shot, which are always fictitious and created by writers, consisted of Heklina being savaged by her friends for having a horrible drinking problem. I hope someone tapes it; I tend to miss this sort of television programming.