Category: From the archives…

I was completely shocked to see the other day that the I-beam, a former premiere live music venue and host of one of the city’s most popular Sunday tea dances, has been demolished to make way for housing.  The upper Haight Street nightclub had been dormant for several years and I occasionally wondered why nothing seemed to be happening with that space.  For a long stretch of years from the mid 80’s thru the mid 90’s there was scarcely a Monday night that you wouldn’t find me in attendance for the venue’s infamous live music Mondays booked by the incredibly knowledgeable, always one-step-ahead of the rest master-booker Cathy Cohn.  She brought all the right bands to the city, often times breaking an act for the first time in S.F.  I saw The Birthday Party, Big Mama Thornton, Sonic Youth, Big Black, The Pixies, Throwing Muses, The Butthole Surfers, Hole, The Gun Club, Tragic Mulatto, Jane’s Addiction, The Sugarcubes, Erasure, De La Soul, Ministry, Revolting Cocks, The Violent Femmes, Sister Double Happiness, Flaming Lips, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Bomb, The Primitives, The Fall, No Means No, Nitzer Eb, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, The Cramps, The Young Gods, Laibach, Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Smashing Pumpkins,

Billy Bragg, The Mekons, New Order, and on and on.  Monday nights were like a night of worship for me, I was devout for about ten years of fantastic shows.  I recall a time when the I-beams ad that ran in the pink section listed 4 upcoming shows, three of which were bands with names that couldn’t be printed in the newspaper without replacing a few letters with an asterix, like The Bu**hole Surfers,  Pu**y Galore, and Revolting C**ks.  There were so many incredible mind-blowing historical rock and roll moments there, like an afternoon Butthole Surfers show that took place before the scheduled Sunday gay tea dance where I witnessed a man cut another mans throat but the victim couldn’t be bothered to stop watching the show, laughing and bleeding, and I was able to point the culprit out to security.  Or the time I saw Big Black unleash their sonic mayhem on the oh so hip crowd like a meat tenderizer, possibly the loudest show I ever heard, and the most chilling, with the lyrical accounts of sexual child abuse and small town boredom leading to the psychosexual release of setting buildings on fire with kerosene.  On the way home from that show we just happened to see a house engulfed in flames warm enough to feel just driving by on a motorcycle, and we laughed. I was literally brought to tears seeing The Pixies perform there, specifically when they did that song from the movie Eraserhead.   I met Kim Deal that night and she was the nicest rock star I’ve ever talked to.  Possibly the most frightening scary and intense show I ever saw there was The Birthday Party, their song “Deep In The Woods” haunts my memory to date.  They were the real Monsters of Rock if you ask me—all this unhinged and utter darkness and danger –and the I-beam dished it up in heaping doses, fearlessly setting a precedent and forever accomplishing what few other clubs could.

I went by that part of Haight street today, where just in one door and up a flight of stairs a whole world of magic opened up to me and countless others who live for rock and roll, and it was all gone, flattened for the development of housing.  Seeing the actual amount of space the club took up was kind of shocking.  I guess it was a pretty big place.  Big enough to never forget.  Especially growing up there.

In the spirit of the impending Gay Lesbian Bisexual Transgender Parade and Pride Celebration I decided to immerse myself in a steady schedule of all things gay and lesbian cultural, starting with a preview performance of the latest Ronnie Larsen play Sleeping With Straight Men.  Ronnie Larsen’s body of work has always intrigued me a great deal, the way he brought together the disparate elements of theater and pornography, writing plays about the porn industry, casting porn actors in his theatrical productions, celebrating confrontational nudity until, like it or not, a new trend or sub-genre in modern Theater actually surfaced.  I jokingly called it Nude Gay Theater as it seemed in the mid to late 90’s you couldn’t really see any theatrical production without catching actors in the all-together.  The prolific Larsen went on to write 10 plays which have run all over the country and internationally, make a documentary film of a similar nature, and garner a fair amount of critical acclaim as a playwright.  When I heard of his latest production, Sleeping With Straight Men I was definitely excited because it featured the stage debut of a good friend of mine Sister Roma, not to mention screen legend, hard-working show-biz gal, and genius actress Mink Stole, but when I learned that the play tackled the murder case that stemmed from the taping of a Jenny Jones show in which a gay man revealed his secret crush on a straight man and was later murdered by the object of his affection my interest was really piqued.  I also read in the program that Larsen has completed a new play about serial killer John Wayne Gacy and gay actor Divine called Two Dead Clownsand is currently work-shopping another one about the Jack the Ripper murders, and I like the direction he seems to be taking with his work.  He’s clearly a sick fuck with a wicked sense of humor and a courageous will to push limits.

The preview I attended was quite strong overall but you could sense there were scenes and details that would evolve and progress and tighten up as the month-long run played out.  There were several very solid performances turned out in the course of the plays rapid-fire pacing, volleying between scenes familiarizing the audience with the victim, Stanley, and the murderer, Lee and the behind-the-scenes glimpses of the creation of the Jill Johnson show, like shooting promo spots and contacting viable guests who’ve responded to such promos.  In no time at all you have got a pretty good idea who these characters are and their motivations for wanting to go on national television.  The supporting female actors, specifically A.J. Davenport as Stanley’s mother and Dia Shepardson as Karen, Lee’s girlfriend were particularly effective and naturalistic in their performances.  As was Sister Roma, playing Sally, best friend and female impersonator of Stanley.  When I asked him about the role prior he really downplayed it, saying he just lip-synced a couple songs and that was it.  In truth his character functioned as a constant voice of reason, countering Stanley’s fantasies and obsessions with straight men with heavy doses of reality, even questioning the self-loathing he saw in his friend’s behavior.  Ultimately Sally delivers the most emotionally evocative moment of the play in a genuinely stirring epilogue scene where the main characters have their post-murder say of things.  Basically Sister Roma gives an astonishing performance in his stage debut, worthy of future theatrical endeavors for certain.

Mink Stole was also very good as the emotionally hardened and detached talk show host Jill Johnson, portraying with precision the duality of a public figure with a private life, on and off camera.  You can definitely see that Mink Stole is a consummate professional.  She’s worked steadily in film and theater for years now, even recently doing The Winter’s Tale with the Los Angeles Women’s Shakespeare Company.  Her performance was full of wit, grace, and appropriate harshness, impeccably timed and funny, in short the real deal.  It’s hard to write about an actor who has fleshed out some of my favorite performances in all of modern film’s history, and that she has done.  It was a thrill to see her in this production.  I also noted in her bio that she is currently working on a new CD with her band.  A true renaissance woman if ever there was one, and Roma tells me that she’s just the coolest most delightful person to work with.

I guess it wouldn’t be right to not mention the obligatory nude portion of the production but then I wouldn’t want to give everything about the plot away, but I will say that the nudity and sexual content is cleverly coupled simultaneously with one of Sally’s lip-sync numbers, I believe it’s a Celine Dion song of the high drama variety and I thought it was brilliant staging, taking the edge off of the confrontational nudity, which still makes me feel slightly ill at ease for some reason borne of repression or some such stodgy old throwback attitude of my own.  Aaron Wimmer as Lee the straight guy gave a vibrant performance, giving the character a real and believable quality of innocence that suddenly gives way to a reality so harsh even he seems unable to comprehend his ultimate response to the situation.  Jared Scott as Stanley creates an unusual combination of likable and deplorable qualities as a gay man seemingly obsessed with straight men and fame via television and the loaded implications of that predatory gay stereotype.

Sleeping With Straight Men is an interesting work, posing a number of questions regarding reality TV programming and dehumanization the media inflicts as it feeds us glimpses of real people at their most base for entertainment value.  It also kind of blurs the lines between victim and culprit, exposing the confusion caused by societal expectation and pressure on the individual, regardless of sexual orientation and reaction to it, be it murder or being closeted or just not wanting to acknowledge the existence of others unlike yourself.

One final note, I went to see The Gossip at Bottom of The Hill right as this article was due and it was just about the greatest rock show I’ve ever seen.  It was gay as the day is long, full of heart, heat, fun and utter chaos when for an encore the band returned to the stage with members of the opening acts The Chromatics and Gravy Train and they tore into a version of “I Wanna Be Your Dog” that I’ll never forget, ending with all instruments being passed to the crowd, drum kits dismantled and distributed and players wrestling on the stage with such fury I believe there was accidental bloodshed.  In short it was everything rock and roll ever needs to be.  The Gossip rule the fucking world.

There’s been a fair amount of new releases of note so I figured it was time I round up all the latest bunch of stuff you need to know about music-wise, the essential recent releases, the semi-recent stuff I’ve forgotten about but is still fresh enough, and maybe a few old things that I’ve grown to appreciate all over again.  Here in the age of re-issues, new formats and predictable retro-schedules it isn’t altogether uncommon to become enthused about something you liked years ago all over again because it’s being collected and produced in some newer and better improved form. Technological progress marches on indeed, but often snatches up the past and repackages it for you in a fresher more efficient way. I can recall the days when all car stereos played 8-track tapes, or when I hand delivered my typewritten column dotted with strikeovers and white out directly to the office for editing.  Just because I remember these things doesn’t mean I cling to them although I tried in some respects with the writing rituals, resisting the big switch from pen and paper to writing on a keyboard.  That’s ironic when you consider my current home PC/ entertainment/communications center has at last reached a level of power and ability that is technologically up to snuff, on a par for the moment with the majority of the joneses who attempt to run the perpetual race with time and upgrades to keep their system current…and I love it!  I can sit at my desk and read about any band from any country on any label, find a place to order their product or just download their music rapidly with high speed DSL, burn it efficiently on CDs which I can play when I DJ, I can watch movies with my DVD player that I order online and they come in the mail and get returned in the mail for what seems like pennies, and they have all these added features. I can do what used to take a bus ride and some pretty fast power-walking with just a few keystrokes now, and I can go for months without even visiting the office.  I can communicate with relatives and friends, do my taxes, pay my bills, talk to real live naked people, cruise for sex, shop for anything, order tickets for shows or air travel, and get off—all right here at home from my desk.  I must admit, though, I certainly don’t go out to clubs and whatnot very often any more, and occasionally my friends make snide comments about me turning into Howard Hughes or something but it’s not quite that bad yet, and I really doubt it will get that way.

In spite of all the music available at my fingertips online, there’s still nothing that could ever replace the feeling of actually going out to shop for records, or appease the guilt of downloading music for free so frequently, and often times I confront those feelings and actually purchase most of my greatest downloads, wanting the whole package anyway and of course to support the artist, especially the non-major label acts.  As I see it there are hundreds of rock bands who are out there night after night town after town playing live, promoting their latest release, sleeping on peoples floors only to wake up and hit the road again to do it all over, all for the love of creating and playing their music for the people.  Knowing this, I always purchase merchandise at shows, as that sort of insures that your money goes to the bands directly.  These bands I speak of were likely the furthest thing from Michael Greene’s (Recording Academy President and CEO) mind when he took the opportunity to address the issue of  “illegal downloading of music on the net” at the 44th Grammy Awards Ceremony, “as a most insidious virus, threatening to destroy and marginalize the younger less established artists right out of the business, stealing their livelihood one digital file at a time.”  He wasn’t speaking of these noble committed sorts of bands I go see, he was speaking of the contracted major label biggies that have been the industries bread and butter well beyond even being their own, the ones that pay those six figure executive salaries, the ones that have sadly been fucked for decades and died in the poor house while the industry systematically robbed them of all rights or claims to their own music, and there are too many to name.  His emphatic plea was such utter bullshit and so transparent.  It’s pretty clear to me that the artists worst enemy is not thousands of young people downloading music on the internet as much as it is a small handful of copyright lawyers and industry CEO’s holed up in an office somewhere, doing what they have done for years.  The audience’s lukewarm response to his address made me somewhat hopeful that people were starting to see through the bullshit just a little bit.

This issue is the focus of a notorious and unprecedented court case that will go to trial this year, as a group of musical artists spearheaded by Courtney Love have banded together to challenge the entire industry system of denying the artists own rights to their work.  The case has cleared a couple of major hurdles and idealistically could change, even dismantle the whole music industry as we know it, but I doubt it.  It’s brave and admirable of these artists with the tenacity and brains and sense of fairness to wage this battle but basically Sony has more money than God and we all know how wealth rules the American judicial system.  We’ll see what happens.

Well now that rant came out of nowhere suddenly, leaving me less room for the cool records but lets get to it in a somewhat abbreviated fashion.

I’m not sure if it has actually been released yet as I found it used in the new arrivals at Streetlight by some odd chance, but Imperial Teen has a new release, their third entitled On. After two absolutely incredible records to their credit which placed them firmly on my list of favorite bands, I’ve been eagerly awaiting their third and wondering why they aren’t massively popular.  In some ways they are like the perfect pop/rock outfit—they craft some brilliantly buoyant and clever pop songs and strap some seriously terse and hardedged guitar playing around them and feature lyrics you can hear, words that make sense or make fun of themselves or cut right to the quick of a statement or clever double-meaning.  Then it all seems to flow back into a carefully constructed place, the shimmering charm of handsomely crafted even intricate pop song structures.  They are neither too hard nor too soft—they’re just smart, and very good musicians and on top of that they are all incredibly beautiful to look at, as the photos in the inner sleeve will attest.

With On the band again shows a generous yet precise amount of growth as a unit, just as they did from the first to second record, an assuredness that they moved forward and hit upon the perfect point, the place where they should be.  The first cut, “Ivanka” is a clever reworking of a seven-inch single they released just before their second LP and the treatment is a bit lighter and tighter and driven. It’s a great song that needed to be featured more prominently than as an elusive seven inch.  As the disc unfolds you realize that keyboards have forged ahead into a much more pronounced part of Imperial Teen’s sound, and both Roddy and Will share keyboard credits as well as guitars and vocals. Jone and Lynn also as usual add their vocals in the most perfect and interesting and unique ways, lending another element to the overall intricate pop-ish arrangements, along with that steadfast and adept rhythm section, respectively.  I’m continually amazed at what accomplished musicians each member of this band is.

It’s fair to say that this record is by far their most overtly glazed with a definite pop sheen, the additional keyboards giving a distinctly new-wave retro-reference but this seems in vogue with a lot of fresh new and contemporary acts these days so it’s a hip stylistic nod and it works very nicely.  I must admit though, one of the songs towards the end of the record could have passed for a Belle and Sebastian song if I didn’t know better, but even that is okay because it’s funny.  Another odd thing I realized was that three different songs make lyrical references to brides in some respect.  I really love the fourth cut “Million $ Man”, the ninth cut “Teachers Pet,” and the final song on the disc, “The First.”  As I play it more and more I can tell I’m starting to love it and Imperial Teen has done it again, created another chapter of intelligent pop perfection.

Another perfect little record of a completely different nature that I just find exhilarating and joyous every time I hear it is the five-song debut by the New York based trio Yeah Yeah Yeahs.  Among those five short cuts is one that I’m told makes people leave the bar when I play it while dj-ing.  I can’t imagine why, it’s my favorite of them all.  It’s called “Art Star” and it’s all of two minutes long.  It starts out with vocalist Karen O saying in a syncopated spoken manner, “I’ve been working on a piece about sex and desperation/ I’ve been screwing on the tracks of an abandoned train station”and then the song erupts with her shrill screams and a distortion-addled pummeling guitar avalanche that never fails to make me smile.  It’s cathartic and hilarious and it fades suddenly into her singing a brief line of , doot doot doot doot do da doot da doots then the avalanche again, even louder, then she screams a few internationally referenced  Art Scene tag lines like “I’ve got a gallery in New York City!” then one final refrain of the screaming avalanche of noise.  It’s one of the funniest greatest things I’ve ever heard, and the four other songs are totally great too, and far less likely to send people running for the door.  Buy Yeah Yeah Yeahs.  It’s a curiously strong record.

Another of my favorites lately is a band I’ve been trying to find for a good ten years in record stores and finally scored it online through Audogalaxy and that is Prince Charles and The City Beat Band.  I believe they were a New York based funk outfit popular right around the time that Rap started to become popular.  Definitely very influenced by George Clinton and Funkadelic, this 6 to 8 member outfit recorded an LP with one standout cut called “Money” that is deeply funky and enticing and long and couldn’t shake the pervasive feeling of the streets of New York City if it tried.  An urban experience of flashy funk and gritty street beats, pre-breakdancing.  I probably would have never found it anywhere but online.

Finally, I’ve been reacquainting myself with a SF-based Art-Fag-Synth-Punk outfit who were quite a sensation in the city a few years before I got here and that was the precocious and pretentious art anomaly called Tuxedomoon whose spacy experimental synthesizer music and art school backgrounds made for some brilliant moments of self serious weirdness sharing more in common with The Residents than say A Flock of Seagulls.  They left a three or four record legacy that sounds remarkably good today.  I listen and think to myself “Softcell had to have been hip to Tuxedomoon.”

After yet another incredible night of music and fun at the SF Eagle Tavern I’m convinced that the long-suffering san Francisco underground music scene has indeed bounced back from an uncertain future at the hands of greedy developers and high rents and musicians making a mass exodus for more affordable cities to create in.  It really feels good there on Thursday nights, like there is an actual community of supporters there, musicians from other bands, fans and friends, thankful for a place to convene and enjoy some really first rate up and coming local acts as well as a lot of touring bands from other cities, like the appearance a couple weeks ago of a Portland band called The Epoxies. Their debut CD has been figuring prominently in my DJ shifts, with its pointedly new wave style keyboard and melody-driven songs and edgy guitar creating an almost familiar or nostalgic sound that’s very danceable, laden with pop hooks and crowned by a truly fantastic female vocalist, Roxie Epoxy.  Her voice is pure and clear, delivering some very clever ambitious and skillfully written songs of apocalyptic love, modern alienation, making out in bathroom stalls, more undying sentimental love and a couple anthemic wake up calls for complacent youth.  She’s a strong vocalist with an impressive range and you can hear what she’s saying.  The other band members add some back-up vocals that really propel the songs into a realm of completeness in form, as does some tasty and aggressive guitar work.  The Epoxies perform a picture perfect cover of  “Beat My Guest” by Adam and The Ants, complete with the yodeling vocals and double the frenetic energy of the original and oddly enough this remake gives you a definite sense that this is an accomplished outfit with strengths and abilities they’re only beginning to flex for us.  Watch out for this band, I think their going to be popular.

Seeing this band and talking with them after the show made me realize something that I don’t think everyone actually knows or thinks much about when they go out and see a live band.  When a group sets out on a tour they do so on a shoestring budget, often leaving their day jobs, a stack of unpaid bills, any sense of security or even a home to return to and throw their lives into a vehicle and cash into the gas tank and just follow the elusive dream of success as a rock band.  It’s a crap shoot of uncertainty, you sleep in the van while driving to the next city, you depend on the kindness of new acquaintances and other bands for floors to sleep on or a chance to bathe, you hope the merchandise sells so you can afford gas and food and guitar strings and eyeliner and you play shows for surprisingly little pay, especially when split 4 ways.  It’s no easy task but you are following  an urge to create and perform, a drive that some artists can’t just tuck away and forget while making low fat decaf latte’s for yuppies, they have to do it, a desire burns within them to attempt to make a living creating rock music.  It’s a big gamble but choices are made with a love and a longing from deep within ones soul to take that chance and commit to making it happen.  That’s why I stand in awe and admiration of rock and roll musicians, and the next time you see a band touring through town, recognize the choices they’ve made and respect that, and buy some merchandise too.

This applies to local bands too, and Doug Hilsinger, the person responsible for booking Thursday night live at the Eagle not only has a vast knowledge of the local music scene and has presented numerous fantastic bands like my new favorites, The Quails and Lost Goat and Dirty Power but he’s been in numerous bands himself most notably Bomb, Hedonist, Gift horse, and his current project, Waycross, who just had a record release party at the Eagle for their sophomore CD, Aren’t We The Lucky Ones. Waycross have always been an unusual and enigmatic band, creating a soft slow lilting and mournful sound with definite stylistic leanings towards country/western but not quite as simple as that.  About the only comparison I could make to other contemporary artists would be the now defunct Geraldine Fibbers, but where that band edges toward a harder sort of C/W revisionist area, Waycross feels more sublime and actually traditional while escaping the vapid AOR dreariness of The Cowboy Junkies.  But again there’s more to Waycross than the word traditional implies, and  Aren’t We The Lucky Ones? is a haunting and beautiful and dark testament of a band that is far from simple or easy to categorize and with each listen I’m finding myself more and more drawn into the mesmerizing richly layered sound this combo creates.

A few of the songs on this disc show a much more rocking and crunchier facet to their generally spooky country-ish atmospherics, like the song “B-Sides” with it’s thick thudding bass line and ricocheting guitar tones and the vocals lending additional rhythmic sense to it all.  Often their songs start out quietly and mournful and slowly build to a crescendo of textures, crashing through flourishes of psychedelia, some beautiful guitar work that sounds mysteriously like pedal steel guitar as well as some thick post-punk guitar wizardry ala Sonic Youth.  As I listen I continue discovering even more distance traveled knowingly by these excellent musicians.

Vocalist/guitarist Caroleen Beatty is the definite figurehead of the group and writes all the song lyrics.  Onstage she seems so small and unassuming and it’s kind of shocking to hear such a big kind of low voice coming from her so effortlessly and natural.  Her voice is astonishing actually, emotive and revealed.  On this basis alone Waycross is worthy of far more attention.  As I follow the lyrics more closely things get even more intriguing for they are brilliant, incredible images linked by underlying self-reverential statements that get pretty dark and angry and morbid at times.  She uses great references to animals, their skins, the tools used to train and work them, the warmth they seek being taken away, flocks,etc.  I also notice a literal history of mans various basic tools, fire, arrows, plows, sails, hooks, ladders and many references to the sea and working the earth or burying things. These lyrics are rich and poetic and downright literary—and like all great poetry, open to interpretation.  Her writing is powerful and dark and at times chills me to the bone.  It’s evocative of certain old Irish folk songs borne of famine and despair and the bleak southern gothic short stories of Flannery O’Connor.  There’s a lot going on here and it of course adds to the first strength I noted in Waycross’ work, their ability to create an atmosphere or mood, which they have in spades.

Towards the end of  Aren’t We The Lucky Ones? The band has included a cover song, something they always tend to do in their live set and a nice touch to show that they do have a sense of humor.  The song is Blondie’s “Heart of Glass” and it is performed in a very unusual, clunky, tongue-in-cheek way that I find charming and attitudinal.  The night of the record release party they chose a picture perfect cover of The Pixies “Here Comes Your Man,”  which was also very funny.  I think it’s high time people take a closer look at some of our local bands and the records they make and sell.  I’m finding in many cases there’s a whole lot more going on there than meets the eye.

Last Sunday while at work spinning music at The Hole In The Wall Saloon I couldn’t help but notice things being exceptionally bizarre.  The place was a bit more festive than usual due to a small group of guys celebrating a birthday with a game of clothing optional pool and general merry-making, then the ethereal Bambi Lake dropped in dressed in lingerie like a Vargas girl pin-up on her way to a go-go dancing gig somewhere in the neighborhood, then a strange man with very long hair extensions wearing a pair of tiger-striped chaps suddenly appeared out of nowhere with a suitcase full of cockrings and dildoes and similar gear and before I knew it was on his hands and knees getting spanked by a slightly rotund Bettie Page look-alike with a big black dildo right in front of the DJ booth.  It was then that I asked a regular patron with a shocked look on his face if every freak in the city had decided to stop in that night.  Then I decided to shut the door as the display on the floor had progressed to something that looked a bit too close to penetration for comfort.

Apparently there were a few more freaks present than I had seen.  I was told by a rather selfish rather star struck, foolish, even dumfounded friend of mine well after the fact, that popular singing sensation Pink plus a couple of her female friends had been in the bar playing pool for almost two hours.  Two hours and he couldn’t even be bothered to tap on the dj booth door and fucking tell me.  I mean, I’m not sure exactly what I would have done besides maybe nervously say hello or something but I like to be kept abreast of such things.  Had I known she was there I could have asked her if there was something in particular she’d like to hear, maybe even put on a long player and try to play a game of pool with her.  I could have even played “Pretty in Pink” by the Psychedelic Furs for her but no, I just kept to myself and wasn’t even told about it till she and her friends had slipped out of the bar and into a limo, driving off for destinations spectacular, like New York’s Radio City Music Hall where I just watched her give a pretty spectacular vocal performance on the MTV Video Music Awards show, not to mention take home the award for best Female Video and candidly confess during her acceptance speech, “I’m too drunk for this,” and thank her fans for sticking with her through changes and knowing that music is freedom.  She was definitely drunk, as she stated, and I got to admire her for being so forthright about this while surrounded by a group of artists and peers more likely to admit being in rehab than being inebriated.  Well, at the Hole in The Wall Pink apparently felt free enough to ask my friend and the weird guy with the suitcase full of toys to demonstrate how to properly put on a cockring, nor did she shy away from giving the naked birthday boy a spanking, who responded in kind with a couple of swats for her, which she complained about being painful as she slipped in her limo and departed.   I hope the next time she comes to the bar someone tells me about it, I love to formulate dj sets with a particular artist in mind.

Back to the awards, it was also really great to see local girl and former bassist for Stone Fox and Hammers of Misfortune, Janice Tenaka onstage as a part of Pink’s band looking as absolutely stunning as always.  I know she must be missed by Hammers of Misfortune, a great local heavy metal/prog rock band and a fine match for Janice’s extremely skillful musicianship, but it’s pretty exciting to see a familiar face televised to millions from Radio City Music Hall.  Go Janice!  The only other revelations from the MTV VMA show that I could see was the opening number by Bruce Springsteen who somehow looks better and sexier than ever at the age of 51 and prompted me to remember my Lit major college era crush on the poet/rocker, which I cant believe I’m admitting here.  I was also pleased to see that the White Stripes “Fell in love with a Girl” won for best Breakthrough Video.  The duo looked fantastic, jack in a white bowler hat and suit with red tie and handkerchief and Meg in a red dress.  The host and announcers and presenters kept hinting that some big unprecedented surprise event would be closing the show and when that moment rolled around it was an appearance by Guns and Roses, or Axl Rose and a bunch of new musicians, two of which looked suspiciously like Twiggy Ramirez, Marilyn Manson’s former guitarist, which translates as ugly.  “This is it?” I thought.  So fucking what! I’ve always hated that band but people acted like it was the second coming of Jesus Christ.  It was lame.  I don’t get it.  Axl Rose looked like a bloated Bo Derek and his vocal performance was weak.   It was fun to watch Kurt Loder lie through his teeth to Axl backstage about what a great performance it was, a real moment in Rock and Roll, etc.  Please!   The Hives and The Vines turned out performances 10 times more visceral in the rock and roll sense.  Hell, Shakira rocked harder than Guns and Roses did.   But hey, what does it all really mean in the long run, winning an award that the members of N’Sync have several of sitting around their various mansions?  To rock and roll it means nothing.  In fact, what music industry award does mean anything to the world of rock and roll?  The Grammies clearly mean nothing, and sometimes the chosen artists annually inducted to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame are even questionable.

The next day after my near brush with celebrity at The Hole I went to the Virgin Megastore for a record release and performance by a band who just might catapult rock and roll right up into the charts currently dominated by boy bands, slatternly former female mouseketeers, and rappers produced by P. Diddy or Dr. Dre.  That band is Queens of the Stoneage and their third LP, Songs For The Deaf is an aggressive, inventive and solid bid for putting rock back in the consciousness of the masses.  That is not to say a good rock band has sold out or gone commercial but rather a great band has gotten better and better in a natural steady progression, showing a versatility and an intuitive unified growth, all at what seems to be an opportune time for a rock release to shake things up on Billboard’s Hot 200.  It’s happened before, like when Nirvana’s Nevermind knocked Michael Jackson out of the number one position so many years ago.  That was a pretty auspicious event in Rock and Roll history and it’s a little unfair to draw comparison but Songs For The Deaf is easily the most potent and astute rock release I’ve heard all year and I believe the people are going to catch on and buy this disc hungrily.

I had never been to an in-store performance at the virgin megastore so I had no idea how it would be presented.  I just showed up about an hour early for the 11pm showtime.  The stage was set up on the ground floor and the bins of CDs were pushed together in islands for the people to crowd around, and slowly but surely the store was filling up with fans.  I ran into Chris from Pansy Division and we passed the time talking up the bands we liked currently and of course how great QOTSA are.  I was pleasantly surprised by the estimated median age of this crowd—it seemed firmly set in the 26-28 year range, but 11:00 pm is well past bedtime for the younger record buying demographic.  The age group to me indicated that QOTSA appeal to a more intellectual rocker, kind of like the thinking mans rock band, with even a hint of prog rock ala Yes or Emerson Lake and Palmer found in a few of their new songs, but I’ve always hated that Middle Earth-ian crap and most any music played by guys wearing tights and kimonos with furry boots playing a double-necked guitar, but QOTSA deliver these influences with a wry sense of humor and irony that keeps it just below the surface of the song but still present.  More apparent influences would be the hard distorted and driving force of Garage-rock and psychedelia but presented here with more effective technologies that bust the sound free of the limitations of the low-tech recording properties of yester-year.  Every one of  QOTSA’s three LP’s have featured skillful and unique guitar heroics that could pique the interest of even the most jaded of listeners, both ardent and refined yet fresh and unique.  At times there are guitar solos that meander safely at first then construct themselves gradually, building up, assuming the place and pace of where a vocal would be mixed and achieving an emotional depth from guitar tones comparable to that of the human voice.  This makes for guitar solos that you want to sing along with, and Jimmy Page is pretty much the only other guitarist whose solos have that effect on me.  Finally, there’s another element that really seals the entire package nicely and that’s the steely smooth, ice-cold vocal delivery QOTSA use.  I consider their vocals a distinct pleasure because they are generally easy to understand, mixed up front and unburied, subtle lower register harmonies richly congruous to the guitar sound, passionate and unfettered, save for a few screaming and tense entries by guitarist Nick Oliveri.  Also to their credit is their use of a guest vocalist Mark Lanegan on Songs For The Deaf.  He’s the former vocalist for Screaming Trees and has a much-underappreciated solo career and a pure, haunting rock and roll croon that just seems to improve with age.  Also present on SFTD handling drums like no one else can is Dave Grohl of Nirvana.  It’s no wonder this release is so strong, it sparkles with hints of rock and roll supergroup via these additional players.

The lights of the Virgin Megastore remained up at fluorescent shopping level which was strange but the band took their places and started in with my favorite QOTSA song “Monsters in your Parasol” and all seemed right.  Dave Grohl wasn’t present but the drummer they had was truly holding the position down with authority and thuggish tattooed tough guy style.  The band played a set of songs from all three of their albums, delighting the crowd which grew larger and continually more focused as their hour-long set progressed.  Mark Lanegan joined them for about three songs and during their final number the band drew it out for a lengthy and magical sonic reduction, dropping the decibel level down to low and delicate and quiet with a precision that captivated and hushed the store, then slowly brought it back to a bombastic and powerful close.  It was amazing.

As soon as the band left the stage the Virgin announcers directed the crowd to form a single line at the escalator where they would be allowed to ascend in groups of 10 at a time to purchase Songs For The Deaf.  This created a herded cattle funnel of bodies towards the escalator, a bit crowded but not a Who concert by any means, and groups of 10 filtered up the escalator at intervals.  The process was orderly enough, just a group of people all anxious to lay hands on a copy of a new record on its release date.  I waited patiently and just as I made it to the bottom of the escalator, being very conscious of the people around me and trying to ascertain if the ten head quota had been filled, the security worker who was posted midway up the escalator singled me out and told me to leave the store.  I asked, “What?” and he started down the escalator telling me to leave the store again.  I asked “Why?  What did I do?” and he said “Hit the door behind you now!”  I turned towards another security person on my way out and asked him “What did I do?  Why am I forced to leave the store?” and he wouldn’t say a word, just motioned to the door and I slowly exited in disbelief.

As a regular customer who drops more than a few bucks at Virgin Megastore with each visit, I was outraged by this flagrant and random abuse of  big-man security worker power.  I was conducting myself in an orderly fashion, everyone was considering the crowd size and maneuver at hand.  My elbows were in, my demeanor was calm to jubilant considering I had just seen a great show for free by one of my favorite bands, and I was literally dressed much like a middle-aged man ready to mow the fucking lawn, no spikes, no leather, no emblems of white supremacy tattooed on my neck.  What was his damage?   Did Mr. Security guy just have a reality check at the urinal of dicklessness before he took his post or what?  Was he an advanced student of the profiling academy, specializing in skin headed punk rock fags just entering their dangerous angst-filled fourth decade of life?  I waited outside in disbelief to see if any other security threats or miscreants like myself would be ejected and there were none, zero—just me, the only person ejected from the store for trying to purchase a copy of Songs For The Deaf.  I replayed the moment in my mind over and over trying to figure it out and came up with nothing.  The reason I was booted out of the store must have been personal, but I had never seen this security person before.  So, Mr. Security Guy with bandana and little red beard, if you are out there and can read, I have a question.  Do you want to fuck me or just be like me?  Whatever your answer might be, I’ll think twice before I drop a chunk of change at Virgin Megastore again.  Rasputin Records is just a block away.

I was shocked and saddened to discover quite by accident while searching for some rock trivia detail online that Courtney Love officially announced her rock band Hole has called it quits after nearly 13 always tumultuous, intense and dramatic years.  Courtney and guitarist Eric Erlandson were the core members of an ever-changing band that saw a host of many female musicians come and go over the course of three albums and an unforgettable decade in which rock and roll erupted from a nearly dormant state, soaring into new extremes of definition and identity and popularity only to have its crowned prince and reluctant figurehead tragically take his own life, leaving behind the Widow Cobain to pick up the pieces and dodge the ones flying at her like accusations and blame and hatred like she was Yoko Ono times ten.  Always known as a relentlessly ambitious, driven like a force of nature, social climber who would stop at nothing on her quest for fame and celebrity, when Courtney met Kurt Cobain and they were eventually wed and had a child together it was viewed by many that she finally had her hooks firmly dug into the prize she had always strived for, her ticket to fame and fortune and notoriety.  The public always seemed to underestimate Courtney’s artistic abilities and considered her a goldigging manipulator ready for the coattail ride.  I always felt that Courtney had her hooks firmly placed on fame with the release of Hole’s first LP Pretty on The Inside, a classic disc that still stands as one of the most dark, frightening and powerful statements of female rock rage ever, and unless I’m mistaken, Hole’s debut disc sold more units than Nirvana’s debut Bleach prior to the sales phenomenon that ensued after the release of  Nevermind.

The stormy personal lives of the king and queen of the alt-rock grunge explosion made for lots of news stories and high drama—their child was taken into protective custody shortly after her birth based on alleged drug abuse, they logged an overdose story or two each, a nervous breakdown on stage for Kurt, a few high profile name-calling matches with other rock stars and in Courtney’s case a few physical altercations with old girlfriends of Kurt’s or airline attendants, a trip to rehab, an intervention on Kurt and ultimately his suicide.  Approximately a month and a half after Cobains death, Hole’s sophomore release Live Through This hit the stores and was probably the most anxiously awaited record in history.  I think people wanted to hate it or wanted to say that Kurt wrote it, but it’s a hard record to hate, seeing as how there wasn’t a weak or bad cut on it. Of course the rumors that Kurt wrote it all began to fly and then two months after it’s release bassist Kristen Pfaff died of a heroin overdose, putting the band’s future on somewhat shaky ground.  But the reviews for the record were pouring in and they were unanimously good.  The band found a great replacement bassist in Melissa Auf DerMar and decided to hit the road, Courtney choosing to spend her mourning period live onstage, throwing herself into her work as a way of getting through it.  The result was one of the greatest rock shows I’ve ever witnessed and Live Through This topped nearly every critics year end list as best record of the year, a unanimous instant classic.

The years that followed found Courtney working diligently on her film career (most notably her great performance as Althea Flynt in The People Vs. Larry Flynt), dating her co-stars (Edward Norton), and very slowly recording the follow-up to Live Through This, the logically titled Celebrity Skin, a very different record than the previous, replete with outstanding production qualities and songs of grand sweeping emotional power, epic and cathartic personal statements easily matched to the events in her life, all she had indeed lived through.  Again, people wanted to hate the record, toss it off as a sell-out, but Celebrity Skin was seemingly everything it was meant to be, leaving longtime fans somewhat perplexed with just how good it was, even with it’s unapologetic pop sheen and the studio richness of a larger recording budget.  It stood as a departure from certain Hole qualities but it was unmistakably the record they wanted to make and lyrically it was Courtney all the way.  It is kind of sad that Celebrity Skin will stand as the final record by Hole, as I sensed that their next one was going to be a return to their harder more caustic side.

As I read the band’s official statement about calling it quits I learned that Courtney is currently writing and recording a new musical project with former Hole drummer Patti Schemel, who left the band during the recording of Celebrity Skin and happens to be one of the best drummers in rock and roll I’ve always thought.  It doesn’t surprise me that they would be working together again but what really surprised me was who else they are collaborating with, none other than the currently collaborative-happy Linda Perry, formerly of 4Non-Blondes!  For someone without any current working configuration or band of her own, Perry has certainly been keeping busy.  However, this pairing up of talents is one I would have never dreamed up in a million years.  I would think the two alpha-gals would really butt heads working together.  Hopefully we shall hear the fruits of their labor in early 2003.

While Hole is sadly no more, and it does signify an end of an era in many ways to me, Courtney Love won’t just fade away, on this you can depend.  Watch for her in the headlines over the next year or so when many of her lawsuits against former members of Nirvana, former record labels, and the entire artist/record label system go to trial.  She’ll be busy in the litigious way for some time, when she’s not attending premiere parties for at least three films she has finished that I know of.  I must say, perseverance has certainly paid off for Courtney, she’s a big star now and it’s hard not to admire the fact that she is right where she has always wanted to be.

On to other matters, I recently heard the line-up for this year’s Gay Pride Festival main stage and it’s a cavalcade of talents old and new and bizzarre and unexpected.  One inclusion that I’m very excited about is Janis Ian, the singer/songwriter who wrote “Society’s Child” about an inter-racial love affair at the ripe age of 15 and was thrust into the limelight as the next big thing, dealing with sudden fame and not knowing quite how to deal with her own gayness until further down the road.  I saw her on TV recently and she was in great voice and playing a decidedly blues style and I was very impressed.  Also featured on the mainstage in a move I consider completely science fiction is the disco/new romantic act of yesteryear known as Dead or Alive, who brought us one of the more memorable dance hits of the 80’s “You Spin Me Round.”  Whenever I think of Dead or Alive I recall watching a live concert video of them in japan at a friends house who kept watching it because it was so fucking hysterically wrong, queer dancers in jockstraps with fake guitars who were listed in the credits as guitarist/dancers, barely hidden pre-recorded vocals and Japan just eating it up.  We’d laugh until blue in the face—I hope it’s as good as that.  An act in the line-up that I thought would or should never play during the daylight ever is the inimitable Marc Almond—one half of Soft Cell and one whole solo artist who has had a series of brilliant pop moments in his huge catalogue of esoteric and unusual self serious sinister cabaret style music.  He’s quite a performer though, causing young men to swoon in his dramatic presence.  I’ve witnessed it before.  I’m also told he has a 12 inch cock.  I’m thoroughly intrigued with what song choices he’ll select for his Serious Daylight appearance.  The biggest surprise on the bill was the inclusion of Pansy Division, whom I thought had vowed to never play this city’s pride celebration again after previous years mistreatments by the folks running the stage, getting their sets cut short a lot, never getting paid and discovering that other big name non-local acts did receive monetary compensation for appearances.  Well I guess the matter has been smoothed out and I’m glad because who deserves to be featutred for gay day more than the all-gay, uncloset-ed, fag-rocking gay smut pushing Pansy Division? They’re not only lovable and filthy, they’re like family.  It should be a Gay Pride Celebration to behold, one that arouses my curiosity fully.

Before I close I wanted to plug a great show coming up at the Eagle Tavern on Thursday June 6.  Headlining is a powerful trio who have intrigued me more and more each time I’ve seen them and they are Lost Goat—two girls and a guy who create a nasty wailing thick wall of  beauty and terror that leaves me enthralled and trembling and wanting more.  Supporting them is an SF based band that seem comfortably poised on the brink of  probable rock stardom and that band is Dirty Power.  Featuring Patrick the guitarist from Pansy Division and a few other musicians from various configurations like Ing and elswhere, Dirty Power have roared onto the scene with an exciting and fucking HARD sound that can stir the closet metal head in all of us.  If you wanna hear for yourself you can visit  http://www.saucefaucet.com/DirtyPower/DirtyPowerpage.html and give a listen to the songs from their six song demo.  You’ll quickly know why Jack Endino of Sub Pop Records fame just had the band up to seattle to produce their first LP, due for a september release we’re hoping.  These songs really dig to the bone and I cant get them out of my head.  Witness the magic tonight at the Eagle.

Towards the end of September in San Francisco every year, things swell into a big gay holiday frenzy not unlike it does in December for the rest of the world.  People are planning and preparing for the festivities of one day, The Folsom Street Fair, and a few days and nights of related celebrations preceding.  The Folsom Street Fair as an event has always been hard to categorize exactly.  It started 19 years ago as an unusual celebration of the leather subculture and alternative gay and lesbian sex and fetish behaviors inherent to the south of market neighborhood, then teaming with leather bars, sex clubs, bath houses, alley cruising, all-night discos and a hedonistic territorial sense.  Folsom street was where it all happened, and one day of the year in the light of day the community exhibited and flaunted its mysterious and specialized darker sexual identity.  Over the years the fair has grown into one of California’s largest annual public events, drawing crowds as large as 300,000 and defining itself as the worlds largest international leather event.  Living on Folsom Street for 9 years now, I’ve become quite used to the annual sea of pierced, tattooed, bound, strapped, painted, exposed, titled, sashed and stratified flesh on parade below my window.  So have the more adventurous heterosexuals, embracing and co-opting elements of alternative sexual expression and fetishism, or at least watching it stroll past them for an afternoon.  In a way the event has become less titillating, shocking and outrageous for me personally, diluted in it’s sense of community as I’ve never felt like wearing leather made me a part of a larger entity like it does for many, but the fair makes for one of the more mesmerizing sensory-overload ganders from my window all year.

While cruising around on the internet, making purchases on e-bay, trading music files, tossing off, etc., it really blew me away just how many people from points all over the world, were coming to san Francisco for The Folsom Street Fair, often making the pilgrimage every year.  It really does matter to thousands of people, like a big international leather summit, something they draw amusement, pride and strength from, identification, a sense of belonging, a unity.  Plus it raises lots of money for community related charities.  To me it’s just become another reason for grown gay men to walk around scantily clad while pinching their own nipples, or pissing on each other or enslaving each other or even to emulate animals like dogs or beasts of burden—I’ll never forget the costumed and bridled boys pretending to be horses just like the girls used to do in fourth grade after reading Black Beauty—only they were never pulling a cart with a riding crop-brandishing dominatrix in tow. At any rate—the event is soon upon us and in the flurry of activities surrounding that weekend there are a few key events I wanted to point out or remind you readers to make room for in your leather, P&P, ceremony, function endurance schedules.

The one event I am the most excited about takes place on Saturday September 28 from 5:30 until 10 PM at The New Black, a gallery/ installation space located at 2120 Bryant between 19th and 20th streets.  Curated by Ken Woodard and entitled The Uranus Show: A Photo Retrospective, this exhibit will feature images captured in and around the notorious 4 year period from 1989 to 1992 when a club called Uranus produced by Michael Blue and Lewis Walden created and defined a place for the disenfranchised freaks, the rapidly growing and militantly visible political activists, the non-clone zoners, an ever broadening realm of drag and genderfuck artists, and a young crowd anxious to grab a hold of some of the hedonistic ghost of gay life past being rapidly extinguished by the advent of the AIDS epidemic and re-invent, educate and celebrate a new sexual identity that wouldn’t kill us.  Uranus accomplished so many things on so many levels. It shaped and produced superstars, it allowed so many individuals to shine by encouraging and honoring what they had to offer creatively or support their willingness to take expression to new extremes.  I’ve never witnessed a better array of chosen go-go dancers assembled anywhere on earth, theme nights were clever, visual décor was ever changing, performances and special events there are now legendary, and the forever eclectic, driven, innovative and unpredictable dj team of Lewis Walden and Michael Blue kept things dark, hard, funny, funky and exalted and definitely influential.  It was the most brilliant nightclub experience I ever lived in.

Some of the most talented respected photographers in San Francisco were there capturing this extraordinary event faithfully.  Daniel Nicoletta, Marc Geller, Jessica Tanzer and Lewis Walden are the dream team contributors for this collection of images and leave no doubt in my mind that the spirit of Uranus will be collectively nailed with vivid detail and unbridled enthusiasm.  To see them in action at Uranus was to see a trail of flashes in the dark forever moving.  It’s hard to believe it’s been almost 10 years since Uranus closed.  I’m certain this show will effectively take us back with ease, like magic.  Also present and providing music for this one night only event are the two men who made it all possible, Lewis and Michael.  What they created was indescribably essential, a phenomenon of historical importance and community that I’ve never seen equaled in clubland since and continues to define standards and ideals a decade after the fact.  The camera’s eye captures the truth, and greatness and wonder shall resonate from the walls of The New Black.  Don’t miss this one night only event.

It’s odd that I write about one photography exhibit, let alone two, but the night before the Uranus show there’s another gallery show opening of particular note at the Peres Project, located at 1800 Bryant Street Suite 210 from 6 to 9 pm.  It’s a solo photo show of 30 images by the notorious homo punk provocateur, filmmaker, writer, pornographer and photographer, Bruce LaBruce, a living legend of wrongness and artistic terror, and a hysterically funny and caustic genius essayist.  Check out his regular contributions online to The Eye at http://www.eye.net/ for copious amounts of his informed inflammatory ruminations on society, politics and modern culture.  Bruce has always been a completely fascinating character whom I’ve been acquainted with since the production of his first Zine, the revolutionary homo punk publication J.D.’s.  His most recent film project Skin Gang, was screened at international film festivals and released in adult video stores simultaneously, two slightly differing versions of a skinhead saga that culminates with a gang of skinheads (who are no strangers to sex with each other and a quick jack off on a copy of Mein Kampf) invading the home of a bourgeois bi-racial couple whom they rob, imprison and torture, has been a very popular feature requested often by guests at my home.  But Skin Gang (available by mail order from All Worlds) is old news at this point and Bruce is set to start his next film project in Berlin, again creating two versions for a dual assault of film fests and adult video stores.  This time there will be a terrorist theme, and the title is Raspberry Reich and the story will be loosely based on the Baeder-Meinhof Gang, a West German terrorist group active in the early 70’s.  Again, Bruce Labruce’s bent vision and penchant for fucking with currently taboo or even dangerous subject matter completely thrills and astonishes.  Mr. LaBruce will be present at this opening Friday September 27 from 6 to 9pm and will be in San Francisco for about a week.  I wonder if he’ll find the time to pull any belligerent bad-boy stunts like he used to on visits to SF.  I always loved that about Bruce, his willingness to do the wrong thing, to hurl anti-social behaviors in every direction, to be inexcusably bad.  Maybe he just wants to sell art this time.  Maybe you want to buy some.  This event rates another don’t miss it.

Finally another event pops up the night after the Folsom Street Fair, and it’s an important political fundraiser so scrub that Crisco smell off your person, salve your welts and put on something respectable, its time to support District 8 Supervisor Candidate Tom Radulovich by attending “The New Deal” at Café DuNord September 30, doors at 8 show at 9.  A $10 suggested donation but come on folks –you can do better than that!  Tom Radulovich is a person who has always struck me as a born organizer, genuinely concerned with real issues, incredibly intelligent, friendly and approachable and the finest choice for supervisor candidacy we’ve had at the starting gate in a long long time.  How delightful for us in San Francisco that his campaign has drawn the support of one of the greatest entertainers on the planet whose star began to rise and burn bright right here in this very same venue about a decade ago with her passionate rendition of “Total Eclipse of The Heart.”  That’s right, internationally acclaimed performer, fresh in from a wildly successful 6 week run in London as half of the acclaimed cabaret duo Kiki and Herb, the one and only Justin Bond returns to the Café DuNord for one night only as a new character he’s been introducing around New York, The Cool Babysitter.  Bond explains, “She’s the kind of girl your parents would have over to baby sit you but they’re kind of afraid to leave you alone with ‘cause she’s got crazy ideas that might rub off on you.”  Justin Bond is the finest most accomplished artist and export this city ever produced.  His return is reason enough for dancing in the street.  Another appropriate reason would of course be Radulovich’s victory.  Other performers rounding out the bill and sparkling things up for this evening of entertainment is the lovely and talented Veronica Klaus and newcomer Spencer Day.  Hosting the event will be Supervisor Mark Leno and the inimitable Juanita MORE! and appearances by Trannyshack goddess Heklina and the delightful Ggreg Taylor.  Save just a little of your energy for one post-Folsom Street Fair event you surely wont want to miss, as well as a chance to support a campaign you can truly believe in.

I was informed at press time by a concerned individual that I should try in some way to work into my column the fact that Buena Vista Park, the enchanting municipal park on Haight Street, lush-with-vegetation and huge ancient trees and one of the easiest places to go when you feel the need to commune with nature but only have a half hour to do so, has been literally clear-cut, mowed down, left bare like the patches on mountains I grew up around in Oregon, the constant reminder that the lumber industry dominated the state’s economy.  Well, San francisco aint no logging town and this sudden de-forestization smacks of a long time battle of the bush caused by the neighbors complaining about gay men cruising for sex there, as well as homeless people taking shelter and all the immediate danger that implies to wealthy ashbury terrace-type condo owners and .  It’s a pretty homophobic reason to turn a glorious park into a desolate amputated wasteland, clear-cut within inches of sliding top soil when it rains, but that appears to be the chosen solution.  Of course the parks department maintains that it’s a restorative effort to return the park to it’s natural state of vegetation but I doubt it.  You’d think the said problems with cruising and the homeless camping there could be controlled by other means besides clearing an entire portion of the park of  all the plants trees and shrubs that make it a desirable place to visit, walk dogs in and possibly find a bit of seclusion in a natural environment.  The stark removal of what makes a place beautiful, in this case living vegetation, reveals not only the barren, unaddorned ground, but the somewhat base and low suspected human behavior that stands as the true reason for these changes. My friend jerry suggested bringing your own bush to cruise the park now.  To be honest, walking through Buena Vista Park occasionally, I haven’t noticed anything slightly resembling gay men cruising for sex going on there in about 7 years.  I was under the impression that such a “tradition” had long fallen to the wayside like it has on the infamous Ringold Alley and before that, Dore Alley, very suddenly.  In the Castro the police have started rounding late night cruisers up around Collingwood park more frequently than ever, wanting to stanch out yet another behavior they had learned to tolerate or accept, kind of like poppers.  What is really happening here?  Why are gays being policed in areas they’ve not had any troubles with for years?

Speaking of poppers, I was told by certain scenesters and art fags about town that after his very well attended star-studded art opening last Friday exhibiting his recent photographic works, Bruce Labruce attended an after-party at the Eagle, continued on to the Stud, and from there went to Fag Fridays where he and some friends were kicked out of  the club for doing poppers.  What can I say besides bless his dear bad-boy heart.  On some things one can always rely.  The gallery opening was truly fun, his works cagey and provocative and very much him.  One very pleasant surprise was running into Vaginal Davis, blacktress, writer, comedienne and superstar there, who is visiting San Francisco for a couple of weeks.  It amazes me how this multi-talented living legend and huge personal inspiration is such a warm and engaging delight to chat with, always so funny and sweet, even in the face of  adversity, like her recent eviction from her longtime home in Los Angeles. She tells me that the affordable L.A. housing market which many folks left San Francisco for a few years ago has taken a wicked turn and is now more expensive than rents here seem to be.  She’s housesitting here for friends and enduring the plight of the homeless superstar.  I’m certain she’ll find an answer to her current housing crisis soon, she deserves a nice comfy place to continue creating her art unhindered, genius visionary black woman that she is.

Speaking of meetings with superstars, I had the distinct honor of finally meeting one of the greatest actresses to ever portray a mental health care outpatient descending into madness and an abused child ascending to the love of Krisnah.  That’s right, backstage at The Folsom Street Fair Sister Roma introduced me to the one and only Mink Stole, who gave me a big hug for the review I wrote of the play they were both in a few months ago, “Sleeping With Straight Men.”  Mink Stole has a band as well and was one of the featured performers on the 12th Street stage but I missed that portion of the days roster.  She was just hanging out cutting up with the other entertainers as they prepared to go onstage, meeting and talking with an occasional big fan who had called her to the edge of the backstage area for an autograph.  The ever busy star of stage and screen and musician as well would soon be behind the wheel driving all the way home to L.A.  She was completely charming and funny and obviously having a great time being at the Folsom Street Fair.

I wished I could have said the same thing about myself on that day but that would have been a lie. As I sort of anticipated, many things about the fair don’t really thrill me very much any more, like incredible crowd congestion and the inability to just get from one place to another because it’s so packed and slow moving I start to get panic attacks about not being able to move freely if I wanted to, and its usually the result of people gathering and gawking at some retardo new nipple clamp technology system demonstration or a couple of  muscle queens who look exactly alike posing for pictures in gladiator skirts with their dicks out.  As the day rolled on it became increasingly clearer and clearer how my hatred of people could only stand to grow.  The only meat I enjoyed all day was the kind on a stick for five dollars.  The best thing I saw entertainment wise was a local would-be supergroup of musicians assembled especially for the fair called Bad Ride featuring Gary Floyd(Sister Double Happiness, Black Kali Ma), Doug Hilsinger (Bomb, Waycross), Danny Roman (SDH, Black Kali Ma), Bruce Ducheneaux (Bomb, Waycross) and Ed Cagnacci (All About Evil) who basically did a set of songs best described as Gary Floyds greatest hits, only there were some fantastic and powerful variations on the originals, like the incredibly saucey ode to sucking fresh-out-of-boot-camp dick on crew cut wearing soldier boys called “Down on My Knees” that infused the original with twice the dirty low down blues guitar angst and an almost violent sexual edge.  It was so good I thought it should be re-recorded this way.  Unfortunately there were not a lot of people taking in this wonderful set of songs, opting for watching people bind, whip, or hang things from their naughty bits in all new and extreme ways instead.

By the time the fair was winding down I was extremely ready to go to work at the Hole and spin music for the fair enhanced crowd—I was really just dying to play, perhaps as a way to express some of my personal feelings about the day.  I couldn’t wait to tear into it and the overall response was pretty animated and positive.  As the night rolled on I grew really tired of looking at people having sex in front of me and I couldn’t think of any songs that might have an extreme libido diminishing quality besides christmas carrols maybe, but my night was made when Justin Bond came in and sat around in the booth with me and I played my favorite new stuff for him and we talked shit.  He took off for his hotel and shortly after that Bruce Labruce came in and we had a very fun alcohol-drenched visit and listened to a CD he brought by a Gay latino rapper who had apparently been doting on him all day long.  Unfortunately the artists’ name escapes me now but just as I said I sort of felt like killing people Bruce read the first song title, which was something like, “Kill People.”  We played it and it was actually really good.  The bar finally shut down and we proceeded to my house for more listening and booze and at my gate someone (probably Bruce) said party and suddenly two dozen people were trying to come in my house.  We had to explain very emphatically that there was no party and they had to get out of my doorway and my but some of them were very pissed off and quite nasty about this situation. Imagine.