------------- HOMOCHIC ------------- PEE PLAY EUROPEAN TOUR
On May 31st Homochic's Jacob Sperber (aka Dee Jay Pee Play of Honey Soundsystem) will be going on a 6 week trip to the UK, Italy, and Germany to DJ. On his way he will be using this page as a way to document his many encounters into what is Homochic in major cities like London, Italy, and Berlin. Visit every day in June to catch a glimpse of the new music, the sex clubs, the galleries, and the adventures through the eyes of our Homochic correspondent.
Okay so today was the day I was supposed to update you all about Berlin and the 7 days of no internet access but pure brilliance. I am back in London with a 24 hour sickness from this past weekend of raging and I am off to Glastonbury tommorow morning for 4 days of fagging out proper.
The pictures from Berlin are brilliant. Berghain was the most amazing place I have ever been to and it was supposedly an "empty" night.
Bar 25 was SILLY SILLY
The boys were cuuuuuuute.
So lemme tell you that even though there is not going to be a proper update for a while, it will be worth the wait. When you are all hungover from your Pride weekend you can sit down with a cup of coffee and I will have quite the cumdown stories for you.
OKAY, so I am in Berlin. I just had some of the dirtiest sex of my life in a backroom with someone "very special" and I have not blogged in like 4 days.
I had a nightmarish 24 hours of missing my flight to Berlin and then going back to the airport the next day just to get raped by the airline company I was flying with for all the money I made djing in Rome. Then after I get through security I realize I have lost my fucking phone!
24 hours later, I have rented a bike in Berlin and met Daniel Wang, Prosumer, and been to Cookies Club and eaten good Berlin food (which is kinda good food, not great).
I am sleeping at Jeffrey Sfire's place and he has been super sweet, taking me around to meet all of his friends and explore the city.
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Landing in Berlin was the first city where regardless of all the anxiety that comes with a touchdown in a completely foreign place I felt completely at home. Mind you I had things to worry about. Not only had I just spend about half a months rent on transporting my baggage and changing my flight but once past airport security I realized I had lost my phone. I turned on my laptop only to find no wireless access. I went to the internet kiosk to find that it had euro's jammed in the payslot and that the digital payment system was as easy as getting Bush out of office (not easy). It wasn't until I realized that I had left my credit card in the internet death machine that I felt my insides start to quiver. The only thing I knew for sure was that I was getting on a plane. Other then that... where I was going when I got to Berlin, Giacomo's phone number, his address, whether or not he know when I was getting in, how to get from the airport to the city...
Deciding it was time to phone home and have a breakdown phone call to mom I try my luck at more antiquated land line technology. Waiting for the cast of the OC to finish calling mom and dad's accountant finally I get a phone. Euro's get rejected, a digital voice spits gibberish at me, I try a credit card, it gets spit out.
Rome Chiampino Airport TKO!
I sit down and give all of gate 25B my bottom scowl. The look must have worked as two electro indie kids with a Rolling Stone magazine sit next to me. After giving them the American accent and dropping some names I get to use their phone. I call the only numbers I have on me and get a bit of security from Francesco's voice telling me that he will try to contact Giacomo for me. This is strike three on the good visitor report card, it was time to make my exit, and fast.
The two electro boys turned out to be "The Ladykillers" from a smaller Italian city along the coast. It was going to be their first time in Berlin and they had me write down some places to go in payment for my phone calls. They proceeded to explain what the "Ladykillers" where and I played it straight for them. Saved by the bell we all got on the plane and I sat down next to a couple that turned out to be jet setters who ran a label for 8bit techno music.
The business card (pic soon): (written in a creepy old english font) Daniel F. Wehleit big bleeper
Daniel Wehleit was your average computer nerd mit gorgeous and quite charismatic Italian girlfriend. His label, Bleep Street Records (myspace.com/bleepstreetrecords) is based in Berlin but originally from like some nordic city or some shit. He was very excited about the music and his label and was also excited to hear that I knew friends who used the hack-card that they produced to get beats and sounds from Nintendos. Him and his girlfriends enthusiasm about Berlin was meshing quite well with where my mood was going.
To be quite honest, this whole trip was about Berlin, an excuse to go, an excuse to get closer, and an excuse to go to Panorama Bar. The closer the plane got, the more relaxed I became. Daniel offered me his information if I had trouble with the gays and that was quite sweet. Once off the plane I headed past what looked like a customs desk (they must really not give a fuck, not even a passport check, no berlin stamp, nothing, I should have brought guns) and into the mini-baggage pick up and through the exit doors. Greeting me on the other side where the ever so adorable Giacomo and Jeffrey Sfire fully equip with German attitudes and Berlin area codes.
Up until today I have made very little mistakes as a traveler. I have had mostly good luck on my own and the best of people to show me the what to do and where to and when of these foreign places.
Today, the day I leave Rome from a week long stay and move on to the city I have been dreaming about since the first time I heard Ellen Alien, I made every stupid mistake a traveler could. So we begin...
I started my day by waking up and rearranging all of my belongings and cleaning the room I was staying in. I checked all my flight details to make sure I had enough time to get to the Airport and get everything I wanted to get done, done. I then went out and bought some last minute gifts for my Roman liasons and got a quick bite (a calzone from a local pizzeria which was filled with what looked like dog food but tasted delicious).
I came back to my house burned some cds and dvds and wrote notes for all the gifts. Then I packed up all my shit, said my big goodbyes and head out for the airport. In order to get to the airport I was going to (Ciampino) you must take a subway to a bus/shuttle line, pay for the shuttle which will take you to the airport. By the time I got to the shuttle service (called Terravision which sounds like a telemundo station and looks like the inside of a best buy) the woman behind the desk very rudely told me I was not going to make my plane. Flabbergasted I looked at my watch and looked at my flight times and realized she was right. The bitch at the counter said that my only bet was to take a cab which was a 30 Euro flat rate to the airport which is about $50 dollars US.
--pause: Francesco has picked me up during writing this entry and taken me out to a swanky magazine party and now I have come back from a gay bar called Max's. The rest of this entry has been written under the influence of a cute boy and his favorite drink that I adopted for an evening, beer and vodka---
Needless to say my first ever traffic jam in Roma was on the day I needed things to be swift. The tension in the cab was high, especially after I told the cabbie who spoke no english something with the word fuck in it. I got to the airport about 15 minutes after the last reservation time and rushed to the desk to hear the receptionist tell me I would not be allowed on the plane.
Okay, so there must be a higher power out there telling me something. Such a change in emotion in a hour. I cannot tell you how much I have wanted to see Berlin. To be honest, its like everyone I have ever mentioned the city to has raved on and on or their faces immediately turned into some kind of LSD relapse. Its not that I did not have fun in Rome but I just reallllllyyyyyyyy had my emotions in check so that I wouldn't explode with excitement until I got onto the plane I had just been denied. Things went sour and would continue to when I went to the counter to find out that EASYJET was really DIRTYWHOREJET airlines. To change my flight would cost another 50 Euros and the flight wouldn't leave until the next evening.
Next I had to call around and announce my walk of shame which included finding a place to sleep the night and admitting what a bimbo I really am. Afterwards I had to purchase another 10 euro busride to the airport, lug all of my shit back to the center of the city, eat a 10 euro tourist meal and then at that point I had given up any decency I had and I took another cab to my place to stay for the night. Needles to say the cabbie this time didn't speak english either and took me for another 20 Euros when I got to my destination.
Total American dollars spent for the day so far on a circle to nowhere: $170
Francesco picked me up and took me to a magazine publication called Droma's house party in the posh northern part of Rome. It was very quaint and in a beautiful 1950s apartment building fit for the diaries of anne frank. Francsesco aka Phrannypack and I had a great conversation that I think connected us in a way I have not connected with anyone before. It is bizarre how much we are alike. Then he took me to the only gay discotech open on Monday in Roma. It is called The Max's (why are weird gay bars always named after max?). Built in the 1980s and still looking like a gay bar from the 80's Max's has a bizarre ALL mirror theme. Located under a hotel, the bar used to be the lobby for the hotel until it was converted. The bar has different rooms that separate it from its main bar, dancefloor, lounge, and smoking room. EVERYWHERE are mirrors that give the bar a bizarre dissonance and depth. The guys are pretty dull and it has the feel of Badlands. Fortunately there were a couple of hot boys in attendance one of which spoke some English and had a dark redish beard. We chatted for a bit and then he decided he would skip out on his scooter ride and walk me home. Oh great, I miss my flight to meet a cute boy who plays guitar and drums, speaks adorable English and dresses like he's in San Franciscan and going to Trans Am AND is still living his ex-boyfriend and isn't feeling like fucking someone new yet ( OMG he's like SO San Francisco! Ring a bell boys?).
Do I have a couple of pick up lines these days that make boys fall in love with me... #1 Do you know Horse Meat Disco? Yeah we played there a couple of weeks ago #2 Do you know Pink Narcissus? You don't, lemme tell you ... #3 Do you like MGMT?
So this boy (Riccardo) as we are walking in the romantic night light of Roma says: do you know this band MGMT? --Cue the blue balls.
Photos of Forte Prenestino:
Each one of these walkways led either a stairwell to old military officer quarters now a squat or living room or to the underground network of 100 prisons. Prenestino during the day Nazi graffiti littered the neighborhood. The PhagOff Stage by day Hippie kitchen/canteen with vegan options The gorgeous BLU mural, humongous! above: minimal / house legends in Roma below: Scientology in San Francisco One of many hot female Electrode Fest performers.
Okay so this is supposed to be the EPIC weekend recap, no? Here is where I am supposed to tell you about the thousands of people that gathered in an abandoned Roman military forte that is called "100 prisons" because buried beneath is a labyrinth of 100 hundred prison cells. This is where I am supposed to explain the history of the Forte called Forte Prenestino and how it was taken over by punk rockers on Labor Day 1986 and has since been the longest running squat in Rome. This is where I am supposed to tell you about how the place has a huge beautiful BLU murial in one of its cathedral areas and has gorgeous graffiti murals lining the insides of the long brick tunnels and brick walls that ensconce the parklike surrounding area. This is where I am supposed to tell you about the comic book festival that will take place soon for the second year in the forte that places all of its vendors in a jail cell each underground. Here is where I am supposed to tell you about the all female DJ collective that organizes the two day festival known as Electrode and the event I played on stage in front of atleast a thousand dance crazed Romans. This is where I am supposed to tell you about the brilliant visuals all weekend at the festival and the importance of video and vj-ing here in Italy.
Well you will just have to wait because I am too tired and these fucking Romans smoke so many goddamn cigarettes that I am having sneezing fits.
TRUST THERE is SO MUCH TO TELL.
Let me take this moment to tell you about my outfit and promo for the Cruising set. In my limited time in Rome I did not see queens working many looks. Whether it is the fear of being bashed or "this butch moment in gay history" the queens were dressing down in the city. SO, when mama decided to throw on her Allan Herrera couture 1979 leathermen's outfit complete with maroon leather chaps and customized reversible leather vest needless to say she felt a bit out of place. The concept for the outfit was to fit the 1980 film by William Freidkin of which the entire set was an homage to.
After a couple of months of reworking original footage of the film to fit music and a slightly stilted narrative I asked Allan to create a theatrical costume for the two performances that would ensure when on stage at Electrode. He then came up with a reversible jacket that on one side had a yellow bandana motif and when flipped had red bandana and sequenced gashes and slashes to mimic a bloody murder scene. Then to add a bit of decadence, master jeweler Eric "Shutterlut" Stein crafted me a custom set of brass knuckles that spell PEEPLAY on the exterior. After all was put together before I left for Europe, Jody Jock did a smei-porographic promotional photo shoot of the look which was used on the poster featured below.
When Francesco aka WARBEAR told me that he had a special party planned for when I would be in Rome I believed him. We had tossed many emails back and forth about the importance of the presence of his portion of this event called Electrode. Essentially a 2 day rave set up in Rome's oldest squat, Electrode had a multitude of things going on within it which I gathered was apart of the promoting trend going on in the city (something for everyone, and a little bit of everything). I got a gist of what I was getting myself into when on every other street corner there was a wall covered with posters with my name on it (no fucking joke, lifesize color movie posters for Electrode everywhere I went).
The two day festival featured a bunch of people I had never heard of, delicious cheap dinner in the burning man style canteen, a glossed over but highly anticipated set by Vitalic (the Romans LOVE hard electro-techno), two stage areas, lots of boozing and mind melting, one really stupid fight, undercover gays on day one and making out gays on day two. After getting completely lost on my way to the venue the first day to meet up with Infidel the highly celebrated Roman Video DJ and artist I finally got to see this place. At the dead end of a major city street in a neighborhood named after the 100 jail cells buried beneath the military fortress I was about to enter was a parklike entrance with stairs and trees. Once inside there was a large arched tunnel covered in graffiti of all kinds. Once past the tunnel visitors are presented with three passageways two the three different areas of Forte Prenestino. The videos explain it much better then I can but in a nut shell there are three levels. The underground which as I said features 100 preserved interconnected jail cells which were used by the fascist regime to enslave and torture. You can wiki the forte and it will give you an idea of the current and previous state of this space.
Like I mentioned earlier, there is Burning Man vibe to the whole things. A melting pot of smelly and non smelly artist types and a mesh of the highest caliber of artisan craftsmanship and then hippie crap. Amongst the over curated wall murals is brilliant and massive mural by one of my favorite artists right now Blu. When talking to Valeria about the work:
ME: "I really love Blu's art because its always riding this line between non-violence and shock"
VALERIA (in one of her signature simultaneously hazy and commanding answers): "Better then violent, benevolent."
The first night the energy was on. I went up to Warbear and commented on how suprised I was to see so many female DJs. He explained that Electrode was actually put together by a collective of female djs that have been around since the 90s rave days. What a breath of fresh air, a huge professional music event, organized by women that wasn't promoted as a fish fest. And although the music was all over the board and 99% of it forcing me to drink more and more this unspoken female hug on the event made it special. The setting was just unlike anything I've seen before. The crowd, because the party was so well promoted and obviously THE place to be was across the board from punks, to queers, to jocks, to old schoolers, to promoters, to dorks. The party went until about 10 am at which point the sun was out and the rainbow carnage had become fully visible. Smile all around.
The second night, the one that featured Phag Off in the cathedral that featured Blu's mural, is a bit of a blur for me. One thing I do remember is the opening set by Hugo Sanchez from Phag Off and SubWOOFer. Really intrigued by Hugo from the things I have heard about him over the years I was a bit disappointed that I hadn't been able to hang out with him much. Seeing him behind the decks for the first time was going to be exciting and especially after learning so much about him over the week by prying information out of those around. The opening set at a festival of this size is no easy job. The night before the dj in the same area had incredible trouble working the cocktail hour. Hugo brought out the big guns, he started to decorate the empty dancefloor with some good vibe neu-disco sounds and feelers, slick mixes and a good vibes bouncing behind his decks. A fussy crowd of un-drunk gays and fresh arrivals Hugo stepped up his game and started to bang out some of the sickest electro grooves I have heard all year, his mixes were so sharp that I was pretty much freaking out and breaking into a sweat at hour one.
Hugo wears multiple hats. He is a resident DJ for Phag Off (which had been running for many years now) and is a promoter and resident for SubWOOFer Rome's bear super-party. He also runs an up and coming electric-disco label called Roccodisco featuring a solid lineup of musicians and upcoming releases. Hugo also has been friends and producing music with Rome hometown hero Rodion who's solid releases on Gomma have earned him an international dance floor presence. So, there is no doubt that Hugo has the taste and work ethic to be a good DJ but to hear it for myself... GODDAMN! Bangin.
In no time there was hundreds of people in the PhagOff area crowding the limited concrete dancefloor, and in no time it was show time for my Italian debut. Outfitted, video synced, and Valeria in a sheet hidden under the booth and ready to perform, I set out to dj one of the greatest sets of my current career. It was very San Francisco, trannies, 1970's throwback disco visual narrative, leather, cheap last minute props, and boys making out in a crowd full of off their tits straights. They ate it up, from me making out with Valeria performing as Al Pacino's girlfriend in the film to me getting handcuffed and murdered by Italo with huge fake steak knife. At one point I realized I was pumping my fist in the air in excitement but realized that it looked like I was sig-hailing the crowd. I kind of looked up at my hand and recoiled in terror for what It might have read as. Giving that the crowd made no notice I went on with my antics. About 20 minutes later (and even though some of those I have told this to do not believe me) a 20 something shaved head guy who was pushed up against the stage the whole set rocking out caught my attention and started to do the "hail Hitler." Mom and Dad would be proud.
The madness never stopped. After I got dragged off the main stage a murdered mary mess the party ensued and pursued into the wee hours. Warbear banged the boxes for like 5 or 6 hours until we escaped in his getaway suitcase sized car. While everyone ran for their beds, Hugo and I decided it was time to move on to different adventures. It just so happened that the weekend I was in town was the weekend for the famous Sunday swap meet / market that happens once a month (the name escapes me). Armed with my portable record player, Hugo and I go in search for Roman treasure. Delirious from a hard night and no sleep we go in and out of consciousness only expelling energy for the few vinyl pockets the vendors held. Coming out unscathed we found a couple of ripe gems
What I do have time to tell you about is the gay beach of Rome. Its called Cappo Catto and has one of the more notorious cruising spots in the city. The beach is marked by the only big rainbow flags I saw in the city and has a small boardwalk that leads you to the sand. Once on the beach, past the bar that pumps gay deep house, your mouth will start salivating with all the delicious meat browning in small underthings and sun.
I could spend time telling you about the mainland or I could get to the good stuff which was when I decided I had enough tanning and needed to head back into the sand dunes where all the cruising goes down. There are signs all along wooden barrier that says not to go into the dunes, maybe its a safe sex campaign, and just like most safe sex campaigns it has trouble keeping people from crossing the line. (c) Homochic 2008
As yesterday was a bit free form, today was very calculated.
#1 Get minutes on my phone (this was a bitch to do and wasted about an hour)
#3 Get something other then pizza to eat (not so successful, spinach and bread thing)
#4 Get to MAS (which stands for really big cheap department store)
#5 Do something my parent would like: Fassi the oldest gelato shop in Roma
#6 Do something my dick would like: Europa Multiclub Romas largest Gay Sauna
#7 Have a real Italian dinner!
MAS
MAS was described to me as a huge thrift store. In that regard it is. In other regards, imagine if Target + Ross + Sears had a bastard italian child that only got table scraps... that is MAS. A fat baby indeed with 4 floors complete with weird crap catacomb basement and the only floor non disabled accessible friendly being the mens suits floor (cripples always ruin a good look anyway right?). I love the cut of European jeans. I was over in the womens section checking out some pants and one of the attendants said something in Italian which meant "these are for girls." I said in what she I'm sure head as gibberish that I knew. The cut of womens jeans here are almost identical to mens jeans, they are all trannies! I then went to a different floor and was looking at some shorts and a attendant and total queen asked me if I needed help and to point out the shorts I was looking at were only for large patrons. Okay, strike two but seriously I don't need a translator to help to see when shorts are like a 40 waist OKAY! Finally, and this is when I new I just needed to stick to the speedo bin where NO ONE wanted to talk to me while I plunged into those piles, an older attendant came up to me to tell me the Levi's western button up shirt I was looking at was for women ("madonna"). Yeah, okay dude, I know you are pissed that there is a fag in the slutty dyke section of MAS but back off okay!
FASSI Didn't blow my mind. All I was thinking when I was eating a $6 ice cream cone (which was freaking delicious) was WHY am I eating dairy before I go get naked in front of hot Italian horndogs? I bounced for the sauna.
EUROPE MULTICLUB So when I emailed Giacomo of Discodromo what should I do when "in Rome" he naturally he responded with two cruising spots. The first suggestion was a bar that I asked WARBEAR about (who will now be called phrannypack cause his name is Francesco, her club is PHagoff, and I have been wearing a fanny-pack the whole trip). He told me that it was just like the eagle in a way and that it has recently been shut down (he didn't give me any other details - sketchy!). The n I asked him about local bathhouses or saunas. He told me that there is a whole history to the nightclubs and bathhouses in Rome that is quite interesting. Just like San Francisco sex clubs, there is a membership and privatization of clientèle of the club in order to bypass government laws against indecency and public sex. Phrannypack has some interesting ideas around how the privatization of sexual practice in places like sex clubs effects the whole culture of sexuality and freedom. I definitely understand where he is coming from and it did cost and arm and a leg to get inside the club which in turn creates a very specific customer base and brings up issues of class. Regardless, as I described earlier, Rome has approached gay life in a similar way to American government. Indecency laws, police homophobia, and fascist rule, sounds like someone needs to get their dick sucked.
Phranny also told me that the sauna that Giacomo recommended was more of the muscle queen work out and that I should check out another one across town that was more on the bear tip. This sauna he speaks of is the Sunday play-party space for when local bear-promotions-circuit subWOOFer does its techno-hairy-weekends here in Roma. I decided that the prospects of being in what is lauded as the biggest sauna in Roma was better then wet-bear action and I decided to head to Europe Multiclub instead.
A bit of a walk from familiar grounds, Europe Multiclub is actually located in a very very nice part of central Roma. The surroundings of Multiclub blows blowbuddies and steamworks out of the water. Whether you are coming from work or finishing up at the Harley Davidson bike shop next door, the walk of shame for this bathhouse is straight BEVERLY HILLS! Upon entrance I was greeted by the god awful new Madonna record which is everywhere in this goddamn city right now and the queen behind the desk who looked responsible for it being on the stereo. In order to get into the sauna, I had to bring my passport, sign up for a year, and pay entrance fee but whats hellamericandollars? There were small security boxes (guarded by the Madonna queen?) in the lobby for valuables and then lockers downstairs for clothes and things. I put on my towel and my provided black rubber slippers and headed downstairs. The first room to be greeted by is a TV room with a full cafe with sandwiches and beers and even a videogame station. Next room consists of a weird disco light hallway and then a cruising lounge area and full gym room (can we get to the sex please!). Finally the entrance to the sauna which consists of two shower stalls beautifully constructed with full marble fences 3 showers to a stall. I wash off and head into the main sauna area which has 3 pools one which is a large regular temperature pool complete with a private waterfall closet area (for bare-backing and such) and an arched covered canal from one side of the pool to the other. I started with a hot tub first small enough to only fit me and my nervous ego. Roman men ride this weird line between hot and fugly for me. Everyone looks butch as fuck but they also look like extras from a roman episode of Star Trek. There is not really a consistent look except for thick noses, the olive skin and uncut dicks. Those that stood out: my pasty ass self, the star of 300 the movie black dude with a baby-arm penis and thick Mr. T Mowhawk, the old guys (not as many and you would expect), and of course the guy that keeps pushing into your personal space. Outside of the pools there are about 3 steam rooms, private fuck rooms, a nice bathroom area, and another shower area.
After about a 1/2 hour of cruising I noticed a nice 30 something cub that came from out of the shower area. I followed one into the cooler pool area where most of the action goes down. A large circular area with sunken benches all around, this area would soon become a scene. After a couple of glances the cutie I was checking out muttered something to me in Italian, I responded with my American gibberish, to my surprise he responded in English! He wanted to know the time (LAME!) but we ended up chatting and touching and chatting and touching more and then moving into the beautiful waterfall closet area I mentioned earlier. After some deep tissue massage, and some other things I cannot say on here because Leo Herrera and Ambrosia Salad are already gagging trans-continentally we made movements to the steam room scene, the myst room scene (this room came with a +1) and then finally back to our meeting place. Here is where we were greeted by the 18 going on 16 year old couple going at it with two dicks that could feed entire 3rd world countries. I kept looking around for Chi Chi La Rue with a camera but then I remembered its hard for her to fit on planes these days. As me and the new boy and the +1 got the okay to jump in the light flickered in the sauna and your typical gizz moper came outta nowhere and ordered everyone to leave. Oh well, they probably had crabs.
To my surprise the boy (whose name I cannot remember for the life of me) was waiting for me outside the club. We walked and chatted a bit and I was a bit apprehensive of taking the steam out of the relationship so to speak. To my suprise we got on quite well and he said we were going in the same direction so we walked that way until he offered to take me out for the #7 on my list. A scenic route through the Colosseum neighborhood, past the gayborhood, and around the corner to a cute mostly sidewalk-table-dining italian food restaurant. Like a gentlemen he ordered some classic dishes and offered english conversation. Of course I find the one Jew lover in Italy, we talked about his fascination with Judaism for a bit and then about traveling and then stuffed our faces with delicacies I am sure I cannot pronounce properly.
question of the day: I'm not sure which I like better, people who can understand what I am saying and think I talk too much or people who cannot understand a word I am saying and think I talk to much?
tommorow: Go to one of Roma's oldest punk-collective squats and set up for a multi-thousand person rave called Electrode... here is the poster I finished last night... Whole entry on Phagoff and the costume tommorow...
Waking up in a new city, a new room, a new language, new people, and a new timezone nothing new that its 2pm and I am just rubbing the crust out of my eyelids. Every time I wake up at an unreasonable hour having slept through prime daylight hours of seeing a beautiful new place I hear my mother sigh with discontent thousands of miles away. Speaking of discontent, boy oh boy are there some interesting vibes around Rome right now. About a month ago Rome elected its latest Major (or city mayor) and this time around it was quite a scandal. A quote from press:
The elected official has placed an interesting challenge for progress in the city of ancients. Talking to Francesco last night, the promoter of PhagOff Rome (the reason I come to this great city this week) and dj WARBEAR, he filled me in on all of the mishigas that has surrounded the scandal of a fascist Major. Last year Gay Pride in Roma was celebrated in protest in the same place as the horrid "heterosexual pride" festival known as Family Day. This year they wanted the festival to follow suit to keep the protest against Catholic indecency alive. Alas, the new fascist major made it his first duty to sign that pride not be allowed to celebrate in the same place.
Today I went to MACRO, the Museum of Contemparay Art in Roma. It was tucked away in what looks like a more posh area of town. The lobby had this massive "mission style" rotating mobile of fabric socks filled with spices.
Just 1 Euro (about $2) entrance (U.S. Art Museums GET A CLUE) I explored the insides of the museum whose architecture was very modern with lots of metal stairwells and glass walls. Not totally impressed by the one exhibit I could find, I took a chance and walked to the top level. The entrance to the top level had black curtains over the doorways and I was not sure whether to walk in or not. Once inside I realized how much taking that chance paid off! I will try to let the pictures speak for themselves but let me tell you that the entire exhibition was pitch black and spanned the entire roof the museum. There was a disclaimer about the exhibit before entering:
There were two sides to the exhibit connected by a metal ramp with an attendant and a flashlight to help visitors not kill themselves in the dark. On either side the set up of bodies on the floor, unnerving sexually suggestive sculptures, dual video installation, and fully installed bathroom-bedroom-and prison stall. The way it is set up, by the time you get to the other side, you are not even sure if you crossed a bridge or if you are just where you started. BRILLIANT! My heart was racing the entire time inside from fear and excitement. So this is Roma? Not afraid to have unsafe and nightmare worthy (not to mention expensive) art in its museums. How fitting this installation was after hearing about the political state of the city.
The dead bodies in bags on the ground were lit by long black fabric shade so that the only light that was emitted hit the figures in a way that it did not reveal the lacking body parts etc.
This room along with the bathroom and bedroom had heavy doors that only let light out in a number of ways to cue visitors to reveal their existence. This prison room had a window that created a shaft of light. Once again there were two of each room installed in either side of the exhibit that look EXACTLY the same (WICKED!).
This body had a huge uncut erection at the time of death. I kinda wanted to touch it. DON'T TOUCH THE ART!
Gay visibility in Roma is not what you would think out of a metropolitan city. The only gay flag I saw was on this whole trip was the one on the oldest bar on this street near the Colosseum. Warbear was telling me that this street is going to be the Castro of Rome in 10 years. The bar with the gay flag started to become increasingly popular and so the bars next to it (which were not gay at all) decided to turn into fag bars and sell cheaper drinks. The cycle continues and this street is basically the place to go be and be seen all week. Other then gay discotheques that are scattered throughout Roma, this street represents a very important public image for queers in the city. There has been a resurgence of gay bashing in the city due to the new Major and his fascist roots. Nazi/Fascist groups have been given a sense of entitlement to harass queers given the new political state of the town. I could very much appreciate the symbolism of these out queers drinking and cruising with the Colosseum looming about a block away.
After the rager must come family. What two things are more close and dear to my heart then records and my wife Beth Laberge?
Lets start with #1, records. I left shopping to the last possible minute. My latest funny line to foreigners is that it is "B.O.G.O. American Dollars right now and that they can come visit and pay my rent anytime they want to." When I first got off in Rome and got money exchanged at the service desk, the nice lady laughed at me as she counted out my transfer.
So on that note, I left record shopping to the last minute and here is what is coming home:
The following 72 hours are not things to be read by my parents, people who have issues with having a bit too much fun, people who might be looking to employ me after my boss reads this and considers firing me while I am away (actually, truth is, after reading this he might give me a raise).
Is it a problem that the minute my emotions and outlook in London began to get in check all the actual happenings that started taking place became scattered and messy? To better understand the fast forward - rewind of the past couple of days, THE FOLLOWING IS A NON LINEAR COLLAGE OF EVENTS:
HORSEMEAT DISCO LONDON with HONEYSOUNDSYSTEM FROM SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY JUNE 8th
QUENTIN HARRIS' KISS MY BLACK ASS in LONDON FRIDAY JUNE 6th
the afterparty, matt: Jim's doggie Stitch:
Saturday Night the 7th
Jim Stanton set us up a gig to play records for the Eagle London's Mr. Eagle competition Night #2. Jim and I both agreed that this was going to be girls night out, bros before ho's. It was going to be our night to bond and party the way only we can when mixed and stirred. On our way in 30 minutes late (Jim and I are like long lost twin dingleberries) we headed to the secret second floor of the venue which is a residential type flat. The office, which is also a living-room, greeted us with quite the dichotomy. Sitting in the coffee table was an array of oversized black dildos, sealed gay porn dvd prizes, and a couple of other unmentionables. Sitting on the couch across from said spread were three suited London police officers in their full regalia. Immediately "straightened out" I put on my innocent face and Jim begins to do his "we are boy scouts, honest" dance. Never-mind the dramatics, these were the "gay liaison" police of London clubland (no joke) and the nicest-dyke-flanked-by-2-gentlemen-officer pigs I have every met. It was official, at the minute the officers apologized to US for their presence, I had fallen in love with London --PROPER!
Skip the pathetic contestants, the largest nipples you have ever seen (titpig eat your heart out), skip also the fold out felt-covered sex room dance-floor , and skip the HOUSE-NO trip me and jimbo were on. Lets go straight to DISCO BLOODBATH!
I had heard about Disco Bloodbath times already over the course of the weekend and boy did it sound like a Popscene or Blow-up...NO THANK YOU. I must say, the Tourist in me comes out and I made Jim put us on the list for club Fabric with the line-up this night being Francois K, Prosumer, and Murat Tepeli (LIVE). Needless to say Fabric never happened and Bloodbath IS THE HAPPENING! Til 6 AM this sweaty raunchfest of guitar driven disco edits, DJ's from Gucci Soundsystem and the famed Turk label, with sound so fucked and crunchy you hate to love it, this joint had kids and hand-clap heads alike dripping with shivers. A mixed crowd of straight and gay, this was very much a Donuts (S.F.) style affair and GOD DAMN WAS THE MUSIC GOOD!
The whole club singing in unison hit of the night: RAFF's SELF CONTROL (the dj cut out the cheezy rap mix)
Whether is was the lack of ventilation or all the fit youngins, wither way my camera would only take pictures in its cosmicly stoned Barbarella filter mode.
PLEASE INSERT: Drunked move-making and PDA dancefloor makeout with a hot tall straight looking local DJ sensation who will remain nameless. My last sexy action of London part 1
SATURDAY / SUNDAY MESSY AFTERPARTY
I met 9Bob at Gay Bingo a week ago. He reminds me an awful lot like Spider, Jaime Anderson, Toph One etc. He's one of the heads behind Glastonbury Festival's NYC DOWNLOW and looks like he just got done raping you in the shower of a UK prison (and boy did you like it!)
From the moment I saw this wanker I knew how it was going to go.
PAUSE! --> The stweardess just announced they have "5 game in one cards with a chance to win being one in fifty, for 1 pound each. Are they seriously selling scratchers on this plane using the P.A.? Is there seriously going to be somone screaming "I WON, I WON!" on this plane. GROSS, where are the snakes when you need them?
Back to 9Bob... There is always something about honest to goodness locals. 9Bob being a guy who was born and raised in London, he is very much in the stylings of DPW Burning Man: gentle on the inside, cunty on the outside, but always getting somthing done.
PAUSE! ---> No shit, they are now selling 90 pound Yves Saint Laurent perfume using the P.A. of this plane. PUSHERS! PUSHERS!
Urging us to come back to his bloke Robert's place after Disco Bloodbath (my trick had vanished, record bag + all) 9Bob works a deal with a cabbie and we head out in the morning light. Roberts turns out to be the nicest flat I visited all week (never did get to see the inside of Severinos!). Complete with a balcony that overlooks a collection of backyard gardens, this flat was three stories and just the kind of clean environment you want to balance out dirty partying.
9Bob and I go to get beers (a non-stop delicacy here) at the corner shop. It about 7:00 am. We find the bagel factory where we grab fake Jew breakfast for everyone and head back. On the way back 9Bob gets a call from Robert asking where we are. 9Bob proceeds to tell everyone that I punched a woman in the bagel shop and was arrested and that he was working on getting me out. Obviously the frenzy they had gotten into about this was not enough for them to have left the house by the time we got back for a big laugh!
The neighborhood was fast asleep but we are just getting started. First to go was 1/2 of Gucci Soundsystem, passed out on the couch listening to unreleased Serge Santiago BANGERZ!
Second to go is repeat offender, old school london DJ and friend of DJ Harvey and gang. We had brilliant chats about the old Tonka rave days and the days when no one wanted to book Harvey because he was a disco too ahead of its time!
Lastly 9BOB, Jim, Eric, and Robert and myself decided it was necessary to make adventures happen. A bag of handpicked country-side UK fungi later, SKIP the random street festival of kids making sick African rhythms in multicolored costumes, SKIP the gorgeous park full of sunbathers, SKIP the Hassidic Jew pushing his child away from me and my 2 day old leather man outfit, and SKIP the short lived Guinness foaming beer sprint race between 9bob and Eric, LETS GO STRAIGHT TO THE CEMETARY:
An old timey hot-mess. This cemetary is full of headstones covered in a decor of people who didn't give a fuck then and people who don't give a fuck now. A notorious gay cruise spot, bend me over and call me beloved-ly remembered. As if the place couldn't get any better, we sprinkled our own daytime disco-bereavements here and there.
THIS WEEKS CATEGORIES ARE:
Professional Tranny Fierceness
Shank Me, Stab Me, Just Dont Shoot Me REALNESS
The Londoner Page 3+6 HOTTIE Exclusively done
Openly Fabulous, Closing Down the House Quentin Harris Originals
Is Spandex to Lycra a Costume Change for $500 Alex?
My last day of blue balls in the city I found myself in quite a foul mood all day. Mostly I keep waking up late and everything is closed so early here! In turn I end up not getting food until its too late and we all know how cranky I am when I am malnourished! The whole day was really a battle with the tube and getting to Heaven for Hercules + Love Affair live with Jim + James of Horsemeat spinning records. We got flyers for our party on Sunday that I designed. I practically shit my pants when I found out how much they cost (500 blk + white copies for 200 USD!).
Heaven was my first "big" London club, its the closest building I've gone to with a castle theme. There were large arched brick entranceway's and the dj booth was set on a huge mezzanine overlooking the dancefloor. Security on the way in was tight, like big clubs are, and was super sketchy about everything I tried to bring in. When inside I heard Jim Stanton playing one of my favorite tracks right now, Riva Star's Jack My Bell. The crowd went crazy after the breakdowns and everyone was pumped for Hercules' set. The show was sold out and the boys had quite a dancefloor.
Highlights of the evening from then on:
Nomi from Hercules + Love Affair and her pink tassel cocktail dress change and high heels (and finding out three days later she is a MTF)
James from Horsemeat Disco's booty shake while DJ'ing
Meeting Riton of Ibiza's We Love fame and Gucci Soundsystem. He was sweet but not gay enough to fulfill my full fantasies of a Santiago-Riton Ibiza Beach Sand Which.
NYC superstar shade
Making egg in the hole for Jim + Eric at 4am (SIDE MESSAGE TO ZANA: No one has ever heard or had egg in the hole here and they are flipping out about it! I made your recipe)
Wednesday's Theme was observation. I am still having a bit of trouble chilling out from all the drama thats been going in the city before I leave. Today was the day to be with myself and work on getting into vacation mode. There were many failures along the way like being stuck in the financial district, STARVING, and having to eat at McDonalds. Also thinking that I had seen the entire TATE museum and realizing it was just a wing of it. Also missing the Wolfgang Tillman opening show in the East by about an hour.
Today's theme is communication. Boy was it an interesting one for me today.
Cell Phone: I bought a cell phone today to keep in touch with people and feel more connected to reality. I learned about the area code mishigas in and around London. Thanks to hostess with the mostest it was easy as pie to get this pain in the ass of an errand done.
Maps: All of the maps we could find ignored the neighborhood I am staying in. Map shade!
Credit Card: American credit cards don't have this chip in them that helps them be read at all of the places I prefer to use my plastic with. Computer chip shade!
Bus Drivers: Even when I am fully pronouncing something here people still think I am speaking another language. Accent shade!
Power conversion: I bought a power converter today, it works with every other plug... DC shade!
Jon: Jon and I hung out tonight and he took me on my first bus ride to the east end. London's equivalent to the Mission, Jon has quickly made his way into my heart. On our way to the Star bar, what could be bottom of the hill, the make-out room, and Space gallery all wrapped into one, Jon showed me around my map. Jon talks in a thick accent, I understand almost everything he says but he has a tendency to speak very fast. Actually, I think he speaks more enthusiastically then anyone I have ever met. Its freaking adorable and I think I am getting addicted to it. Regardless, I didn't learn a thing from the map workover.
BBC: Apparently after a certain hour many BBC channels have sign language guides super imposed onto the regularly scheduled programming. These men and women of service are little superstars in their own right. There are so many cynical comments I want to add right now but rather, how about you guys comment on these videos and we can work from there!
Drugs: An 1/8 of smokables here is not what it is in the states. Regardless of my bitching its pretty good shit.
My day of recovery from an already bustling 24 hours in the U.K. could be attacked from many angles... how to be grumpy and hung over and not piss off the people who are going out of their way to spoil you rotten... the importance and unimportance of preparing yourself for travel to a new place... how weak the US dollar is and why everyone treats you like you are in need of "extra" care... yeah, those are all pretty drab... BOOOORRRRRIIIIIINNNNNGGGGG
How about we go straight to the dance music factory, London's own Ministry of Sound. Horsemeat do a radio show every Monday at Ministry's online radio station and somehow I weaseled my way onto the show today. For those of you who don't know what Minitsry of Sound is, good, neither do I, but what I do know is it has a definitive name and marker for London's 90's rave scene and electronic music in general. If you follow dance music, you have come across a MOS compilation or have been to a MOS night. But what you might not have known was that its headquarters was packed with row after row of house music peddlers, DnB IT heads, Dancehall receptionists, Electro talent agents, and tranced-out e heads who's job description is merely to compose release after press releases for DJ Pete Tong.
Once again I had a fight with a loo, this time the stainless steel techno toilets of Ministry of Sound's company bathroom. By the time I was done things were all set in the studio and off we went for 2 hours of bopping, flipping, and bapping. Hostess with the mostess James played main jockey/interviewer while Paolo from last nights Horsemeat worked us over with slick-quick-mixes of his rare funky disco delights. The show was flawless and James has the board in that room down. I was kind of in shock the entire time that I was even there but the 2 espressos, enlgish tea, and coca-cola had me too buzzed to get flustered. I did really want to play more San Francisco tracks in my set but the CD decks were fussy and when the equipment speaks to you,you must listen or FAIL!
The rest of the day was full of napping, dog love affairs ( Jim + James both have pugs that are as charismatic as they are), and British TV.
Things I need to buy before Glastonbury: -Glloshes or Rainboots for walking in the mud (apparently the whole city sells out directly before) -Smokeables that don't have TOBACCO! -Uncut Sausage -A sleeping bag -Not to be broke
Things I need before the Honey Soundsystem party at Horsemeat on Saturday: -Josh Cheon (Wednesday Arrival), Jason Kendig (Saturday Arrival) -A cell phone that works in Europe -A castle + the Tate museum -Practice for Rome
Customs was a breeze, literally it went by almost as fast as the past 48 hours.
Where do I start? How about gay bingo? Fast forward through my delirious 6 hours with Jim of Horsemeat Disco picking me up from the airport, taking me through my first tube ride with chatter + gossip about his long night and epic past week of flying to New York for Hercules + Love Affair live and a flurry of club gigs, to Severino picking me up from Jim's for my first Sunday in London.
Before heading to my first ever evening at Horsemeat Disco, a club night Kenvulsion has been pumping me up about since I met him, Severino (one of Horsemeats residentjockeys) took me to SOHO. Before we got into to the teaser bar (with a name too cheesy to be mentioned here) I got a double decker 2nd floor view of the Big Ben, Picadilly Circle, and home to the Queen, the church-place of the famous Diana funeral, and finally the eye of London which is essentially a grown ups ferris wheel.
SOHO is gay, even the straight bars, regular shops are pretty gay, even construction barricade and scaffolding here is gay. Its kind of like an inside out mallfor gays and their friends, it looks almost like a Las Vegas parody of itself. On a Sunday night around 7pm all the pubs have patrons spilled out onto the sidewalks and queens falling over other queens. Its like if the Castro had better bars, with better restaurants, and more excited looks on peoples faces... its like THAT! After a cheese + lettuce baguette sandwich Seve and I split we walked into the place that had this so called "Gay Bingo." Now, mind you, I had my own fantasy of what Gay Bingo in a London pub would be like, included in that fantasy was a smoke filled high ceiling dive with busty trannies, cardboard bingo pages, and raucous gays. After we passed the bouncers and hit the grand entrance hallway of inset Plexiglas color-undulating circles and stars it hit me how wrong my imagination had taken me... Um, Mercury is in retrograde and it has taken full effect. The star of Gay Bingo is a "famous" club promoter and performer named Jonny Woo. Naturally I thought Mr. Woo (spelling?) would bea commanding asian skinny thing in the vein of Polk Street but, like I said, things are mixed up right now and the Mr./Ms. is a tall skinny Caucasian savant followed by a pack of trannies in the vein of John Waters and the Cockettes. Each number for Bingo is called out by Mr./Ms. Woo but within the context of an ad-lib diatribe, improvisational skit with the audience, or pure trash talk. Full house is the name of the game but between the wall to wall motif of blinking circle and star shapes, the bearded tranny DJs, grand suprise tranny entrances, beers + cocktails, cruising, and Sotheby's auction microphone gibberish people often get it wrong, and when you get it wrong, you get it hard from the hilarious Johnny Woo. Outside of its camp name, people being encouraged to sit on the bar floor to spectate, and its not quite appropriate venue, Gay Bingo is the poor mans broadway with the tag line "pure brilliance." I laughed, I cried, I checked out boys boys I was with had already done trinkets with and then bam! I was tipsy. It didn't take much, honestly I think the fact that my Peroni was $10 US pushed the jew in me to make it work. A hip, skip, and a 50 year old drug pusher mom-type lady legend sighting in a pedestrian walkway later (she was on the phone and too busy to talk to me and Seve) we were at the Eagle Tavern. For my first night at Horsemeat, my intentions were pure, honestly. I was excited about seeing the venue, excited about meeting James the final missing piece in the holy trinity and later to be hostess with the mostest, and excited about seeing what all the fuss was about. The following in a drink by drink play:
Jim spoils me rotten with a handfull of drink tickets and then I get to meet Jon Shanks a buddy I have been chatting with online for months prior.
Before things get messy I want to mark my prey and I have seen at-least 3 for the top 10, one which is wearing some dumb slogan tee but is straight out of a straight skater boy goes to the gym to get fucked porno
I go to the bathroom for a piss which is full of hot men (all playing it butch for the cameras) chatting, watching the urinal peep show, and waiting for private shitters to do various unmentionables.
Drink #2 - Tall Beer
James is done spinning a.k.a looking good and sounding better, or sounding good and looking better or just working my pussy
I throw down my dancefloor homage to the bearensteins, sindri, and the herreras
I discover the outdoor patio which is packed with jawdropping 70's cinema lens-pull-zoom moments lit by a caged jet flame fireplace
I try to pull my shit together to talk to strangers but the sight of Mr. Ted's, a manly-tranny working out his green beret military fantasy tells me to just let go
I get rejected by skater boy mentioned earlier with a FIRM "I'm not interested," all I asked was if he wanted a drink.
I have a moment in a private toilet where I realize that it wasn't just Jim's toilet that was buggy, no EVERY toilet in London is a hot mess.
Drink #3 - Tall Beer
Things get patchy, I am flanked in a corner in the back patio by the hottest boys at the party, talking about old school Tonka rave days
Paolo aka Titto Matto plays a big band swing disco track that blows my mind and then I notice form behind the booth he has been wearing clear plastic trousers all night.
I get hit on by a shirtless hairy transplant American who I convince to help me hit on another guy who ends up in the cab me + James are in to head home.
The "fit lad", a brit term Jon said about 80 times that night, gets dropped off at his flat and then somehow we end up at a corner store for crisps, more beer, and makings for a brilliant quesadilla.
I convince the nigerian cab driver to give me the cassette he was playing in the cab which he VERY willingly gave to me...
Drink #4 - Sips of a Tall Boy Heinekin I am falling asleep in James floor while he plays me the disco-fied I Love Lucy theme song and the new Sticky Disc 12". I pass out with my clothes on like an AMATEUR!
Before I know it I am being woken up to a chipper handsome morning version of James, homemade italian espressos, my firstever bowl of porridge, and a trip to the Ministry of Sound headquarters/radio station.
Today I started my long day of packing, partying, and pursuit by going to pick up Comso Vitelli, international producer/dj legend from Paris, France. Its always a relief when the booking of an artist is done and the rewards from dealing with a booking agent (who was actually quite nice this time around) or flight schedules or outrageous European DJ price negotiations start to pay off.
If your intuition is in check, you can always get a feeling from an artists music, demeanor, presentation, and style whether you are going to get along or you are just going to want to throw them in a motel. I could tell me and Benjamin would get along when he told me he didn't have a cell phone for his trip and that he would just meet me at the airport. Not only did I know he was a go with the flow style guy but It gave me the opportunity to be my crazy hot mess self and not play by the rules either.
So, I decided to have some fun and I printed up a poster that said I'm A Cliche (the name of Comso Vitelli's Record Label) in big black letters on a piece of honey yellow paper. I threw on a bad first impression attitude outfit and hit the tarmac. It was a good ice breaker. Something I have learned from meeting/booking out of town strangers in the nightclub/live music business is that if they got as far as to land in your laps, they are usually a work-a-holic, a bit overstressed, completely brilliant, can talk there way into/out of any situation, and know how to party until the late evening. Cosmo had all this energy and the punk rock, laid back mood that you would expect from his music.
As I took WAY TOO LONG to figure out how to get us out of the Oakland Airport parking lot we talked about international travel and the trials and tribulations of going through Customs without a work visa. As I am writing to you right now, on the red-eye plane to London's Heathrow airport, I am still figuring out what I am going to say in regards to my record bag full of dj gear and vinyl.
Cosmo told me some horror stories of DJs getting to customs and then them looking up a dj's name, finding his alias, and then finding all his gigs online, deporting them and giving them a 5 year suspension to come back! He had some suggestions of things to say. Given my jewish paranoia, I had to pry other places. Last night, Muffin aka CLAWS told me that on one of his trips to Germany a customs officer asked him why he was visiting the country and he answered: "Techno."
I think I am going to take a lighter approach.
Jim from Horsemeat emailed me and told me that I should never travel with records in a record bag. I got this email about 30 minutes before my flight and there was no way I was going to find another bag to use. So, as it stands my trip starts with some well deserved dramatic tension. Will I pass customs? Or will I be crying on Leo Herreras shoulder tommorow at work.
Cutoms officer: "Mr. Sperber, Why are you visiting London?" Me: "Blue Balls"
