Surprisingly Good Music: Jessica Beach

The hopes and dreams of CKMS break their little necks against reality's cold, hard windows. That may be a laboured metaphor, but my point is this: people are always sending new music to CKMS, and CKMS doesn't have room for it.

During the last few years we've been culling the music collection. Nobody's happy about it but it has to be done. Fortunately, the new culling system isn't completely hopeless: if a CD isn't played much and it has no positive comments written on its cover, it gets tossed into a lavender cupboard for us greedy audiophiles to loot.

There's a lot of crap in the lavender cupboard. When sorting through the rejected CDs I apply a hierarchy of rules:

• If I know the group, like the group, and don't have the CD, I'll adopt it. This goes without saying.
  
• If the cover art contains lighting bolts, I reject it. Lightning bolts are a bad design choice and show that the band is way too concerned about their hardcore cred.
  
• If the band picture features a bunch of young guys, one of whom is giving the camera the finger, I reject it. I don't trust most young guys with instruments, and they aren't going to woo me by giving me the ol' fingeroo.
  
• If the cover is a picture of an airbrushed, handsome young man looking confidently sexy at the camera, or a woman in her mid-30s with bad hair and a guitar low-slung around her hips, I reject it. The former CDs are usually bland adult contemporary pop, and the latter are usually bland adult contemporary country-rock.
  
• If the lead singer is female (and she passes the above test), then I adopt it. Only about one in twenty of these CDs have female singers.
• If the cover shows a young person in a rural setting with a portentiously angelic break in the Photoshopped clouds, I reject it. Unless it looks so cheesy that it might have camp potential.
• If the CD is by a male solo artist who is in his autumn years, has a bad ponytail, and is pictured standing in his home studio, I reject it. These are vanity projects by guys who spent all their lives touring in Polka bands.

Of all the CDs I take home (about 5% of the ones in the cupboard), three-quarters are total crap. But the other quarter are little gems that were discarded just because nobody bothered to listen to them or because they're not indie enough.

Which brings me to a CD called "Sticky Hands" by Jessica Beach. Not indie enough, I bet. Good stuff in the outspoken, Alanis Morissette/Tori Amos genre which is sadly over-hyped but still sounds great. She's got a video that would give a beta fish nightmares...check it out here (click on the Videos button and choose your settings).

She's Canadian, she's got a beautiful voice, she writes killer songs with sweet hooks, and the "Sticky Hands" album is stunning from beginning to end. It's helped by charming, crisp production that doesn't overdo the flourishes.

The song "Cycles" is my personal favourite and sounds more than a little "Poe." Which is alright by me

"Needles and pills just ain't the cure they used to be.
See, I thought they broke the mould,
but baby they just broke me."

Maybe Jessica Beach is old news to everybody else but me. I hope so. She deserves great fame!

An UPhold Update

I've got all these new UPhold songs, most of them finished, some of them in the last phases of tweaking, and a few things that I'm just starting to work on.

So what am I waiting for?

Well, several months ago I compiled the songs onto a CD (at that time called "False Memory") and prepared to send it to some independent labels. But when I sat down to actually listen to everything I couldn't shake the feeling that it was all a little dull, cold, and repetative.

Sometimes those are GOOD qualities -- and I've never shied away from them before -- but I had a critical loss of faith in the new songs and I shelved them in despair.

Now things are looking up. I don't know whether I'll release the new CD myself, or if some sweet label or distributor will do it for me. I also don't have a tracklisting or an official title yet. I've started discussions with a local company about filming a music video, which I'd like to do an awful lot.

In the meantime, AFE Records will be releasing a double CD-R 3" called "Our Past Present (Now Then)," with UPhold on one CD and The Infant Cycle on the other. I'm not sure of the actual release date -- there may be problems getting rights to the artwork -- but as soon as I know I'll drop a note here. And I'll also jump for joy!

The Men Who Explode

This entry was written with a generous amount of "Knock On Wood"-ing. I don't want to jinx my extraordinary good luck. I don't want to find myself getting pummelled in an alley while thinking "jeez, I should have knocked on wood when I said that stuff!"

At least once a year I manage to make a man explode into vicious, incoherent rage. Where does this terrible power come from, and how can it be used for the common good?

Last night I had a typical encounter outside of the Pizza Pizza. A man took great offense to my standing there, and he exploded. Fortunately I was with good pal El Diablo Loki, who -- with all the powers of the metal gods behind him -- challenged the guy to an old fashioned Canadian duel. With Loki's calm, peaceful friend on one side, the guy's horrified girlfriend on the other, and me in the middle trying to mediate, we made a bizarre quartet of clashing ideologies that really wasn't going anywhere.

The exploding man's girlfriend dragged him into the Pizza Pizza, where he apparently spouted potent vitriol about me. And this is where my "exploding man" power becomes a force for good: the people who left the Pizza Pizza -- stereotypical, drunken, post-bar toughs -- apologized to ME for the guy's behaviour and said that somebody should go in there and beat the hell out of him. Which wasn't going to happen because, as we all acknowledged, the exploding man was really big.

But the point is, these young 20-something people were on MY SIDE. Maybe they would always have been on my side, or maybe seeing the repulsive bigotry of another person opened their minds a little bit. As awful as the whole situation was, the fact that fifteen football jocks were prepared to come to my aid was pretty heart-warming.

I made another man explode last year...he stood on my neighbour's balcony for about fifteen minutes, hoarsely yelling strange slurs and accusations at me while his girlfriend sat crying, and all of his 18-year-old buddies came over to apologize and share a drink with me. You see what I mean about the good and bad sides of these situations.

I think I understand the exploding men a little better now. When two or more men decide to get aggressive toward me, they tend to do it in a more smug, low-key way. But when only ONE man gets aggressive, he has to deal with not only his incohate, overpowering rage, but ALSO with the realization that nobody around him approves of his behaviour, not even his girlfriend, not even his best friends. This must drive him crazy, it makes him REALLY explode...he's screaming at me AND at the sudden realization that he has become a pariah. Must be awful, though pardon me if I don't feel bad about it.

So the silver lining? People get a good glimpse of bigotry, they see that I'm far more rational and sensible than the exploding man, and maybe they'll teach their kids some good lessons.

But I can't help wondering...what happens to the exploding men afterwards? Do they go home and feel bad? I doubt it, I bet they grow even more extreme in their beliefs. On one side I might be doing my own small part to make our world a better place, but on the other side I might be making a small number of little Nazis.

Random 1920's Words

Quoits: A lawn game where you throw a ring (the "quoit") over a peg (the "hob"). Similar to horseshoes.

Spats: A sort of "shoe cover" apparently meant to keep shoes clean, but really just an ostentatious fashion accessary.

Couvert: The early French way of spelling (and I guess pronouncing) the "cover" charge that we have today. I haven't found an explanation for why the spelling changed, but the practice of a restaurant owner charging customers a flat fee for entertainment probably started in France.

Model: Today's "designer original."

Mannikin: Today's "model" (that is, a human who models clothes for a crowd).

Manufactory: Today's "factory."

Table d'hôte: A multi-course meal in a restaurant with a flat rate but very few choices.

Nothing Can Be Violent Enough: "The Day of the Locust"

During the depression Nathanael West worked in Hollywood and grew more and more cynical, seeing in human beings a restrained violence held in check by the decadent and manipulative promises that society couldn't keep. In 1939 he wrote "The Day of the Locust," a deadly novel about these people. They made a 1975 movie from the book, but the movie didn't make a lot of sense...by giving gentle traits to people that had no redeeming qualities in the book, the movie failed to draw connections between selfishness, stupidity, boredom, impossible promises, and horrible violence.

You saw the movie, maybe, and you wondered what the point was. You watched Donald Sutherland mash a small boy into a pulp and you wondered what it all meant. I just finished re-reading the novel and I present this exerpt as an explanation, not just for the movie's climax but one possible reason for lynchings, mob violence, witch hunts, Minutemen, and extreme right-wing conservatives:

All their lives they had slaved at some kind of dull, heavy labor, behind desks and counters, in the fields and at tedious machines of all sorts, saving their pennies and dreaming of the leisure that would be theirs when they had enough. Finally that day came. They could draw a weekly income of ten or fifteen dollars. Where else should they go but California, the land of sunshine and oranges?

Once there, they discover that sunshine isn't enough. They get tired of oranges, even of avocado pears and passion fruit. Nothing happens. They don't know what to do with their time. They haven't the mental equipment for leisure, the money nor the physical equipment for pleasure. Did they slave so long just to go to an occasional Iowa picnic? What else is there? They watch the waves come in at Venice. There wasn't any ocean where most of them came from, but after you've seen one wave, you've seen them all. The same is true of the airplances at Glendale. If only a plane would crash once in a while so that they could watch the passengers being consumed in a "holocaust of flame," as the newspapers put it. But the planes never crash.

Their boredom becomes more and more terrible. They realize that they've been tricked and burn with resentment. Every day of their lives they read the newspapers and went to the movies. Both fed them on lynchings, murder, sex crimes, explosions, wrecks, love nests, fires, miracles, revolutions, war. This daily diet made sophisticates of them. The sun is a joke. Oranges can't titllate their jaded palates. Nothing can ever be violent enough to make taut their slack minds and bodies. They have been cheated and betrayed. They have slaved and saved for nothing.

Ein Prosit, etc!

I've lived in the Kitchener/Waterloo area all my life, and I'm German. So why have I never gone Oktoberfesting before?

Mainly because, in K/W, you don't need to actually GO to Oktoberfest in order to suffer the fallout. All you need to do is (for instance) take a bus or work in a donut shop during the weekly festival and you'll experience more Ein Prosit shenanigans than you can handle.

Basically, Oktoberfest is a giant piss-up with a thin veneer of culture. A VERY thin veneer. It's not about Germany any more than French Fries are about France. And the stuffy side of Muffy is bound to see that as a negative thing.

But this year I was asked to be the DJ for "Pridetoberfest," the first gay-friendly Oktoberfest event in the history of...well, history. Expecting a cozy little event (and treasuring any opportunity to see the priveleged back rooms of a large building), I agreed.

What I wasn't prepared for was the absolute HUGENESS of Oktoberfest, in both a physical and institutional sense. The fest hall (at the Kitchener Auditorium) was a full-sized arena. Despite the valiant work of the savvy decorators there was no disguising the esentially functional aspect of the event: row upon row of tables to sit and drink at, an enormous dancefloor that I generally managed to fill up, and an assembly line of beer and schnapps and heavy German food that you'd have to be crazy to eat in such an environment.

Keep in mind that this is a totally rectangular place with a concrete floor, cinder-block walls, and fifty-foot steel ceilings, so the message is clear: you're not here to relax and cozy up with a few friends, you're here to get down to business...and the business is rubbing shoulders with your neighbours, drinking too much, eating too much, vomiting, and not worrying about the vomit because there's nothing for it to soak into except other people's clothes (and they'll never know the difference between your vomit and theirs anyway).

I'm speaking from heresay, though. Last night's crowd was pretty sedate and even though there were about 850 people they were somewhat dwarfed by the hugeness of the place. The crowd was a mixed bunch, some of them from Toronto who had heard about the event at this year's Toronto Pride, lots of people from the local scene, and a fair number of straight folk who will probably go to any Oktoberfest event regardless of the theme. It's such a TRADITION. It's RITUALIZED. People who would never even THINK about doing the Polka at home were Polka-ing along with the house band (The Saxons) and doing an incredible job of it.

The other part of the overwhelming tradition is the network of volunteers who staff these things. I only caught a bare glimpse of the complexities of the organization, but it seems that lots of local charities staff these events every year, and EVERYBODY knows EVERYBODY. It was heartening to see so much volunteer work, especially since my own regular volunteering (at the Kitchener/Waterloo Hospital) tended to involve frustration, disillusionment, and my running away as fast as possible from my fellow volunteers.

Speaking of which...well, a DJ can't make everyone happy. People will always bitch (and rightly so) but it's always sad to be criticized by anybody when you're quite frankly doing the best you can possibly do. I don't know how vocal the criticism was, but at least a few people felt that the music wasn't "gay enough."

This raises a very interesting point. When I started DJ'ing a retro night at Club Renaissance (the local gay bar) I came armed with what I considered to be stereotypical "gay music"...happy disco and electro-pop. But I quickly learned that the local gay crowd -- as a whole -- did not respond half as well to that stuff as they did to classic rock. I get the feeling that if Marc Almond, Jimmy Sommerville, and Alison Moyet walked into Club Ren nobody would care...but Jon Bon Jovi would be MOBBED.

Yes, there is a stereotype of "gay music," but when it comes to DJ'ing a gig "gay music" is whatever gay people want to hear. And when it comes to DJ'ing a huge Oktoberfest event with a mixed straight/gay crowd, you play what the vast majority wants to hear whether it be "gay music" or not. My job is not to alienate part of the crowd, or to educate them about what they should enjoy.

The two women who brought this complaint directly to me were very pleasant, but I couldn't help feeling that they were categorizing the crowd in a way that was largely divorced from reality. They said that "gay music" should be played at a gay event and that too many straight people were dancing, which seemed to ignore the fact that the dancefloor was essentially mixed -- and full of happy people. Their suggestion? Melissa Etheridge and April Wine. Sadly if I'm going to try to get 850 people dancing I'm going to pick Def Leppard over Melissa Etheridge anyday, basically because I don't want to see 825 people walk out the door.

I mentioned this incident to somebody else and she expressed amazement that I hadn't played "YMCA." And I was like, holy cow! Is "YMCA" considered "gay music" these days, or is it considered embarassing and condescending kitsch with unpleasant political baggage? If forced to put "YMCA" into the gay or straight music category, I'd put it firmly into "straight party music" nowadays.

So I guess my whole conflict is that there are two interpretations of "gay music." One is "music stereotypically considered to be gay." The other is "music that gay people like." And since that second category encompasses pretty much every type of music (depending on the region and the individual), I just am not comfortable with the former category.

I've spent most time talking about this little "gay music" incident because it's the one that made me think me the most, but it was really a small part of an otherwise wonderful evening. I met a lot of super-happy people. I saw some folks I haven't seen in a long time. I chatted with the president of Oktoberfest (nervous) and this year's Miss Oktoberfest (exhausted). And I expect that next year's "Pridetoberfest" will be a bigger success, since this one worked out so well. Are you coming?

I'll be there! Now that Dave Watt has forced me into my first Oktoberfest hat (see above) I have no excuse. I'm no longer an Oktoberfest virgin.

Drag Queenery For Smarties 1: Exfoliation

I've wanted to write a "Drag Queenery For Smarties" book for an awful long time, partly because it would make me rich but also because I wish *I* had one when I started out. I would have saved a lot of missteps.

But sadly I lack the motivation and the interest to pitch my idea to a publisher, write the book, and become wildly famous. So instead I'll just post entries -- willy-nilly -- on my blog. And if any queen out there has suggestions, by all means post them in the comments!

Exfoliation -- that's "getting rid of hair" to you philistines -- is possibly the dullest subject in drag-queenery. Most men think they know EVERYTHING about hair-removal. But most men haven't tried giving themselves a bikini wax, so shut up and bear with me.

There are several things you want to do when you get rid of hair: you want hairless skin that isn't irritated, you want it to stay hairless as long as possible, and you want to spend as little money as possible. This is what I've learned:

* SHAVING

Unless you're really dedicated you'll spend much of your time using a razor. Razors are great for all those places you can reach easily, and they're also great for any piece of skin that isn't easily irritated. What I mean is: if it bleeds when you shave it, or you need to be Houdini to get at it, don't shave it.

I find that I get a closer shave -- anywhere -- if I let the hair grow in a little. I put up with stubble a day or two before I get around to actually shaving, which is why I look scruffy during the week (so now you know).

Half of your shaving routine is preparation. Splash water on whatever you're shaving, then put the shaving cream on it and wait about 90 seconds. This isn't just because you want to be nice to your stubble...it's because you want to soak the hair so it's easier to shave it off. Don't scrimp on your shaving scream; make sure it moisturizes your skin, froths up beautifully, and smells nice. If you're doing your legs, just let them soak for a few minutes before you apply shaving cream and start to shave. Put a few drops of bath oil in the water to make yourself feel and smell good.

Next, take your Gilette Mach 3 razor (the best there is) and shave against the hair growth. If you're shaving your chest or your legs be aware that your hair doesn't necessarily grow in the direction you'd expect. If you find that you're cutting yourself a lot in certain spots -- front and back of knees, collar-bone, and upper-cheekbone for instance -- swallow your pride and shave perpendicular to the hair in those spots. You won't have as close a shave on your knees, but oh well, accessorize with knee-pads.

Some people moisturize when they're done shaving. I don't know if this helps or not, my skin tends to get irritated if I moisturize right away. And therein lies one of the hidden tortures of shaving: if you sweat a lot on any sort of razor burn, be prepared to two days of horrible itching that just won't go away. I think of it as "drag-queen ivy."

Other downsides of shaving: you might get red bumps on some parts of your skin, which scientists have a lot of theories about but they're all crap. Also, the hair grows back faster than with other exfoliating methods, because you're not actually pulling out the hair root...and when it DOES grow back it looks coarse. For me, I can shave my legs and get about 18 hours of smoothness. You just have to learn how long you can go and time your shave-a-thons accordingly.

Should you use a rough exfoliating soap before you shave? Probably, because it feels good!

* DEPILATORIES

Depilatories like Nair are good if you're trying to remove hair in those "hard to reach" places, and you know somebody's going to SEE those places. It's easier to slap on Nair than it is to try to contort your razor into an awkward position (and probably end up flaying yourself alive).

Always make sure that your depilatory doesn't aggrivate your skin. Don't get it in your eyes, and don't put it on hair that you want to keep. Really goop it on (a thin layer doesn't seem to work) and leave it there for a good 15 minutes (if your skin can stand it). Then, stand in the shower, let the water wash over it, and use a loofah or something to scrub it off. And if you've never seen hair after it's been Nair-ed it's pretty cool.

I don't use Nair enough to know its pros and cons. I do know that it doesn't touch the hair root so it probably only lasts about as long as shaving does, but on the plus side it smells like cucumber. Don't eat it.

* WAXING

I have flirted with home waxing kits now and then. The real problem is that you need to let your hair grow out enough for the wax to grab the hair. It's time-consuming and takes some precision. It also hurts, and if you use it in a place where your skin is sensitive you're liable to pull the skin off (seriously). Do small tests before you try it in a new spot.

The plus side, though, is that it pulls the hair roots out, so theoretically you get skin that's smoother, and it lasts longer. Keep in mind, though, that hair doesn't just grow in one stage...as you're waxing an area for the first time, a new crop of hair is just ready to break the surface. You need to wax through two or three of these hair cycles before you'll get a long-lasting wax job.

PLUCKING

Miss Drew says "you pluck chickens, you tweeze eyebrows," but removing eyebrow hair is so barbaric that no euphemism is appropriate. Plucking is an art in itself, and I've never completely gotten the hang of it. Best to let a professional do it, otherwise you'll look stupid or terminally surprised.

"Sudden Change" sells eyebrow stencils that you might try...they give you a generic "perfect arch" as long as you put the stencil on straight before you start plucking. There's the famous "pencil test" for judging where your eyebrows should start, arch, and end...so famous that I won't repeat it here. People also say "never pluck the UPPER part of your eyebrows," which is bull.

But you DO need to be careful...pulling a hair out might leave an ugly bald spot. I've gradually plucked my brows to a shape and density that I'm comfortable with. Every week I attack them with the tweezers, removing all the new growth above, below, and on either side of the eyebrow, then I take nail scissors and cut back any new "bushiness." Make sure you buy a tweezer that works for you...there are lots of different shapes.

If your eyebrows are light-coloured, try this: take a black brow pencil and draw, on your eyebrow, the shape that looks good. Take your time. Then, when you've got two symmetrical eyebrows, get your tweezers and pluck around the part you drew in. It works if you've got some free time, but don't blame me if you don't like the results.

Arches that are two high, and eyebrows that are two thin, can make you look old. Watch out!

Some queens smear concealer over their eyebrows, then paint new eyebrows over top (or some place else). Don't do this unless you're really good. Otherwise you'll look like Divine.

* MISCELLENY

Never try to pluck an eyelash. If an eyelashe is too long cut it off with nail scissors.

For God's sake, take a look at your nose hair and ear hair. Not enough people do this. Tweeze that junk off or some bitchy queen will hold you down and do it for you.

When you think you've gotten rid of all your unwanted hair, do a "circle check" while wearing your outfit of choice. Look at yourself from different angles. Check the backs of your arms and your neck. Check the backs of your hands. Then berate yourself for missing something so obvious and go back to the razor.

Both girls and boys have a fine layer of downy hair that only really shows up in direct sunlight. If this bothers you, find out where it is and eradicate it regularly.

If you really don't want to shave your legs, wear thick tights (or several pairs of thin, opalescent tights). It's itchy but it generally works.

Thank Goodness for Anita Loos' "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes"

As I sit here preparing for a weekend during which I suspect I'll be left "up a creek" by the folks I depend upon, my sanity and good cheer is being maintained by Anita Loos' 1925 novel "Gentlemen Prefer Blondes." It's probably the blackest humour I've ever read. If you love making bitter fun of stupid people who think they're smart, this is the book you should get.

It's a "diary" written by "Lorelei Lee," a dim-witted, beautiful gold-digger without any scruples. She thinks she's brilliant and couth, but every paragraph of her diary fills you with the cringing, joyful irony of her idiocy. The joy of the novel comes from the gradual repetition of Lorelei's prejudices, gaffes, and misunderstandings, but here's just one excerpt that stands alone:

Lorelei has gone to Paris with her vulgar friend Dorothy. Lorelei is convinced that she went there to "educate" Dorothy and herself, but -- as always -- she's really there to see how much loot she can get from random horny, bewildered men. And Dorothy just wants to have sex with anybody, gift or no gift. (Just in case you don't know, the "Coty" Lorelei mentions in this excerpt is François Coty, the 20th century perfume manufacturer)

And when a girl walks around and reads all of the signs with all of the famous historical names it really makes you hold your breath. Because when Dorothy and I went on a walk, we only walked a few blocks but in only a few blocks we read all of the famous historical names, like Coty and Cartier and I knew we were seeing something educational at last and our whole trip was not a failure. I mean I really try to make Dorothy get educated and have a reverance. So when we stood at a corner of a place called the Place Vendome, if you turn your back on a monument they have in the middle and look up, you can see none other than Coty's sign. So I said to Dorothy, does it not really give you a thrill to realize that that is the historical spot where Mr Coty makes all the perfume? So then Dorothy said that she supposed Mr Coty came to Paris and he smelled Paris and he realized that something had to be done. So Dorothy will really never have any reverance.

So then we saw a jewelry store and we saw some jewelry in the window and it really seemed to be a very very great bargain but the price marks all had francs on them and Dorothy and I do not seem to be mathematical enough to tell how much francs is in money. So we went in and asked and it seems it was only 20 dollars and it seems it is not diamonds but it is a thing called 'paste' which is the name of a word which means imitations. So Dorothy said 'paste' is the name of the word a girl ought to do to a gentleman that handed her one. I mean I would really be embarassed, but the gentleman did not seem to understand Dorothy's english.

Diana's Ankles Were Nothing Like Those of the Greyhound She Held in Leash

"Dame Nature didn't exactly CHEAT Diana on ankles. The fact is she was far too generous. Diana measured almost as much at the ankle line as the modern stocking does at the calf. And so, if Diana's fabled charms were weighed in the balance today and judged by 1926 standards of beauty, they would be found more wanting than wanted--UNLESS--unless she wore "Onyx Pointex"!"

The New Yorker, November 6, 1926, p.41.

Yup, while other hosiery retailers of the day were content just to pick on regular human beings, these "Onyx Hosiery" folks consistenly picked on STATUES. They kept saying that specific statues have fat ankles. Well, did they consider that those statues NEEDED to have thick ankles in order to keep them from falling over?

Might as well complain of a skyscraper's "fat waist" or something.

Sheesh!

Bye, Tokyo Rose

You might have already heard that Iva Toguri, aka "Orphan Anne" and "Tokyo Rose," died yesterday in Chicago. Ever since I listened to the few surviving recordings of her show and read up about her tragic life, I've felt a certain affection for her.

If you want to hear a short clip of Iva saying goodbye back in 1945, click here.

On next week's episode of Repeater I'm going to try to play one of her shows (if I can find any that are audible enough). Yes I know the schedule is out-of-date...I'm not maintaining the site anymore, but it does tell you how to listen to the program.

See ya, Orphan Anne...you deserved better.