Month: September 2008

Motorhead, ‘Nuff Said

I know some of you are waiting for the report on the Motorhead show on Saturday, so here’s what I’ve got fer ye:

Made up my mind this time that I was not going to stress out about who didn’t get along with who, and how/if I was going to be a part of any aftershow or backstage hooplah. I knew KEVIN was driving the band to an instore but I didn’t send a message to them through him because I didn’t want to be another clamoring dick. I figured I’d know someone and something would work itself out. I just set my intention for a happy night and left it to the Universe to sort out the details and the passes. And I bought tickets ahead of time rather than try to finagle guest list, because it’s fucking Motorhead and they deserve the money. I had an extra ticket for CID and told her I’d meet her there, VAS checked in and I met her there too.

On my way in the cab I got a text from DANO saying “Kevin mentioned to Lemmy that you’re coming to the show and he definitely wants to see you.” I got another text from someone else saying, “Lemmy wants you there!” Woo hoo! I was already set and wasn’t even out of the cab. Thank you, Universe!

Kevin met us at the door to make sure we got in easily, then ran off to do his job. We went to the back bar and some random guy I’ve never met bought shots for about 6 of us, and then disappeared when we weren’t looking. The Jager Fairy. Although he was pretty big and manly looking, maybe the Jager Genie? In any case he was a nice guy with no agenda and set the tone of the night right from the start.

I’m happy to say the place was jam packed, and the ladies in our group all remarked that we felt VERY popular that evening, with lots of “How you doin’s” and drink offers coming at us from all sides. If I’m ever single again I’m going on the road with Motorhead one more time. Truthfully it was probably more quantity than quality, but still–free booze! Constant compliments! Bring it on!

The band was perfect, of course. The new record has a lot of great songs, and the old songs would make me weep if I wasn’t so busy jumping up and down and shouting the lyrics. I can’t tell you how nice it is to hear the booming bass of Metropolis wash over you when you’ve spent the last two years up to your eyeballs in socialites and hipsters and models in headbands and mash-up dj’s and bad imitations of the already awful Strokes. Motorhead all loud and live like that makes my heart sing, it’s a step into the warm comfort of home, it’s where I want to live, where I’ve always wanted to live, where people like us belong.

After the show Kevin came and collected us and spent the next 20 minutes at the backstage door shouting at various security who wanted to bounce us, “This is Raff and Lemmy wants to see her!” It was a zoo and he was tired and wanted to go home, but he had a mission to complete and would not stray from bound duty. Thank you, Kevin.

The tour manager (who is very cool and who I’ve met before but stupidly always forget his name) came out and bellowed, “Raff and Donna. He only wants to see Raff and Donna right now!” DONNA and I were ushered into Lemmy’s dressing room and were granted an audience with the Lemster in his underwear and socks. This was not a shock to either one of us as this is his standard aftershow ensemble and we saw it every night on the road with MH, sometimes accompanied by a towel around his head turban style. Lemmy’s a clean man and he likes to take a shower directly after playing and before socializing, he’s got good legs and damn it, he likes to show ’em off.

We toasted with some Jack Daniels (of course), Donna gave Lemmy some presents, he gave us tees, and we shot the shit a little. It was really lovely to connect with him in such an intimate setting, and I’m more than grateful for his generosity. He always takes care of his friends. Then Lemmy put his jeans on and Vas (he hadn’t known she was outside) and the rest of the crew came in, except for poor Cid who had had her $3000 chain necklace confiscated at the door because it looked “dangerous”, and was busy trying to retrieve it.

I got totally silly on Jack and Coke, just like I did the last time I was at a Motorhead show. It always seems like a good idea when it’s being offered to you by Lemmy Kilmeister, and then 15 minutes later I’m bouncing off the walls from all the sugar and caffeine. I get very chipper and can’t feel that I’m drunk. I don’t know how he does it.

There was a pretty funny moment when the dressing room door flew open and Steve Poss waved his arms and yelled, “Raff! HELP! RAAAAAAFFFF!!!” as security dragged him away. Poor Poss, knowing him I wasn’t going to get involved in that one.

Lemmy was obviously pretty tired from the show, though. He’s not the youngest of men, although he does still deal pretty well. People were talking about afterparties and I leaned in and asked him quietly, “You don’t really want to go out, do you?” And he said “No. I’m well shagged from the show. I just want to go back to the hotel.” Fair enough, rock star. You’ve done enough for us tonight.

Vas and I said our goodbyes and Lemmy said, “I love you, you know. You’re family.”

And that made my year. Thanks again, Lem. I love you forever.

Well I Love TV and I Love T Rex

Motorhead is a Roseland tomorrow so you know I’m psyched. Especially since almost everyone I know and like is going. And I definitely need a reality fix after that last dumb night that I blogged about. Bleah. No bottle service and hipster douchebags at Motorhead, thank you very much. I’m pretty sure the masturbater doesn’t even know who they are. It’s just a nice peaceful dose of high decibel rock and roll. I may even drink a little tequila to celebrate.

In other show news, ZODIAC MINDWARP AND THE LOVE REACTION will be over from England next week to play some shows in the states. The NY show is at DON HILL’S, so I’ll be bulletin-ing it all week to get the word out.

Zodiac and the boys were extremely influential to the Sluts and many of our friends back in the day; we stole their idea for silly names and fell in love with the whole tongue-in-cheek biker theme that they perfected. When they played New York for the first time (at L’amour in Brooklyn) the four girls got up on male friends shoulders (thanks MAN RAY!) in a row in front of the stage and lifted up our shirts and flashed them. Suffice to say that forged a strong bond between the bands that remains to this day.

I was briefly engaged to drummer Slam Thunderhide, mostly as a means of tormenting an ex-boyfriend. I met him at the LISMAR LOUNGE the night they played the Cat Club, which was a couple of days after the L’amour show. It went like this:

Slam (speaking very seriously): Do you have a boyfriend?
Me (leaning against the wall, feigning disinterest): Yeah, I got a couple. You interested in joining the team?

The record deal had gone to our heads a bit. I actually was seeing two guys at the time, one was a music producer and the other one was a really cute almost-virgin with hair down to the middle of his back. In any case, I brought Slam home that night and he asked me to marry him a few hours later, completely disregarding the fact that he already had a wife he was not yet divorced from. This is not a testament to any skill on my part, I think we were just drunk and a Cycle Slut/Love Reaction engagement seemed more than appropriate after the L’amour flashing.

The producer told me that upon hearing of my engagement he and the almost-virgin had a drunk night together, bonding over their mutual (and mild) disappointment. But I was busy doing things like waiting with a towel for my rockin’ fiancé at the side of the stage when they opened for GnR and flying over to London to hang out with him in VIP rooms. I attended Zodiac’s wedding to some random gorgeous model who was very famous at the time and I wore the special Zodiac snake symbol around my neck. Everyone was quite jealous of my jet set rock and roll life and we looked great together in photos.

But of course I made a big mess of everything a few months later by trying to juggle Slam and afore-mentioned on again/off again ex-boyfriend, culminating in a very dramatic evening at the Limelight in which I thought I could be slick and just run back and forth between the two all night. It didn’t work so well and they both hated me after that. The ex assaulted me with really bad poetry and Slam got his vengeance when we played Hammerstein Ballroom in London a year later. The few people that were there loathed us, it was a depressing show, and he walked in with a new fiancé on his arm (guess he was really into getting married). I didn’t mind too much; he deserved the right to rub it in my face a little.

Anyway, Slam no longer plays in the band, but we still love them. We love them so much that when they contacted me about coming to New York I tried to put together a bill with CSFH and Zodiac for the same date at a larger venue. Unfortunately Highline wanted us to play too early in the night for the type of crowd it would attract, and the ass who books over at Bowery Ballroom would not return my emails or calls. Please feel free to tell the guy (Johnny Beach – I’m so insulted that I’ll gladly tell everyone his name) that he’s a moron. I have a friend/CSFH fan who works security there who now texts me every time they have a shitty Saturday night, he’s still bitching that it’s not going to happen. It could have been a fun night and we would have made them a decent sum of money in alcohol sales alone. But the upside is that I get to have a good time instead of stressing out about rehearsals, remembering lyrics and not eating carbs for two weeks. Dude, I am more than happy to be in the audience at this stage of life.

So please, come out next Saturday the 27th for a superrock night. Ronnie Sweetheart’s band THE STRIP CLUB DEVILS are opening, so that’s more old school New York for you. There may even be some old lady boob-flashing and I’ll introduce you to Cobalt Stargazer.

Here’s a video for ZM’s song Prime Mover, a song that was on constant rotation on the Lismar tape player. Yes, tape player. There was a tiny dinosaur inside it that ran on a wheel. We made mixed tapes and played them over and over again until they shredded. By the way–Man Ray, I think we need to put together a Lismar playlist for our ipods. I’m already picking out Slab and Cult songs in my head.

OH–and on that note, my friend ROB SCHWAGER is looking to find music from that time period that is no longer available through regular channels. Anyone who has any ideas, pass ’em on. I have very small amount which I still need to email to him, so come to think of it, email the shit to me too.

The video is terribly grainy but what do you want from the 80’s. There is a fair amount of other ZM videos on youtube if you’re curious.



Also, one more show coming up, Drew’s band BLOODY SOCIAL is playing Gimme Shelter, a benefit for Rock and Rescue, along with JESSE, Debbie Harry, and Miss Guy, a bunch of others I don’t know and Gina Gershon and Adrock from the Beastie Boys hosting, Moby spinning. Should be a fun night and it’s for the animals. This image says its at Hiro but I’m pretty sure it’s at Highline now. I’m just too lazy to look around for more images.

Ezekiel 25:17


ME: Hello

DREW: Hi!

ME: You sound happy. What’s going on?

DREW: I just got hit on by two grade C hipster model types on the street.

ME: In front of the apartment?

DREW: Yep.

ME: What happened?

DREW: They came running up and one said they saw me walking up and down the street and wanted to know if I wanted to hang out.

ME: Hang out? Those bitches! Right in broad daylight, in front of my house when I’m sick with a cold?

DREW (all pleased with himself): I know! You’re mad, aren’t you?

ME: Totally mad!

DREW (giggling): And it’s not my fault!

ME: Is nowhere sacred, goddamnit? So they both wanted to hang out?

DREW: I think one was just the wing man.

ME: Wing man?? I will kill you, Andrew. So what did you say?

DREW: It’s not my fault! I did exactly as instructed and told them I had a girlfriend.

ME: And what did they do?

DREW: They kind of got jumpy and ran away.

ME: They’d better fucking run away. But I’m still mad. I WILL KILL EVERYONE! Do you hear me? I will come downstairs and WREAK UNHOLY VENGEANCE.

DREW: Well, first you’d to have to comb your hair and put some clothes on.

ME: Crap! That’s too much work. And Law and Order is on…Hey, do you think you could get some chocolate pudding while you’re out?

Fashion, Dahling

Oh, my aching head.

Fashion week is upon us. And Pat, along with her long-time design partner David Dalrymple, has designed a line for the Home Shopping Network called Destination Style New York. Last night was the fashion show and it was highly entertaining and theatrical, featuring a mafia funeral tableau and some really cute dresses. You can see some of it here: DESTINATION STYLE

I am not a big one for fashion shows and I never actually go to any of them, even though I could use my job to get into some. I like the clothes but the struggle to get a seat and the hierarchies therein are really uninteresting to me. If I’m going to vie for status placement I’m going to do it at a Motorhead show, I get enough of the gay power struggle every day right at my desk. But I do like to go to Pat’s shows because they’re never traditional fashion shows, and I’m most definitely going to THE BLONDS show this year. They are so much fun and I missed them last year, when they garnered rave reviews for their over-the-top glamour.

Pat is styling Ugly Betty now, so a few of the actresses from the show showed up–some people I didn’t know bc I always forget to watch the show, Judith Light (She’s the Boss, He’s the Boss? What the hell was that sitcom? I’m too hungover to google it) and the fabulous Vanessa Williams. Vanessa is so gorgeous and has a really nice energy about her. My only issue is that she wore a goofy equestrian ensemble, which I believe may have even featured an ascot.

Pat’s personal assistant Ingrid and I stood on the balcony and watched photographers rush and swarm around anyone even remotely famous. Paparazzi events are so bizarre to me, but it’s fun to watch from a balcony view. Ingrid actually liked Vanessa’s outfit but I said that’s because she’s preppy and doesn’t really know what she’s talking about. She said just because I’m in the Encyclopedia of Metal doesn’t mean I have to always be a bitch. And then we went back to the bar for more free booze.

So it wouldn’t be a Patricia Field event if the downtown maniacs weren’t there, and we watched LADY BUNNY and SULTANA sit on each other in a struggle for the chair next to Pat. Sultana is fascinating to me, she is a rotund little Egyptian man with a gorgeous accent who works in an elegant black suit at Tiffanys all day, and then squeezes into gowns and wigs at night.

And of course Bunny is the funniest person alive and shoved her way in front of the cameras and then launched an impromptu lipsynch when an Yma Sumac song came on. She waved her arms and emoted and crawled back and forth on the runway on her hands and knees while we screamed and clapped for more. Even after all these years I can’t get enough of Bunny–her antics, her rotten jokes, her blogs, her presence–she is a true star.

But the most delighful moment for me was when Pat went to speak to her styling partner Molly Rogers, who was seated across the runway rather than next to Patricia. Pat sort of flopped onto the runway and showed us all a little panty while spilling her cocktail all over the place. I clapped in delight as she laid there unbothered and still yelling to Molly while people scrambled to wipe things up so that no waifs slipped and died on Pat’s vodka. It’s these kinds of moments in life that I cherish.

Afterwards we drank more free liquor and I did an interview for HSN pretending to be a viewer and not a PF staff member. Then we collected one of the models who was dancing on the runway by herself as the Edison Ballroom staff swept up and piled chairs in the corners.

She was like a floppy little doll, wearing a t-shirt minidress and actually much prettier in person than in this photo. We just loaded her into the car with us like so much flotsam and headed to Mr. Black, which is where all the gays go on Saturday night. It was hideous, of course, with pumping techno music and more vogueing than any rock chick should ever be forced to endure. Blargh. But it was a PF fashion night after all and they gave us a good table and we watched a skinny black dancer in drag tear up the room with a wild dance, actually hanging from the ceiling at one point. It was really fun to see and MISS TOBELL VON CARTIER introduced us and said he works on Broadway, but I can’t remember his name.

Our little model, named Ilona (Elona?), was most definitely not 21 but got into the club immediately, further confirming my belief that if you are young and gorgeous you move through New York swimmingly, just like a shiny little fish. But there are many sharks lurking, and the bouncer told Ingrid he knew the girl was more drunk than the rest of us and that Ingrid was responsible for making sure she didn’t get any drunker. Ingrid panicked and said to me, “Dude, I don’t even know her!” We like to call each other dude. So I took over, as I always do with these little girls, and pulled Ilona aside and said, “We just got chewed out by the bouncer so you can’t get any drunker.” And she waved her lithe little bird arms and danced around me on impossibly long legs and said, “I don’t drink!” We watched her dance and dance, the absolute embodiment of youthful freedom and perfection, and speculated as to whether she was on drugs or just naturally a little floppy.

ANDRE J introduced me to a friend from Austria named Deiter or Neiner or something equally Sprockets. He had ironic facial hair and was wearing all white–white pants, white shirt, white shoes. And he kept his hand casually draped over Andre’s thigh. Andre said, “Dark Lady, he’s so cute! But he’s straight.” I said, “Andre, straight boys don’t usually wear all white and drape their hands over other men’s legs.” And he said, “Really?? You are so wise in the ways of straight boys, Dark Lady…”

Sultana turned to me and said of Ilona, “Dahling, that gerl is stunning. STUNNING.” And then asked me if I was a transsexual. Le SIGH…

But I was feeling no pain and said, “Of course, Dahling.” And ordered another cocktail with my drink ticket and then got down and crawled around on the floor like Bunny, looking for drunk Ingrid’s lost phone so we could stumble the hell out of there. Ah, the glamorous life…

Miss You

The interesting thing about losing people you love, truly love, to death, is that there’s always a space. No matter how many years have gone by, sometimes just mentioning their name out loud can open a chasm in front of your feet. If enough time has passed you can step over it fairly easily, but there’s still a reminding jolt that things will never be the same and that a sadness remains. Which to me is both painful and oddly comforting.

Hmm…or maybe I’m just overtired because Drew came home drunk from work at 5:30 am and kept me awake all morning, happily snoring and hogging the bed. Occasionally I think I’m being deep when it’s actually just crabbiness.