February 2001

4th February 2001

Enemies with a little bit of heart and soul

Back in the mid-eighties I had a hideous encounter with Morrissey, lead singer with one of my favourite pop groups, The Smiths. We were signed to the same label in France and my label boss said: "You weel love 'im."

Afternoon tea was arranged in a quaint Parisian hotel and off I swished. I think the swishing was part of the problem because Morrissey hated me on sight. I ended up doing all the talking and wanted the garish carpet to swallow me. I heard later that he described me as overbearing, to which I replied: "Sorry for having a personality." Had I been childish, I could have gone home and burnt my Smiths records and taken Morrissey's photo off my wall but I continue to buy every solo record Morrissey has made. My favourite was The More You Ignore Me The Closer I Get. How apt. I know now that it is quite possible to respect another's artistry and yet dislike how they are.

Which brings me to Tony Parsons, journalist, novelist and ex-husband of Julie Burchill. Just before George Michael was arrested in that Beverly Hills loo, Mr Parsons wrote a hateful article about me in a tabloid which made me wonder if he kept his soul in a freezer.

Despite this I found myself purchasing his latest book, Man And Boy, at Heathrow last week. To my horror, I could not put it down and I was shocked to discover that Mr Parsons has a huge soul and more than a dash of heart.

One line really made me think: " The person who cares the least in a relationship has the most power." I have quoted it to many friends whose damaged relationships have flashed before their eyes and they've admitted, sadly, that it's true. I'm not so sure because "not caring" takes it's toll in the end.

Whenever I say "I don't care", I know that deep down I am riddled with anguish. In fact, most of the time, caring is the only sane option. George Michael once sang: "I can't make you love me if you don't". But just because those you lavish love on don't always respond in kind it doesn't mean you should fill your own heart, to quote Marilyn Monroe, with "icy Frigidaire".

For a long time I have loathed Tony Parsons but, having read his book - which is based on true life events - I can see now that he was in a lot of pain when he ripped through my life with a literary chainsaw. Of course, I am equally guilty of transferring my pain on to others but once you realise that is what you're doing, you can, in theory - if not always in practice - think before you open your mouth.

Walk on the wild side

Now on to more trivial matters.

Wednesday night saw the opening of the newly refurbished Tea Rooms in London's Covent Garden. Of course, I was there - and so was Macaulay Culkin, who still looks about 10. Also in tow were Lennox Lewis, Nasty Nick and a smattering of club freaks led by Philip Sallon, who was running around with shaving foam on his head.

A busty diva called Princess (of questionable sexual gender) was chasing confused straight boys around the club and ran off with a fashion student.

The problem these days is that no one quite knows what they are, which is why I fear assimilation. Give me a hardcore heterosexual over a wannabe poofta any old day.

The good news is that style seems to be creeping back in. I saw some spooky freaks with Leigh Bowery-type masks and make-up designed for maximum ugliness. One queen had gold gnashers that she kept pulling out and his friend had painted two front green teeth.

There were also lots of punk references, safety pins and DIY spray-painted slogans on jackets and T-shirts - which means that my prediction about expensive designer labels being on the way out is gathering speed. Not a moment too soon.

11th February 2001

Go streak in the presence of beauty

On first inspection, a bunch of folk of varied gender protesting their individual right to bare their boobies, buttocks and dangly bits in public outside St. Paul's or along Oxford Street may seem rather "fruitcake". Having watched Channel 4's highly entertaining TV documentary The Other Side, featuring a public protest of nudity, I couldn't help thinking that this country, this world, has some seriously draconian issues around the best fashion statement mother nature ever made.

The late performance artist and fashion designer Leigh Bowery once announced that his favourite fabric was his skin. The gauntlet has been taken up rather boldly by a bearded young chap called Vincent Bethell, who was recently arrested after being pulled down from a Victorian street lamp outside a London courthouse for displaying his naked body.

It must be said that Vincent has a rather nice physique, quite pleasing to the eye, but some of his fellow protesters did not quite have the arms or the Jesus-like frame of their leader. Frankly, most of us look far better when we leave something to the imagination, but I uphold anyone's right to whip it out if they feel so obliged. As Vincent protested loudly and logically, "We are being arrested for being who we are. The naked body is a work of beauty."

He's right: just look around London at the multitude of naked statues and you will see that nudity has long been hailed a thing of beauty and power. With the fashion world announcing that military chic is back, it's obvious that we need a counter revolution to point two fingers a fashion's pathetic attempt at sanitised rebellion.

Vincent's bare bottom not not be concerned with fashion militia but in his own barking fashion , he is making a bigger statement. Don't get me wrong, I am still a style junkie and I could not live without my wardrobe but with fashion and music getting so stale, his anti-fashion rebellion could be a shot in the arm.

We live in horribly complacent times and watching Vincent and his anorexic crew being dragged into police vans was so refreshing. More importantly, Vincent doesn't seem to have a nasty bone in his body. A few brain cells might be frazzled but one could not help loving him in all his sweet-eyed innocence. I agree that the human body is a wondrous creation but some are created fitter and finer than others and being one who is on the large side, I'll stick with Italian tailoring and box shoulders. If Vincent and his followers want to air their bums, that's cool with me. I won't join them but I'll happily run round my gothic pile in my birthday suit and blow a car horn for support. Get 'em off!

Becks on the decks

This week's gossip, most delicious, came from a well known DJ, namely Carl Cox, who was overheard telling a journalist that myself and fellow DJ Brandon Block (remember the Brits?) are giving David Beckham DJ lessons. Of course it's sadly untrue but if Becks wanted a helping hand I'd be more than willing. It has long been rumoured that when Becks finally hangs up his boots he has considered a spell on the decks. Apparently he digs dance music and promises not to play any of Posh's platters. I can assure you that there will be no shortage of ruthless agents or promoters who would jump at the chance of a Becks booking but he must start at the bottom and earn his dues. I'm quite happy to take him around a few of the better clubs and break him in. Professionally speaking, of course, if he spins as well as he scores, there'll be no stopping him. How about DJ Score as a name?

18th February 2001

America wakes up to Lords of dance

The sign on the desk said: "We provide an outrageous service." Well, they got the "outrageous" part right but forgot to add, appalling and rude. In all my years of flying, I don't think I've ever come across an airline more complacent than Southwest Airlines which runs a shuttle service between LA and Las Vegas.

We arrived a least half an hour before our flight, which we were told was sufficient, but the majority of that time was spent waiting in a long queue, while one desk was operated by a human sloth.

Finally, a bespectacled woman beckoned us to another desk and said: "The flight is about to leave, we can put your bags on the next flight if they don't make this one."

I had my debut DJ gig in Las Vegas at midnight and didn't fancy risking losing my records and so I dragged everything on to the plane to be safe.

My gig in Lost Wages as it's more affectionately known was at the Luxor Hotel, which is shaped like a pyramid, complete with flashing disco lights and a huge sphinx that you drive under. To be honest, I was worried. What kind of clubbers would be attracted to such a place on Valentine's night?

I was warned that it might be full of couples and did not know how they would respond to my selection of deep, tribal, progressive rhythms.

To my surprise and delight, the place was rammed and the crowd seemed very British. It seems America is finally waking up to dance music.

A host of veteran British DJ's, such as Paul Oakenfold, Pete Tong and Carl Cox, have been trolling around the United States for the past year and have laid the foundations for a thriving dance scene.

I think one of the main reasons dance music has not already exploded over here is that you can't go clubbing until you are 21 and you need ID to get into any club or bar. Of course, you can buy fake IDs - as I'm sure many do - but it kind of stops youth culture from finding it's dancing feet.

Some US DJ's and dance magazines are already bitching about the influx of British DJ's "stealing there jobs", but let's not forget that Yankee DJ's such as David Morales and Danny Tenaglia (virtually unknown in their homeland) have been commanding huge respect and pay cheques in Europe for years. Paul Oakenfold has sold more than 250,000 albums with his latest DJ-Mix compilation and has moved here for six months to establish his Stateside reputation.

DJ-ing in America is not quite like popping up the M1 of a Saturday evening. Every city is like a different country and one needs real stamina.

The odd couple

Everyone in America is either buzzing or fuming about Elton John's decision to duet with controversial homophobic rapper Eminem at next week's Grammy Awards. The big question is what song will they perform? I have some suggestions but I'm afraid they are too rude for this publication. Don't Go Breaking My Heart might be a good choice. Apparently, gay groups are planning to picket the ceremony, but I worry that this will just sell more records for Eminem. Is duetting with Elton Em's way of saying "Gay is OK" or does Elton know something we don't? We all know that Elton thrives on drama and this odd coupling will certainly spice up the Grammys which are always too slick for my taste.

Is Elton simply throwing a big old pink spanner into the works, is it a cynical marketing tool (ooh missus!), or just a case of "keep your friends close and your Eminems closer?"

25th February 2001

And my personal Grammys are...

Stand-up comic and MTV video jock John Stewart really swooped to the bottom of the barrel while hosting this year's US Grammy Awards in Los Angeles. "I just met Eminem backstage and he's really gay. Me and Elton were watching the NFL and Eminem brought in a home-made cruditè and was all upset because we hadn't tried it." OK, so I laughed at that but then the gay jokes went on and on, leading towards the biggest gay joke of all that had Elton and Eminem duetting.

Eminem had previously picked up an award for best rap album and said, "Thanks to those of you who saw my album for what it was and not what it wasn't." Well, ex-squeeze me for reading between the grime but, "Sorry for my queer-baiting, brattish lyrics, please forgive me," would have done just fine. Sadly I missed the big, controversial duet but I heard it was as shocking as a glimpse of stocking in olden days.

For my money, the Grammys were all about Jill Scott singing up a gospel storm with Moby and the Blue Man Group, who added a dash of weirdness. Not forgetting the lustful sigh that erupted when Justin Timberlake (marry me) of N'Sync, who has just cropped his hair, took to the stage dressed in cool red leather and sang like an angel. Or his band-mate JC Chavez (marry me), who sings with equal beauty but needs a new stylist. In my eyes they win the best manufactured boy band gong because they can really hold a tune.

Joni Mitchell was pure style, resplendent in a pleated Issey Miyake dress, and she made some delicious quip as she presented an award. "This award goes to the great jazz legend Coltrane - I mean U"." Wishful thinking, perhaps?

That's not to say the nice Irish boys didn't deserve their gramophones for simply having Larry Mullen on drums. Mullen has moved from pretty boy to lived-in handsome chap but he's still no Larry "Mutton". When I saw him, I couldn't help but sing, "Still pouting after all these years, " and I danced, metaphorically, across Red Square in a pink marabou-trimmed tutu with a huge PVC cross attached to my back.

Talking of bona drag, Macy Gray got her Seventies-style fur coat caught in her seat as she walked towards the stage and after a brief struggle had to leave it on the floor. I love the diva but if it was real fur she got what she deserved! I hope the coat escaped and is living in the NY sewage system with the rats.

Curry's in favour

Talking of the floor, I was on it after my second DJ stint in Sanfran-disco. The crowd were bliss but the sound system was so loud I got a free massage during my set. You could barely stand still there was so much booming bass rattling up your legs. Who needs Viagra? Los Angeles at Giant, a sprawling club downtown, was just about the best gig I've ever done, period. I kept saying things could only get better and they did. I saw Tim Curry in the farmers' market hovering around the pre-packed meat section. Was he looking for a nice firm frankfurter? Sightings of such legends make LA seem worth visiting and I had to mince over and say hello. Mr Curry was very polite and charming. Like Bowie, he had a major impact on my youth, but how do you thank someone who has taken you from grey school uniforms to perfume?

My only gripe this week is with United Airlines, who just can't bring themselves to be polite and customer-friendly. On a flight from Chicago, I asked if I could borrow a pen and the stupidess sneered and said, "I don't have one." I said "What, there's not a pen on board?" A kind gentleman handed me a ritzy pen and I was most grateful. Are United cutting back on amenities or is it just manners that have been shoved in the hold?

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