January 2002

6th January 2002

Good Riddance to a treacherous year

Following a rousing set in Bristol on New Year's Eve - where I dragged my good friend and superb vocalist John Gibbons to sing over the tunes and gee up the crowd - it was off to Coventry.

We were gliding down the motorway, listening to the final mix of a song I've recorded with Hi-gate, the brainchild of Judge Jules and Paul Masterson, and the urge to pee forced us into a service station. There was Jules, his wife and sexy driver Giles. Talk about synchronicity. He was racing to Castle Donington and I ended up in Coventry having to follow a very nice DJ who was playing so furiously fast that I had to scramble through my box for something that would give your granny a year-long migraine.

The old rule of DJs respecting and complimenting each other is gone - or maybe it's the promoters who are losing the plot and chucking any old DJs on the bill. Buzzing on champers, I found myself back in the bowels of another club, Trade, until the next afternoon.

I was shocked to discover the night had been dedicated to the memory of a good friend, Chris McKoy, who had been found dead two days earlier in an Amsterdam canal. Chris, a talented DJ and producer, was a very popular figure on the London gay scene. His death is tragic and mysterious.

I'm glad 2001 is over because it has been a treacherous year. As the late Divine once said: "Good riddance to bad rubbish."

A George Michael imposter is at large and he had organized a huge party on the star's behalf, employing several DJs to spin at it. One of them, Fat Tony, was unfortunately rushed into hospital last week and could not make it to the hoaxed bash. So it was left to moi to ring up George's management to break the news. It was then that I discovered that Ms Michael was on a plane to Los Angeles and that several hoax events and phone calls had been made on his behalf. I know a bit about this type of thing because an ex-lover of mine had the cheek to ring one of my good friends to get himself a bunch of chums into London's Met Bar by claiming to be my boyfriend. Luckily, my close friends know the ex in question hasn't spoken to me in more than a month, despite receiving 50 red roses on Christmas Eve as a peace offering.

I hate feuds and have always managed to stay close with most of my ex-partners. Well, my favourite saying has always been, "Cynics are just disappointed romantics." And I am nothing if not an incurable romantic - even if some people make it hard not to be cynical.

Later in the week, I was chatting to Pet Shop Boy Neil Tennant at London's Heaven nightclub. We discussed the lack of support the gay community gave his musical, Closer To Heaven.

I am full of panic as the clock ticks closer to our opening night for Taboo - less than a week away. Inevitably, the phone has been ringing with friends hoping to get in for free but I've just given them the box-office number.

Young homosexuals have no sense of their own history, just as pop fans have no idea about musical history. The demise of pop joke Steps is clearly more important than Oscar Wilde or the great Quentin Crisp - but I, for one, am glad they have disbanded.

Talking of Oscar, I heard a great demo from a punky dance combo called L33X, which was Oscar Wilde's prison number, so maybe there is hope. In dance music, everyone seems to be sampling old records and giving them a modern edge. Last week I received a record by Missile 50 Vs Steve Strange - but Steve knew zilch about it. Maybe old-skool dance is the new black. Or are people running out of ideas?

13th January 2002

Elton, you ARE a hero for your AIDS work

Last Wednesday, I spent a very emotional evening at the luxurious Dorchester Hotel ballroom, where the Aids charity Crusaid was presenting Sir Elton John with the Hero of the Year Award for his tireless work and financial support of various Aids charities.

Elton, whom, as you know, I have been critical of in this column, mainly for duetting with Eminem (bad move, sorry), was presented with a strange-looking red velvet trophy that looked like a hat-pin cushion on a stalk. He looked as amused as I was and, after surveying it for a moment, said: "Hey, George, what should I do with it?" I replied: "I daren't say."

His speech on collecting the Triffid/pin cushion was startlingly moving and filled me with guilt for all the bad things I have written and said about him. There were many speeches from gay men living with Aids but the most moving was from a young man of 25 who contracted the virus from a blood transfusion at five and had lived with the awful prejudices through school and losing girlfriends because he chose to be honest about his illness. What was surprising was just how healthy this young man looked, and it proved advances in medical research have made a huge difference to the way people live with HIV and Aids.

Of course, most governments at the height of the epidemic were and still are extremely tight-fisted about providing money for the cause, which is where Elton, who has spent and raised millions, has been so important. Elton pointed out that at least 13,000 people are HIV positive in the UK alone, and worldwide the human loss is catastrophic, with 21.8 million deaths in total.

In many respects, kids have all but forgotten about the disease and see it as a gay-only issue. But there were many heterosexuals in the room that night who are living with HIV and Aids, and the numbers are growing daily.

The evening reminded people that this disease is not going away. You could argue that the money Sir Elton has provided is a drop in the ocean for such a wealthy man, but there are plenty of multi-millionaires who sit on their dosh and forget that wise old saying that you can't take it with you. Elton said: I'm no hero." Well, to those he had helped, he certainly is, and if I took my hat off in public, which I rarely do, I would have taken it off for him.

Love, we all know, makes us do silly things and clearly Madonna's love for Guy Ritchie is making her lose her marbles. At a recent party, she sat and watched unfunny, racist, poof-hating comedian Bernard Manning, and was quoted as saying that he was hilarious - despite admitting she barely understood most of his humour.

This poof understands it clearly and finds it offensive to the max. Hubby Guy was lapping it up and now they have Manning for a private party. Mad-donna, or McDonna as I call her, ought to remember her status as a gay icon and realise that booking such a man is rather like me doing a duet with Garry Bushell.

I have heard that since marrying Ritchie, Madonna has dropped - or at least frozen out - many of her gay mates. But perhaps she is hell-bent (forgive the pun) on alienating her entire gay audience. The gay community can be ridiculously forgiving to Madonna, as it was to George Michael, but at least George has waved his flag in the right direction since getting caught with his trousers down.

Peter Tatchell, on the other hand, is treated like a bad smell by his fellow queers ­ and he has done more for us than Madonna. If she relishes her gay icon status she ought to rethink her public moves and make them as good as the ones she does with her hips.

20th January 2002

Everyone's blowing a fuse... except me

If I were nine years old and not suffering from the worst hangover ever, after being stuck on the Eurostar in darkness and without heating, I might even consider it an adventure. I'm half expecting Agatha Christie to pop up at any moment. There is a camp, bejewelled French woman losing her rag and shouting "Zis train is like a phantom - maybe it's Bin Laden who's pulled ze plug."

I'm heading to Paris for a DJ stint at Versace and the worst thing is, I almost missed the damn train - five more mins and I would have been on the 8pm heading for gay Paris. It's my friend Jeremy Healy's 40th Birthday bash tonight and I'm hoping to show my face, but at this rate I'll be so gazumped on cheap plonk I'll just drop on the to the platform and sleep where I fall.

It's been a week of electrical faults: Thursday eve at Chanel's bash, the sound system kept cutting out and the technician took 45 mins to arrive at the shop, so I just sat twiddling my thumbs, pouting and signing autographs for eccentric old ladies. But there was an upside. I did the gig at a snip and for the promise of truckloads of luxurious goodies - thought a nice, expensive bag woudl go down well with Mum. My dear friend Amanda Ghost - now known as "Agent Amanda" - is not my official agent, but somehow she got involved in arranging this gig and when she saw the cloth handbag they had sent, she rang Chanel's PR and said: "Would you send Liz Hurley a cloth handbag?" Their reply was: "We didn't know what to send to a man!" Amanda screeched: "Boy George is a drag queen! Send him the kind of thing you would send to a beautiful woman."

Apparently, I am the new darling of Chanel as they couldn't believe I didn't storm out Elton John style that evening. Mind you, I wouldn't mind one of those big ol' vintage Chanel travel trunks. You know my address!

What is wrong with these American stars? Prince can't hold a conversation and Britney Spears, who has been having the location of her London hotel announced hourly over the radio, is trying to pretend she doesn't want attention. Well, if that's the case, why did she turn up at the Hard Rock Cafe with eight bodyguards who beat up a photographer attempting to snap her in full make-up and glam frock? I could understand if she'd been coming out of Waitrose with six bags of heavy shopping in jogging pants and a woolly hat.

There's nothing worse than a paparazzi catching you off guard. A few years ago, a snapper asked if he could take my picture outside the Ivy restaurant. I was feeling rough and said: "I'd be much happier if you didn't." He snapped anyway and so did I - I punched him in the face. These days, I follow the Dolly Parton rule of appearing in public which is: never leave the house without full warpaint, or in my case without painting on my eyebrows.

The highlight of my week was convincing Agent Amanda - aka Ghost - not to return to LA. She's just made one of the best albums I've heard in years and the people at her record label Warner Bros have obviously misplaced their ears. If Geri Halliwell, who has a voice like thinning hair, can get to No.1 by recording It's Raining Men (should've been It's Raining Menus, 'cos the girl don't eat), then Ms Ghost should be worshipped by Warners.

Still, if they sit on the album for much longer she could get a job in PR. Anyone who can demand a fabulous Chanel handbag for my Mum is a star. I'll be playing a track from her album on my Kiss radio show next Friday, alongside a fierce bootleg of Eminem and Kylie Minogue and anything that makes Eminem more camp can only be a good thing.

27th January 2002

Fur Threatens to Fly at The Versace Bash

So back to last week and that hideous train journey on Eurostar. Nine hours later, we poured ourselves off the train, having relieved the complimentary bar of every last drop of plonk. That crazed French lady I mentioned last week was a PR for Givenchy and a whole armada of top fashion houses. "I could buy this train with the price of my skirt." She kept exclaiming.

"Not that I'm being pretentious." It was a nice skirt, too, and she was particularly proud of her shoes, which she kept propping on the table to show us.

Anyway, I missed my friend's birthday but the Versace show was a riot. A couple of fur protesters from PETA appeared but were marched off in a flash. Being a vegetarian, I consider it a very legitimate expression of emotion, even though there wasn't a snip of fur in the show. Outside, as we headed to the post-bash, I met one of the protesters and said: "Good on ya."

Madonna was there in dark glasses... and it took me a few seconds to realise it was her. How embarrassing, when I berated her in this column over her dubious support for Bernard Manning. Still, she has no problem speaking her mind, so let her get over it. Also in attendance was Chelsea Clinton, with lovely ironed-flat hair and looking quite gorgeous.

At the party, I was summoned to Donatella's table, and she said: "Do you know Chelsea?" I replied: "Funnily enough, I don't." I took the opportunity to tell Chelsea that I was a huge fan of her dad and wished he was still president. I guess she hears that a lot but I do hope she called Daddy and told him.

I didn't mention that I'd also met Monica Lewinsky last year, who was in a panic about being snapped with me. "Don't worry, love," I told her. "I'm one man who won't ruin your reputation".

Chelsea, on the other hand, was only too pleased to pose and even had a snap done with my DJ partner, Dave Davis. Two nights later, I bumped into her at Heaven and invited her to the opening night of Taboo. We exchanged numbers and I hope she turns up.

I won't miss Madonna but, of course, I'd love her to breeze in - maybe because we do a slight send-up of her song Vogue (done with affection). I wonder whether she'll laugh or storm out? Do American stars have a sense of humour? Actually, we send up the Human League and Spandau Ballet but, as Kenny Everett would say, "It's all done in the best possible taste."

What a glorious week for pop. Kym has left Hear'Say. I'm quite sure it was one of those "I'm Spartacus" scenes. Does that mean we now have to suffer a series of Spice Girls-style solo nightmares?

Virgin Records has dropped Mariah Carey and given her millions. When they dropped me I owed them about £700,000 - so forgive me if I don't weep for Ms Carey. But what are Virgin thinking, dropping a woman with such a fine voice? Just get someone to write her a decent song and she'll be back up the charts.

Mind you, the silly money record companies pay out to big-name artists is a disgrace. It means that decent acts won't get a look in.

And call me a hypocrite - you know how much I hate manufactured pop - but I was quite chuffed to see the Pop Idol trio at Taboo on Thursday. I have such a crush on that Gareth. It's the stutter that does it, and all the poofs were swooning.

Michael Winner was in, too, and our Philip Sallon character snapped: "Oh look, it's Michael Aspel. Would you like a bagel? I hear you're fond of a bit of fish." He took it in the spirit intended ­ and like Madonna, he's not shy in coming forward.

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