Event Review: Paradise All-Night Disco Party at Mezzanine

After a quick couple drinks at The Cinch to celebrate Juanita Fajita's birthday, the boyfriend and I headed out to the Paradise All-Night Disco Party at Mezzanine to meet up with our friends Jovino and Mermaid, two dedicated disco junkie DJs. The party didn't convert me to actually liking disco, which I still consider to be, at best, nostalgia music, but it was a fun, light-hearted time that did showcase some of our local DJs like Robot Hustle and Bus Station John in their element and putting some forth of their best efforts that I have heard so far.

Judging from the line when we arrived, and the fact that the coat check "sold out," Paradise was obviously the party of choice for most of San Francisco's clubbers. It was definitely crowded at 12.30 when Escort came on to perform, but there was still plenty of room to dance, and the crowd was among the most easy-going I've run into in a while. They were also among the best-dressed; though there were some interpretations of classic disco with fros, shades, and leisure jackets that bordered on the tragic, there were plenty of other party-goers who decided that disco fashion could have its own contemporary interpretation, as long as it was bright and sparkely. I saw and talked to a fair number of gay scenesters, including Leo Herrera, Dee Jay Pee Play (who told me he had just been reading about the original New York disco scene that morning and was feeling completely high from this re-creation of it), and Marke B. of the Bay Guardian, but overall the crowd was pretty mixed; I would have liked to have seen a few more gay boys, but I enjoyed the diversity of the scene, consisting as it did of people who seemed much more focused on having a good time than about how they were going to pick up.

The music was better than I expected, but there were also moments when the campy kitsch aspect of tracks like "Funkytown" (as the boyfriend said later, "there's no excuse for Funkytown") had the effect of bringing me out of whatever un-selfconscious enjoyment I was having and making me think that I had wandered into Polly Esther's Culture Club. The DJs in the main room did a technically OK job of mixing it together; there were some glitches, but some consideration also needs to be made for the fact that these tracks weren't constructed for mixing, and there's often so much treble and just plain noise in their mastering that you practically need an audio engineering degree to figure out how to put them together. I realized that this is one of the things about classic disco that bothers me, and why I sometimes rather like the newer interpretations of it from artists like Lindstrom or Prinz Thomas - the old stuff just sounds sonically bad. I think this is also why I don't really like dancing to it; though you could argue that its "the original dance music," I have a lot harder time finding the beat that I like, since the bass component is often muddied up and buried under the high-end of horns and strings.

Escort, the 18-piece disco orchestra from Brooklyn, put on a great but seemingly short show - they started a half hour late, and I don't think they were on the stage for more than half an hour. All I can say is, any band that has both a string and horn section is worth checking out to see how they bring it all together, and Escort was super tight.

My big surprise for the evening was Bus Station John's set in the upper room. First, BSJ has really tightened up on his mixing since I heard him last; this time he was even wearing headphones. Rather than trying to deal with the multitude of issues around mixing disco, he took the simple approach of just making sure everything started and stopped on a beat at the beginning and end of it a measure, and it all went together very well with a sustained energy. His programming was also much better than in the main room; there's no question that the man really knows his stuff when it comes to the rare groove disco, and his selections on this night, in that space with that crowd, made it all sound very fresh. I realized that, taken out of the context of a gay club, where disco feels like regressive nostalgia for the pre-AIDS era, it was much easier for me to get into it, tired though I was, because I could just take it as fun dance music, rather than being thrown into critical reflections on what it means for that music to be played in that kind of scene. It's still not my first choice for dance music, and it will always rile up the punk in me, and the contarian Futurist who believes that the present should be about the future, not the past (wow, that's deep), but BSJ's set made me realize that there are ways in which I can enjoy this music as long as it's not coming with too much baggage or reactionary statements about contemporary dance culture attached to it. So, good job Bus Station John, you got this cranky critic to change his mind just a little bit on something.

We left around 2.30, having stayed rather longer than I thought we would. Though there were moments in which Paradise felt just a bit too campy for me to take it as anything more than a rather safe excuse for otherwise conservative San Franciscans to dress up and "party," there were also moments where I wished that the vibe engendered over the course of the night, one that was sexy, fun, and smiling, could be brought as easily to other parties that feature contemporary dance music.

Event Review: Friday Night on Polkstrasse, Bender at The Transfer

The thing about being a socialite and man-about-town is that it's often an exhausting affair; every Friday and Saturday there is at least one command performance and one optional activity that need or should be taken in, and during this time of year, when I discover that I'm surrounded by Scorpios who all celebrate their birthdays on the same Fridays, the pace is just maddening. A case in point is this past Friday, when the boyfriend and I had to undertake a series of carefully timed surgical strikes at Kimo's, The Cinch, and the Transfer to make sure we fulfilled all our of required social duties.

First there was Kimo's, where an ex-housemate and bandmate of the boyfriend was playing with his band Smile Brigade. I don't think I've been to Kimo's before; I'm sure I would have remembered the smell of the upstairs if I had. We hung out and had a couple drinks while the boyfriend and his buddy, Jeremy, caught up on things like touring, marriages, and tales of other Seattle-ites. We had wanted to catch their set but, this being the world of indie bands, everything was running an hour late, and we still had to see Frieda Laye for her birthday at the Cinch before we could wind up our night at The Transfer. We left there around 10.30 and trooped up the Polkstrasse, only to remember that drag queen time has much in common with indie rock time; we had another drink, then the birthday girl and Juanita Fajita showed up just before we had to head out the door again. This was too bad, as it was shaping up to be yet another fun night of Charlie Horse antics - the boyfriend and I had both already been on the receiving end of some serious flirtation, including a little making out on the back patio, and there were alternaqueers and Burner boys all around.

We arrived at The Transfer around 11.30. Last month's Bender had been quite an affair, and this one was every bit as lively. Kid Hack of Electropolis was on deck spinning electro when we first arrived, there was an underwear-clad go-go boy strutting around on the benches (DJ6 later told me that their regularly scheduled go-gos had failed to show up, but this boy spontaneously volunteered to fill the gap - yep, it's that kind of party), and a very friendly and fun mixed, though predominantly queer, crowd. I think Bender is probably the best no-cover Castro monthly going right now, so you should mark your calendars for the second Friday of the month and come check it out. Lord Kook will be the guest DJ next month, on Friday December 14, bringing in a harder, more electro set than he could get away with during his old residency at Drunk and Horny.

We wound out our night with a lifesaving burger at Sparky's; somewhere between one drink at The Cinch and the two I had at The Transfer I wound up being teeteringly drunk. It was a fun evening, though, one of the few times when I can say that all three of my destinations were places I would have gladly passed the entirety of the evening.

Event Review: Stiffylube Fundraiser

A sex party is always a tricky proposition, one that can bring up all the anxieties inherent in bar cruising and amplify them by a factor of ten – what if I don’t hook up, what if nobody is into me, what if I’m not into anybody there? Fortunately, Stiffy Lube’s “Bad Men and Dirty Boys” fundraising event on Saturday night was able to walk the line between party and orgy, with considerable support on the party side from the Honey Sound System and the MC talents of Juanita Fajita, so that everyone had the chance for some satisfaction, whether in the arms of passion or just having an opportunity to hang out and enjoy the small crowd of gay Burners and party boys.

The boyfriend and I showed up around 10, and as usual were among the first people there. We left around four, after spending a couple hours on the door shift, and there were no signs that the party was heading for any kind of end. In the back room there was plenty of heavy breathing and other sounds of passion, while up front it was a pretty typical party scene, though with more shirtless guys than I have seen in a while. The crowd was small, some where around a hundred, but there was enough enthusiastic cheering during the deep throat contest, overseen by Juanita Fajita, that the cops showed up and told us to keep it down. Pee Play and Ken Vulsion kept the mood upbeat and festive throughout the night, and as the evening wore on I saw a number of queer luminaries, like John Wood, and Jeff and Gary, in attendance.

In all, it was a fun party in a private space, something you don’t often get to experience these days, and having so many attendees who were connected by the Burning Man experience meant that there was already a kind of built-in intimacy. The fact that it was in a difficult-to-reach location (that the boyfriend and I had to trek down most of upper Market to the Castro before we could get a cab after we left was a big bring-down) kept the attendance lower than it would have been otherwise, and $20 for showing up in street clothes, and then paying $3 a pop for drink tickets, also made it somewhat cost-prohibitive for those showing up after having spent regular bar hours elsewhere, but I think the Stiffylube crew can count themselves as having had a quite successful fundraiser that will only whet the appetite for future events.

Event Review: Lights Down Low v. Charlie Horse

Sometimes you just can't win - you've hard a hard week and you're ready to go out and lose some of your cares, you pick a night where you've had good times before, but after that the world seems to conspire against you, telling you that, this time, you're in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was the experience the boyfriend and I had this last Friday at Lights Down Low at Club 222.

This past week had seen some significant tremors shaking the foundations of our worlds - for me, it was a big shake-up at work that found me reporting to a new and unknown manager, while the boyfriend found out on Thursday that he had to vacate his apartment that he's been sharing for three years because his deadbeat housemates had been late on the rent one too many times. We scrambled around, took off work Friday morning and started apartment hunting. The whole day Friday we were both a mess of distraction and fretfullness, generally out-of-sorts and feeling thrown to the wolves. We both needed to get out and relax, but then the boyfriend was also anxious about being out late and drinking the night before a training run (he's running in the Seattle half-marathon at Thanksgiving with his step-mother and sister). In hindsight we'd probably have been better off having drinks at the Pilsner and playing XBox, but then we had an actual invitation, and supposed guest-list passes, to Lights Down Low, so we figured we'd play through since we'd had fun there before.

My first instinct for Friday had been to check out Sweet 16 at Mighty with C.L.A.W.S. and the other underground techno kids of that circle, but, in the middle of the week, I got an email from DJ Sleazemore of LDL thanking me for supporting them in my reviews and inviting us to come this Friday, along with a mention of putting me on the guest list. I gave him my real name, but, lo and behold, we show up and there's no one with my particular set of unprounounceable Germanic syllables on the list. Bad Sign Number One. Bad Sign Number Two is that the cover is now $7 - this is a bad pricepoint kids, because no night that is really about a group of people getting together in a small Tenderloin bar and playing music is worth more than $5 - more than that and you're over-reaching. We walked in feeling mildly irritated with the world, and now were feeling positiviely peevish.

We hung out and had a couple drinks, then went outside for a bit while the boyfriend had a smoke, during which time Bad Sign Number Three occurred - someone threw a bottle of Hennesy at us from a window in the building either above or next to the club, missing us by about five feet. Nothing makes you feel welcome like having a bottle of liquor hurled in your general direction.

We went back in and found a seat in the small niche on the back of the dancefloor, and after another drink were starting to relax, though our conversation was focused on whether or not party nights are really all that important to the culture of the world, with the boyfriend being of the now dour opinion that it was all really vapid and stupid. I was trying to argue to the contrary when Bad Sign Number Four occurred (and somewhat undercut my argument).

Four kids, two boys and two girls (and I believe one of the boys may have been part of the LDL crew), came back and formed a kind of screen at the opening of our little seating enclosure, with their backs to the outside crowd. I watched as the girl began trying to "nonchalantly" fish something out of her bag. Instantly the boyfriend I both figured out what was up, and were pretty amused. Then the girl came and sat beside me - though it was barely enough room for her to plant her butt, there was no "hi," "excuse me," or anything else, even when I smiled and said "hi" to her. She continued to dig in her bag, and then one of the boys undid the lightbulb that lit our area, so we were sitting in the dark as the girl once again stood with the boys. And then we saw what she had taken from her bag, and it made the rounds of all four people while they were facing directly at us. Now kids, if you are going to do bumps in front of other people and not offer them any, that's just rude - remember back in grade school when you were told not to pull out your chewing gum unless you had enough to offer everyone a piece? Same principle applies here. Neither of us would have done any (well, I might have), but there's nothing to make you feel quite so small as to have people blantently doing drugs right in front of you, as though you are way too insignificant to be of any threat, or even interest, to them, especially when one of them is probably associated with the event itself. As soon as they left (without even bothering to screw the lightbulb back in, mind you - sorry we took up the "reserved area," next time we'll sit with the rest of hoi polloi), we decided that it was time to make our exit as well - we had already heard Sleazemore's set, which hadn't appealed to either of us, and while the boyfriend recognized several tracks that he liked in Rchrd OH!'s set, we decided to cut our losses and head up to Charlie Horse at The Cinch.

When we left the club we were almost trampled by six Latino guys running down the street in pursuit of someone, and then a moment later another bottle was thrown down onto the street. Okay, okay, we get the message already, I thought. We wandered up through the 'Loin to Polk and Washington, stopping for pizza along the way, and in the vicinity of The Hemlock Tavern overheard a Marina chick in heels say "I'm so glad they're starting to clean this area up." Us too, honey. We got to The Cinch just in time to catch the show, get ass-grabbed by Juanita Fajita, and have a couple laughs that lightened our mood.

So there you have it, a tale of how you can start out with the best of intentions and have everything wind up kind of shitty, so that, in the end, you're better off going with the easy and predictable. I still like Lights Down Low and think it has great fun potential - there were loads of kids having a good time on the dancefloor when we left, though I felt like it was more a party of people who knew each other already rather than a danceclub that was for everyone; there are more cute boys of the complicated haircut and black eyeliner sort than you can shake a stick at; it's getting gayer and gayer all the time; and though the music on this outing put me more in mind of The Cafe than the edgy electro I've heard there before, I still think it's a good place to go and get in touch with a different aesthetic - but on this particular occasion it was a strike-out. If it hadn't been for Juanita getting all flirty with me at The Cinch, I might have ended this Friday feeling pretty non-existant, and that sure isn't the reason I, or anyone else, likes to go out. And kids, if you're going to do drugs in clubs, do them in the bathroom, okay? That's what they're there for.

Event Review: Charlie Horse "Carnival of Freaks" at The Cinch

In my experience of drag shows, you generally get one of two things: the hardcore "illusion" drag where the girls really, really pass as women, and usually reference classic female vocalists in their performances; or "chaos" drag, where the girls and their peformances have more in common with the Grand Guignol tradition. In San Francisco you have Marlena's as the epitome of the first sort, with Charlie Horse at The Cinch on Friday nights delivering horror, chaos, blood, indeterminate gender assignment, jokes about drug abuse, and performances that would be way too weird, gross, or just plain out bizarre for Trannyshack. Overall, I much prefer Charlie Horse to just about any other drag show I have ever seen.

The "Carnival of Freaks" show this past Friday was typical Charlie Horse: Anna Conda as a Marlene Dietriech-eque ring master, Frieda Laye and Juanita Fajita as conjoined twins singing a duet, a boy who really wanted to be Bjork performing a track from her new album, and another performer who wound up covered in (hopefully fake) blood that s/he continued to wear for the rest of the night. Tod Browning's Freaks was playing on the bar TVs, and the relation between those sexual outsiders and the ones in the bar was obvious; everyone performing and watching, was, in relation to the world outside that bar, a freak, so why not have some fun with it?

The performances and costumes at Charlie Horse are not as polished as what you'll find at Tranny Shack, which has become a veritable institution on the level of Beach Blanket Babylon, but there is a punk rock aesthetic (underscored by the indie rock spins of DJ Dirty Knees) that makes the Charlie Horse shows more immediate and thought-provoking. The girls at Trannyshack are certainly Queens, having risen up through the ranks of drag society and now reached the highest possible levels of hairstyle engineering, but the performers at Charlie Horse seem much more willing to take risks in their performance of drag, and the personas that they create are not as much about a representation of the feminine, or even the creation of a definitive personality, as they are vehicles around which they can build a performance. In this way (and I mean this in the best possible way, lest I get a stiletto heel through the eye) they are more like clowns than queens; not the watered-down children's TV version of clowns, but more like the jesters who can amuse and disquiet us at the same time.

Charlie Horse is a fun time; I enjoy going there on a Friday night when I want to have an easygoing drink, sit on the back deck and smoke, see a few friends or maybe chat up somebody new. But Charlie Horse is also where I can go to see peformances that make me laugh, and sometimes even make me think.

The Jaded Gay DJ on the Road!

Hey kids, the jaded gay dj is on the road this week, working on the skills that pay the bills (really, I don't make a living at this, ya know?) So while I'm in the midwest capital of fun (until Wednesday), Minneapolis, expect the updates to be a little less frequent. But here's a sneak preview of what I'll be putting up for you in the next few days:

Charlie Horse's "Carnival Freaks" at The Cinch: Anna Conda as Marlene Dietrich, Frieda Laye and Juanitia Fajita as conjoined twins - think about that for a while!

Techno Parties in the Park: to paraphrase an associate, I love it when the biggest problem of my day is figuring out which techno party in the park is the one I meant to attend!

Minneapolis Scene Report: hey, gay bars here are just as boring as they are in San Francisco!

Watch this space for more soon!

Ducal Doin's: The Mr. Bunny Contest Rages On!

The contest for Mr. and Miss Bunny continued on Sunday at the Cinch, where Diamond Disco Duke Brian Busta convened his court once again for an Easter Basket auction to benefit the SPCA’s hearing dogs for the deaf. This time there was extra fun in the form of Gotcha, a shepherd mix dog who demonstrated for the crowd all the neat things she has been trained to do, like picking up keys when they get dropped, or making sure her companion knows that the phone is ringing.

The Cinch up on Polkstrasse was a great venue that brought out such luminaries as Miss Anna Conda and, making command performances, Juanita Fajita and Frieda Laye. In between performances various Easter baskets were auctioned off, and yours truly, feeling inspired by Gotcha and disinhibited by three of the strongest drinks I’ve had at a bar in a long time, walked off with two of them, including one that came with a painting created by the Duke hisself. The Mr. and Miss Bunny contestants, meanwhile, continued to sell raffle tickets in an attempt to boost their standings in said contest. And here’s where I’ve a bone to pick with the workings of the Ducal court.

So here’s the deal: contestants actually pay for the books of raffle tickets they sell, so essentially what happens is that if they have enough money of their own, they can buy the tickets straight out and don’t really need to worry about the re-sale. But my good friend Kitty, who is competing against Mr. SPCA whom I mentioned in the last Ducal post, is an underemployed graphic designer who is doing all he can right now to pay his rent and meet his other financial obligations. He got into the contest because of his personal friendship with the Duke, whom he wanted to help out, and because he wanted to do some community service work. Mr. SPCA, on the other hand, is fully employed and, no doubt, has plenty of friends with money as well. As I pointed out in my last post, there seems to be some conflict of interest with him competing in this contest when it’s being used to raise money for the non-profit that he works for, but I’m more concerned that this whole court business devolves, eventually, into classist system that favors people who have money, and move in moneyed circles, rather than people who are there because they want to do something for their community. I certainly hope that the final decision will be based on something other than just fundraising. I’m sure Mr. SPCA is a nice guy, and I will refrain from catty comments about things like hair coloring and how only Polk Street hustlers walk around with the middle button of their jeans undone, but I think the cards are being stacked in an unfair way against Kitty. The crowning will take place on Easter Sunday at Café Flore, so we’ll see how it all works out by then,

Ducal Doin's: Mr. and Ms. Bunny

Among my many social acquaintances I count some San Francisco nobility, the Diamond Disco Duke Brian Busta of the San Francisco Ducal Court. The Duke's main activity is fundraising, and on this past Sunday the Duke gathered together his court at Marlena's, in Hayes Valley, to begin a fundraising effort for the SPCA which will be spearheaded by the contestants vying for the title of Mr. and Miss Bunny. Here's the deal: they sell raffle tickets (for actually good prizes, I'm working it for that 5.1 surround system and DVD player), and whoever sells the most and smiles a lot wins the title. My friend Kitty decided to go out for it since the Duke actually asked him to do it, only to find himself up against a guy from the SPCA who, by virtue of being part of the group that the fundraising is being undertaken for, should probably bow out, ya know? Along with the raffle selling and drink swilling, there were also the inevitable drag performances, including one each from the inimitable Juanita Fajita and Frieda Laye. This will culminate on Easter Sunday with the bestowing of the royal ears upon the royal bunny, so I'll keep you up-to-date on our Kitty's progress toward becoming a bunny.