…

If you need me, I’ll be, ah, um, having a big glass of cold water and breathing heavily.

Great song, great performance. Love what Jake and Ana are wearing.

It is a pleasure to post an advertisement for an album when it is 1) an amazing album, 2) a very funny advert. It really isn’t an advert, it’s a rather amusing… something… featuring Amanda Lepore, Jeff Stryker and Kelly Osbourne. (Not necessarily in this order.) I say watch it.

When the second Scissor Sisters album, Ta Dah came out a few years ago, I was somewhat excited about it. Then I played it. And then I stopped being excited about it.

The original version of their debut, the one containing “Electrobix”, “Bicycling With The Devil”, “Doctor (I’m Only Seeing Dark)” and “Monkey Baby” might have been not as accomplished musically as the album that actually saw the light of day, but oh dear, was it fun. The lyrics were dirty, silly and gay. And then most of the fun, silly stuff has been removed from the album and replaced by critically acclaimed, easily accessible pop music.

That process continued for album number two. Ta Dah, promoted by anthemic (to some, anaemic to some others) single “I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’” didn’t have any of that silly fun left. It was safe, background music. In fact, it was so background, I didn’t notice whether I was listening to it or not, so I decided to listen to something else. Something that I would actually notice.

After that experience I wasn’t excited about the third album all that much, until I’ve heard that Sir Ian McKellen was on “Invisible Light”. After that I had to listen, and — as you can see from “Invisible Light” being in top 5 of my chart for the last few weeks — I was suitably blown away. Apparently the Sisters recorded their third album, then scrapped it and recorded a completely different one. I don’t know what their original effort sounded like, but while “Invisible Light” is the best song on Night Work, all the others are great too.

There is nothing half as anaemic as “I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’” on the album. Mind you, that means there’s nothing there that could possibly hit the UK number one. And with this cover art I can hardly see grannies buying copies for their grandkids. Which might be a good thing, seeing as Jake explained to Popjustice months ago:

“The defining moment for that was… Well, I had a moment. I was at a sex party in Mannheim, I was on the dancefloor. It was six o’clock in the morning. I was wearing a little rubber wrestling singlet. I was having a great time. There was a cloud in the room, this cloud of man sweat, cigarettes, spilled booze, shit because people were getting fisted, and poppers. And piss! It was disgusting… The most vile place I’ve ever been. And I was dancing, and the DJs put on “Walk The Night” by the Skatt Brothers. It’s one of my favourites. It was one of those revelatory moments for me when I realised what I wanted the album to sound like and how I wanted it to make me feel.”

I remember reading that interview when it came out and thinking, ewww. Not sure I want to hear THAT. But luckily where Xtina fails with her laughable lyrics about licky licky yum yum woohoos, Shears excels with double entendres and dark humour. Even in “Any Which Way” (which, by the way, is perfect), when Ana Matronic goes on about the man who smells like “cocoa butter and cash” taking her “in front of the fireplace, in front of your yacht, in front of my parents” she refrains from using the words “pussy”, “vagina” or “woohoo”.

“Harder You Get”, another of my favourites, features Jake in loooooooow register going on about “toughening you up”. “The harder you get/The harder I sweat/Never too wet to want it all”, the chorus goes, and I am at the same time marvelling about how commercial this song is and trying hard to stop imagining that sex party in Mannheim. “It is my heaven/The loaded weapon/Don’t point that thing at me unless you plan to shoot”. Ooo-errr, mister Shears.

Why did I ramble about the unreleased first album at the beginning of this review? Because all the fun and sleaze are present here, and at the same time musicianship is at its absolute best. There is not much Elton here, but there is lots of Frankie, Soft Cell and Pet Shop Boys. (While most seem to think “Sex And Violence” should be mashed with “Smalltown Boy”, to me it’s what Pet Shop Boys should consider sounding like sometime very soon.) Jake’s voice effortlessly moves between the growl of “Harder You Get” and the Bee Gees registers of “Any Which Way”. Ana provides her bits on “Any Which Way” and gets a song all of her own with “Skin This Cat”.

In fact, even the official lead single, “Fire With Fire”, which has nothing in common with the rest of the album whatsoever, is gorgeous. The tale about falling into a deep dark hole and then emerging from it stronger than ever will ring with just about anyone. There’s nothing about sex in this particular song, which is most probably exactly why it became the lead single, but even if it doesn’t make sense as part of this album, it still remains a great song.

Can you tell I love Night Work? It’s like the band that continued delivering not-quite-well-baked product for a long time has finally decided to get it together and kick our asses. Kick, fist, whatever. It works. Musically, production-wise (listen out for the TINY Kylie sample in “Something Like This” — I missed it and had to have it pointed out to me!), lyrically, this is Scissor Sisters’ best effort and a 10 out of 10 if I heard one.

Apols for no posts whatsoever. I’ve been ill for a while now and don’t spend that much time in front of the computer, and if I do, then I don’t feel like writing. But I do feel like showing you why exactly it is a good idea to watch football even if you don’t really care about the game that much…

Marco Borriello of AC Milan. More here.

Auntie Didier Drogba of Ivory Coast.

Miguel Veloso of Portugal. Sorry he’s dressed, couldn’t find a topless pic for you (okay, for myself)

Anyone you think needs to be included in installment two?

I’m afraid I find it unintentionally hilarious (plus, it’s hard to imagine people on the bottom of the, um, pyramid enjoying it too much). Still, who knew group sex made Kylie SO HAPPY? And when she lets the dove out at the end, she looks soooooooo pretty. *swoon*

The Sunday Times has published an article by Eleanor Mills a few days ago, one that was most probably meant to be a scathing and intelligent critique of feminism, but about the only thing it achieved was making me irritated.

The title already suggests what we should expect: “Learning to be left on the shelf”. Left on the shelf, ladies. Like George Clooney for instance, he’s left on the shelf. And so is Daniel Craig, and Gerard Butler. Those barren spinsters.

The friend Mills is writing about seems a bit odd. “I really don’t know if I could have coped with being childless: I’d always thought I would be a mum. [...] I always thought I wanted an exotic man who would open up a whole new kind of life for me. But then, having lived abroad, I realised I had the life I wanted already. So I found a nice man who wanted kids – the kind I had always avoided before – and it all worked out.” So Mills’s friend who wanted to be a mum only sought men who didn’t want kids? That’s a bit… unusual.

Further in the article we find that due to feminism poor Eleanor has never learned how to be a wife and mother. “My mother bought my brothers dolls (which they used as guns) and me an early computer.” THAT IS JUST HORRIBLE. “No one, not my family or my teachers, ever said, “Oh yes, and by the way you might want to be a wife and mother too.” They were so determined we would follow a new, egalitarian, modern path that the historic ambitions of generations of women – to get married and raise a family – were intentionally airbrushed from their vision of our future.” How surprising that Eleanor has managed to land herself a husband and kids somehow! Even though she didn’t know how to do that at all due to her awful family and teachers forcing her to play with computers rather than dolls! “As they stare into a barren future, many singletons wish they’d put some of the focus and drive that has furnished them with sparkling careers, worn-out passports and glamorous social lives into the more mundane business of having a family.” That passage could have come straight from “Bridget Jones’s Diary”, except it would be funny in a self-mocking way. Here it’s just… odd. Barren future, dear? Singletons with glamorous social lives? Lay down the Chardonnay.

Truth is, there are exactly three things that REALLY separate women from men: men can’t get pregnant, they can’t give birth and they can’t breastfeed. Everything else men can do as well as women, and women as well as men. There are no biological differences that make it impossible for men to clean up, cook and change nappies. So when I am reading an article written by a woman that claims “we are realising that no job will ever love you back; that the graveyards are full of important executives; that the only people you are ever irreplaceable to are your family”, all I want to ask: how exactly is that different for men? Men don’t die, their jobs love them back and they don’t need families?

What Mills doesn’t seem to understand is that feminism has given women a choice — be it career or kids, it hasn’t expanded the day to 40 hours, forced women to become Fortune 500 CEOs or changed the biological limitations. The point of being a modern woman is not to be “a wife and mother” who cooks, cleans up, does the laundry, changes diapers, runs the errands and in addition to that all plops a 10 hour a day executive job on top, then emerges in the bathroom relaxed and pretty and ready for sex with her husband who Brought Home The Bacon (bacon makes one fat, by the way). It is instead having a choice: eat your cake, or keep it in the fridge, or sell it and buy something nice with the cash. Be a wife and mom, or be a professional, or try and balance both. The very same choice that men have more or less always had. It is, of course, not very sensible for a woman to get to the age of 45 dating only men who don’t want kids, then complain about being childless. But then, it is also not very sensible for a man to date only waitresses and models and complain about lack of intellectual stimulation. Feminism is not to blame for unrealistic expectations, ignorance or plain stupidity. Also, Mills met her husband backpacking in India — not something that most conservative moms would advice their daughters to do in order to become better wives and mothers — so perhaps the feministic idea that she could travel to foreign countries with a backpack wasn’t so man-repellent after all?

I have recently found a website the author of which was looking for intellectual, smart critique of modern feminism, and she was rather upset not to find any. This article isn’t it either. It’s conservative sexism pretending to be something better; a bit like Sarah Palin giving parenting advice, it might look pretty (especially as it’s written by a woman) and sound like it makes sense, but ultimately you’re better off without it.

As many here will tell you, I am a firm believer in the ultimate creation of feminism in the 21st century: the strong, independent woman (or gay man) who doesn’t need anyone else to be complete. A person that’s able to be happy on her own, and that may, yes, wish to find a partner, but the choice of word is crucial — that person is not seeking their second half, they’re not seeking a husband, they’re seeking a partner. An equal. And thing is, because we are strong, independent, complete people, it isn’t actually that easy to find someone who’s equal to us.

That might mean we will never find one.

(more…)

I used to write a dating blog once, which was inspired largely by two people: Rachel Kramer-Bussel and Belle de Jour. Rachel was brave enough to write about sex under her real name, and with photographs; Belle wanted to keep her anonymity, as a high-end call girl who also had a day job. She wrote and published books under her assumed name; a BBC TV series was made, based on her books, starring Billie Piper; not even her agent knew who she was. Until now.

In an interview with Sunday Times, which may or not may be inspired by the fact there is an ex-boyfriend with a big mouth, and Daily Mail might or not have contacted Belle beforehand to try and strike a deal, the identity of the anonymous blogger is revealed, and it is way impressive. “Her name is Dr Brooke Magnanti. Her specialist areas are developmental neurotoxicology and cancer epidemiology. She has a PhD in informatics, epidemiology and forensic science and is now working at the Bristol Initiative for Research of Child Health. She is part of a team researching the effects of exposure to the pesticide chlorpyrifos on foetuses and infants.” She worked as a call-girl for 14 months, because she ran out of money while writing her PhD and couldn’t get a job in the field before she completed it.

I remember reading Belle’s blog and being impressed by the quality of writing; by her stories; by her no-nonsense, no-guilt approach to being a sex worker. A lot of people liked to think that, yes, perhaps Belle was a prostitute and didn’t feel guilty about it, but she was fictional; now Dr Magnanti’s revelation means that not only she is real, but also 1) a woman, 2) very attractive, 3) very intelligent and educated — and still she feels no guilt or remorse about having worked as a call girl. People who like to say all prostitutes are drug addicts and/or half-brain-half-biscuit self-hating miserable beings who hate themselves will have a tough time explaining that one.

“How many men has she slept with for money? ?A lot.? Dozens? Hundreds? ?I can?t honestly remember,? she says, laughing. ?Somewhere between dozens and hundreds.? Then India Knight, who conducted the interview, adds: “The laughter isn?t entirely convincing”. Of course it isn’t, India, it would be so disturbing if it was, right? She MUST feel guilty, even if she says she doesn’t. “I scrutinise her face without quite knowing what I?m looking for ? dead eyes, maybe, like in a movie, or something a bit grim and hard around the mouth. But both are perfectly normal; she is, if anything, sweet-faced and gentle-looking.” It would be so much more handy if she was a tough street-wise lady who barks in baritone while shooting around icy cold looks that could kill a cockroach, wouldn’t it?

“No regrets, then? Did she ever feel lonely? ?Sometimes. But, again, because of the writing, not because of the sex. And being anonymous is no fun. No jolly lunches to celebrate the book?s success; I couldn?t even go to my own launch party. On the plus side, I didn?t have to do book tours.? Until now. ?Yes, until now.?

I am not saying being a sex worker is a piece of cake, and/or that every single woman or man who has ever worked in that particular business has enjoyed it thoroughly and feels no remorse. But then, I never claimed to know what every single sex worker feels like — unlike the conservative right, who fight to delegalise prostitution and pornography because it objectifies women, without asking women themselves how they feel about it. I believe that it is this approach — the holier-than-thou “I know what you feel like better than you do” — that really objectifies people. And I am very happy to see that Belle/Brooke will not bow and admit that she feels guilty and unhappy and wishes that sex and liquor never tempted her towards the sinful life.

(Plus, I hope that Belle’s blog will continue.)

I missed yoga yet again on Monday, because I was doing something very, very important.

I have this idea, which is probably very heterophobic of me, that most straight people don’t really consider HIV/AIDS to be “their problem”. Yeah, they think, of course everybody can catch HIV, but not me, I never sleep with cheap sluts/ugly men/anyone who looks ill, so I must be safe. Or: I’ve only had one partner in my life and she is so sweet, she never wants to tell me about her ex-boyfriends but she’s so lovely and I met her mom, her and HIV? Please, she probably doesn’t know how to spell it! Etc.

Boyfriend and me went to a restaurant a while ago. They were playing a CD I enjoyed a lot, and I asked what was it — it was Jack Johnson. Jack’s lyrics are about banana pancakes, staying long in bed and being romantic while holding hands and looking deeply into his school sweetheart’s eyes. I am a romantic person too, and that’s why I find it very important to get tested together; because for a gay man HIV is a part of everyday life. Some seek it actively, some get drunk and high to avoid thinking about it, some — like me — are simply very, very aware of its existence and while they do not discriminate against those who have it for whatever reason, they do not have a wish to join their ranks unless of course that can not be avoided.

As I was sitting in the waiting room, waiting for my result — after boyfriend already got his, and it was negative — thoughts ran through my head. I’ve never had any unsafe sex, not since my last test, right? When was N.? That was May-June 2008, so if my last test was August, perhaps there was something… undetected? Did he really wear a condom that last time? What if it burst?

Another thing: I don’t really believe in 100% safe sex, except for being in a monogamous relationship with a trusted partner. There is safer sex, but 99% and 100% are very different in very many ways. Does anybody really ever use condoms for oral sex? I never met anyone who does. What about my dentist? Is he as clean as I like to think he is? What about my tattoos — yes, there has never been a case recorded of HIV transmission that could be directly linked to tattooing outside prison, but what if I am case #1?

And then the lovely doctor (nurse?) emerged from her room with a smile on her face and I knew my worries were unnecessary; everything was alright, she said, warmly smiling. I wish you a nice relatie… relation… ship? — she added, unsure of her English. Thank you dear, I replied in my head. I wondered if she knew how big a step this was for me; I consider getting tested together more important than getting married. If you get married, and you sleep around, you risk lawyers’ fees, breaking the Holy Institution Of Marriage and generally lots of spending and paperwork. If you get tested together, stop using condoms with your partner, but continue to sleep around, you risk your life and your partner’s.

For a gay man living in Amsterdam, I am practically a Victorian virgin; I never went to sex clubs, never had sex in a sauna, never left a party with someone else than I arrived with. I like Jack Johnson’s view of life, and I like being realistic. We’ll eat banana pancakes once my 30 day challenge is over, and we’ll enjoy sex in many ways and positions, knowing that we won’t give the person we love a gift they will never forget or get rid of, as hard as they may try.