http://www.noizemag.com/index.php en ronn@spongeworks.com Copyright 2010 2010-04-26T18:50:38+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/alegria_at_ten/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/alegria_at_ten/ It was the last weekend of April 2000. In Washington, nearly a million LGBT people converged on the Capitol for the Millennium March. For many people, the highlight of that historic weekend in D.C. was the afterparty at the Post Office Pavilion. Produced by a visionary Brazilian with a background in theatrical production, the party was a major success and immediately became the template for what would become one of the most popular parties around the world. The man behind the magic that night was Ric Sena. “I was not thinking long-term,” he recalls. “But that first party in D.C. went really well.” Later that year, in June 2000, Susan Morabito’s legendary New York Sunday night party after the Pier Dance and the Pride March had been cancelled. “She was so disappointed,” Sena says. “I said, ‘Susan, if I find a venue in New York, would you spin for me?’” Sena got on a plane and talked to Beto Sutter and John Blair, who were still producing the fabulously successful Saturday nights at the Roxy. They talked him up to Richard Grant, the owner of Sound Factory (now Pacha). Sena knocked on the door of Sound Factory, talked to Grant, and signed a check to secure the space. The party sold out. Alegria was born — and gay nightlife has never been the same. That Alegria Pride also marked the inauguration of the Sound Factory as Alegria’s first New York home. It quickly established Alegria as the benchmark for marathon parties marked by superlative production values, the hottest go-go dancing musclemen, and sheer hedonistic joy. Starting in January 2001, Sena began holding Alegria Sunrises, morning parties that grew to 1,500 attendees in three months. With more than 12 years producing theater in Brazil, Sena had a background perfectly suited to creating an event that combined the spectacle of Cirque du Soleil, the energy of the Roxy, and the erotic frisson of a porn shoot. “The party had a look,” says Sena. “My boyfriend Mike and I would go out everywhere with flyers in our pockets. We invited everyone — the most interesting, the most fun, hot boys. People would always ask, ‘How do you get so many good-looking boys?’ We had a lot of friends. Those 400 couldn’t have been more fierce — and they would tell their friends. And that way, we met the right people who were really fun.” As soon as Sound Factory owner Richard Grant realized what Sena had accomplished with the sold-out Alegria Pride 2000, he gave Sena carte blanche: “Richard got all excited. He liked what I was able to create there. He loved Alegria. He was so proud. He offered me the club if I wanted to keep doing it.”  The Advent of Abel Those who know their New York nightclub history know that Sound Factory — the incarnation on 46th Street, not the one in the space that later held Twilo — had opened in 1997. Sena’s was the only gay event at the new Sound Factory, “so that made it even more special,” he adds. “If you wanted to go to a gay party at Sound Factory, you came to Alegria.” It was on Presidents’ Day Weekend in February 2001 that a DJ little known to the denizens of New York nightlife made his debut at Alegria at Sound Factory. After that night, it only took a New York minute before everyone was talking about Abel Aguilera, who has become the DJ most closely associated with Alegria. With the addition of Abel’s infectious cha-cha beat, all the elements were in place for a party to rival the legendary clubs of New York’s nocturnal history.  As Sena recalls, “The Sound Factory would almost explode. There was so much energy. It was the right crowd, and a lot of things came together. Ten different things all at once: the hot boys; the bartenders; the music; the club; the crowd; the décor. People were talking about it everywhere — all over the States and in Europe.” With a schedule averaging seven to nine parties a year, most of them on the Sundays of three-day weekends, Alegria turned into a major Circuit destination. Boys (and, yes, girls, and good-looking, hip straight couples, too) from around the globe flew into New York. When a brand-new mega-club opened in West Chelsea on West 28th Street, Alegria moved to its second home, the gorgeously appointed Crobar, in January 2004. “The timing was amazing,” Sena says. “Crobar was finally ready and they called me. So then I left Sound Factory. It was not a good ending.” (The Sound Factory has since been taken over by Pacha, but that’s another story. ) A purpose-built club with a capacity of 3,000-plus, Crobar was the first club since the demolition of the Palladium to rival the spacious grandeur and awe-inspiring technology that marked New York nightclubs such as Studio 54, Paradise Garage, and the Saint. According to Sena, “Sound Factory was about the energy — the energy on the dance floor, the heat and all that. But when Alegria went to Crobar, visually, it was something so different, something nobody had ever experienced in New York. Crobar was amazing. And I had the only gay event there, so if you were gay and you wanted to party at Crobar, you came to Alegria.” During the next four years, Alegria secured its global reputation for stellar events filled with some of the hottest boys and men on the planet, all dancing to music that became known as the “Alegria Sound.” There was the release of three double CDs from resident Abel, Alegria, Alegria Musica, and Alegria Universo. Then there were the songs written specifically for Alegria. “Waiting for Alegria,” “Universo Alegria” and “Café con Alegria” became dance-floor standards. The party became synonymous with a sound that fused tribal, House, and cha-cha into a distinctive and propulsive rhythmic backbeat, over which the resident DJs layered vocals, melodies, percussion and drums. Jaw-Dropping Décor, Dance Divas, DJs Apart from the distinctive sound, there was also the décor. “At Crobar, with its high ceilings, what made the difference were the decorations, and there were some really amazing sets,” says Sena. Among the more memorable: the spaceship; the swimming pool; Batman; and the prison party. The latter, which took place at the 2004 Alegria Xtreme, was particularly intense. The phenomenal set designs were all created in Brazil and shipped to New York, including such jaw-dropping sets as a helicopter flying overhead (evoking the Broadway hit Miss Saigon); a roller-coaster for Alegria Xtreme 2006; an elephant beneath a circus carousel; and an entire Gold Rush frontier town, complete with general store and sheriff’s office; as well as the aforementioned mothership, which landed inside the club, disembarking an entire crew of extraterrestrial Circuit boys. For a New York-themed party, pieces of yellow cabs were hanging from the ceiling; the bartenders were Yankees; the center column was wrapped to look like the Empire State Building, complete with lights. The performers included dance divas, porn stars, and Circuit personalities like Deborah Cox, Frenchie Davis, Ultra Naté, Jeanie Tracy and Suzanne Palmer, just for starters. The stable of DJs expanded beyond residents Abel and Tony Moran to include at various times Eddie Elias, Ralphi Rosario, Alyson Calagna, Dudu Marquez and Micky Friedmann. “I have to like the music,” says Sena. “There are some DJs that I feel really comfortable with, and certain DJs I started listening to and brought to Alegria. There’s a time to open people’s ears to new music — something different, but the right ‘different.’ Alegria is celebrating ten years of bringing the best music to New York City.” The annals of New York nightlife are littered with nightclubs and parties that have come and gone. It takes vision and creativity to outlast clubs such as the Saint (1980-1988) and Paradise Garage (1977-1987) and even Studio 54 (1977-1986). That longevity in such a fickle town makes the upcoming tenth anniversary of Alegria on Sunday, Sept. 5, 2010, all the more noteworthy. “Alegria would not be what it is if it was not in New York,” says Sena, who works out of an office in Miami Beach. “This tenth anniversary party is going to be about New York, a thank you to the Alegria family and New York City, so I hope I can get the crowd that really enjoyed the early years of Alegria. I hope they show up on Labor Day because that’s what the celebration is going to be.” For ten years, Alegria, under the aegis of Sena, has repeatedly packed the dance floor with some of the most extraordinary specimens of male beauty, all dancing in joyful abandon from Sunday night right well into Monday afternoon. Plan on Alegria 10, being held Labor Day Weekend, to be one of those parties people still remember at the dawn of another decade. 2010-04-26T17:50:38+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/hop_to_it/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/hop_to_it/ Kangoos will improve posture, while they give you a full cardio workout. You only have to worry when you’re not moving. Mario Jone’t Green’s classes show you how to use these fabulous, unique fitness shoes. In the year 2010, anyone can read a paper, access the Internet, communicate with a healthcare specialist or look at the party photos in noiZe, know the importance of regular exercise. Yet for some of us, the thought of stepping foot in a gym fills us with the type of fear and loathing usually reserved for the dentist’s chair. This feeling of dread is often misinterpreted or misunderstood as laziness. True, some of us would rather sit on our sofas with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chunky Monkey watching Valley of the Dolls for the 89th time. If this sounds familiar, understand that you have lost your right to complain when summer arrives and you can’t wear that bathing suit you bought in November. Sloth, however, only accounts for a small percentage of the inactive majority. Those of us afflicted with short-attention spans are subject to mind-numbing boredom when facing a regimented and stale workout. There are those with serious injuries or weakness of joints who must be cautious of any activity above low impact. This is a serious issue, and neglecting this concern could result in sacrificing mobility permanently. If any of these problems stand between you and the fitness and health you desire, look no further. That chiseled Circuit boy body really is attainable. Start your road to physical salvation with a visit to http://www.mariothetrainer.com. Fitness expert Mario Jone’t Green is currently based in New York, but he has worked extensively and is especially well known in Chicago. For over seven years, he has taught at Crunch gyms. Mario is certified in Mat Pilates, Body Web TRX, BOSU/Kickboxing, and Cardio Dance. A fitness nut since age 18, he wants to motivate and inspire others to attain the highest level of physical fitness they can achieve. From the testimonials of those who have taken his classes, you quickly discover that he is a strongly charismatic leader with a big heart and a tower of strength to those he touches with his message and support. He drives his students and clients to obtain their goals, and his success rate is staggering. His charisma and strong personality is based in his extensive theater and dance education and background. His dance resume includes work with famous performers like Madonn, Rihanna, Backstreet Boys, Kevin Aviance, and Kristine W. Childhood obesity and losing his mother at an early age made him realize that he could be destined to the same fate if he did not make significant changes in his exercise and eating habits. The fact that he has been there himself motivates him to help others make the choices that will lead them to living longer, richer lives. ‘Safe, Low-Impact Rebound Sports Shoes’ It was not until three years ago at a fitness expo that Mario was introduced to the product that would define his career. The Kangoo Jump boot had just arrived on these shores, having already caught fire in Europe. He approached this newfangled exercise apparatus with the same skeptical eye that most have at first sight of the boot. He has since become a true believer: “Kangoo Jumps are safe, low-impact rebound sport shoes, providing many great health benefits for everyone, any age,” he says. “They are so much fun you’ll forget you’re exercising to get into better shape. Because you are rebounding against gravity, you are burning up to 50 percent more calories than in normal shoes. They promote rapid weight loss, induce endorphins and euphoria, and increase energy. Never has a sport been so enjoyable, safe, and easy to learn. I’m big because I lift heavy weights, and I’m chiseled because I use Kangoo Jumps.” The boots are of molded plastic like ski boots, but much more flexible. They have to be because you run in them. At the bottom is attached an ellipse with tension bands (like a Soloflex machine) that flattens and pulls out as you move. The effect is not unlike a micro-trampoline, with the same feeling of defying gravity. The boot not only puts a spring in your step, but it also turns any low-impact aerobic activity into a major calorie-burning event. The theory is that your muscles work twice as hard to stay in motion because of the give in your step. There is very little stress put on your joints so the boot is safe and even beneficial for those with injuries or joint problems.  The result is a lean, toned lower body, while the upper body benefits from the act of balancing. You use muscles to remain balanced while moving—muscles that you wouldn’t use wearing an athletic shoe. The consistent tension works to tone the upper body and create a chiseled torso with improved posture. The only time you have to worry about falling, ironically, is when you are standing perfectly still. You move, you’re fine. You stand still, you fall. Great motivation! Not Only Safe But Healing Set to the music of Lady GaGa, Mario works the class into what can best be described as a “life-affirming frenzy.” Watching the footage of a class on YouTube makes you want to immediately throw down the $200 for the boots, strap on your iPod, and go for a marsupial jaunt through the park. Mario is quick to emphasize the versatility of the boot, which can be worn for running, dancing, cross training, toning, and weight loss, but is often used for its original purpose, injury rehabilitation. In fact, the boot is known to improve posture, balance and coordination and can be used on any surface except sand and ice. In only three years, Mario has introduced the Kangoo Jump to every corner of the country. He has taught classes in San Francisco, St Louis and Miami. The Chicago Tribune called his class at Crunch the “Best Workout in Chicago.” Mario has appeared on news shows in New York, St. Louis, Chicago, and on The Today Show. His next appearance is set for May 14, when he will make a “Kangoo convert” of Tyra Banks on her popular talk show. In the coming year, Mario plans to reach everyone in America with his message that fitness is fun when you are wearing Kangoo Jumps. His dream, he says, “is to have Times Square filled with people of all ages dancing in Kangoo Jumps. If his current success continues, we could definitely see a mass of marsupials in the middle of Manhattan. 2010-04-26T17:46:25+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/in_praise_of_three-ways/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/in_praise_of_three-ways/ Question: What do you call a lover after five years? Answer: roommate. Second question: What’s the gay male equivalent of “lesbian bed death”? Answer: porn. Forget all the lovey-dovey stuff. I always say that you know when the honeymoon is over for good when you casually walk into the bathroom to shave while the love of your life is relieving himself on the can. Once you’ve seen (among other senses) Poopsie on the pooper, it’s hard to go back to the idealized man you bed and wed. That’s OK! A real-life relationship isn’t all moonlight and magnolias, nor should it be. It’s paying bills and cleaning up after he’s upchucked too many sliders and removing his back hair. As I wrote recently in Next Magazine, straight men have been dealing with this for centuries. Some psychologists call it the Madonna/Whore Complex. It’s hard to see the Madonna, the pure Mary-like mother of his children, as a hottie, let alone a ‘ho. Not to mention the weight gain from those pregnancies (and yes, I know this is a two-way street; middle-age spread affects both sexes). Speaking of ‘hos, a lot of straight men, frustrated with the “not tonight, I’m too tired” line, seek their pleasure elsewhere, in the company of real-life sex toys. The only reason why we snicker at Tiger Woods, Bill Clinton, every politician from South Carolina, every New York governor and every NBA star is because everyone knows about their straying. What it comes down to is that there are two types of men in this world: the sluts and the liars. The Third Way Does this sound vaguely familiar? You’re not alone, despite the media portrayal of gay men as 24/7 horndogs — an image aided and abetted by ourselves. If gay men don’t have an equivalent term for lesbian bed death, it’s only because our egos won’t allow us to acknowledge it. In January, a study conducted by researchers at San Francisco State University caused a ruckus when it revealed that—gasp!—gay men’s relationships are far more open than straight ones. Yeah, I hear you: Tell me something I don’t know. “With straight people, it’s called affairs or cheating,” Colleen Hoff told the New York Times. “But with gay people, it does not have such negative connotations.” As long as both sides know the rules, I don’t see anything wrong in stepping out once in a while. But for some people, it’s still cheating. Or they feel guilty — especially if it’s more fun than spooning with the spouse. But there’s a third way: the three-way. It’s like cheating, only you’re both doing it. The concept of adding a third is nothing new in gay life. In that proto-gay urban male dramedy The Boys in the Band, Hank and Larry are a couple working out Hank’s need to fuck around with Larry’s serial monogamy (he left a wife and kids). They argue about whether a ménage à trois — “Two’s company, three’s a ménage,” as bitchy Michael puts it — might solve the problem. After two decades of gin-soaked truth sessions on Fire Island, I should be able to qualify as a relationship expert — not to mention my own (ahem!) empirical experience into the subject. I can confidently report that if Hank and Larry didn’t come to that conclusion, Hank’s compulsive promiscuity and Larry’s jealousy would have ended the relationship. The joy of the three-way is that it turns that sober Suzy who trudges to work every day and the gym every night back into the sexy pig you originally fell for. Anyone who has been in a relationship three-way has told me the same thing: In the middle of the action, one partner will relax and watch his significant making love to a beautiful stranger. If you ask him what’s wrong, he’ll tell you he’s getting off watching you having sex with someone else. It’s like making a sex tape, only it won’t end up on the Internet (and in your boss’ email). Pleasure and Pitfalls The best moment, however, comes after the third leaves and the two of you explore each other as if you’d just met. A third also allows you to try out those fun positions you’ve been watching on the porn DVDs. There’s the double-fuck (two pegs, one hole), the daisy chain (top-top-bottom) and the triangle (69’ing all around). Picking up a third, ironically, is much easier on the Internet than hooking up solo. It’s like walking into a ready-made mini-orgy. Make sure the potential trick knows what you both look like, however; as well as having your (honest) vital stats, kinks and fetishes. Most important: Both of you should be attracted to him — and he into both of you. When a trick walks in and says that most ego deflating of phrases, “This isn’t going to work” after seeing the second guy, expect the relationship to enter full-tilt crisis mode. Now, if you are someone who likes three-ways (and who doesn’t?), a word of advice: At a club or online or at the gym, if you think a couple is coming onto you, make a play for the guy you perceive to be the less attractive one. Once he’s persuaded you’re into him, you’re set with both. Trust me, it works every time. Are there any potential pitfalls to two committed people indulging in threeways? Glad you asked that. If a couple becomes dependent on threesomes, that’s a sign of real trouble in the relationship. Or it could mean that one partner is jaded. Or he’s not turned on by his partner. If that’s true, the two of you can’t use three-ways forever to mask the very problems that may ultimately undermine your partnership. Better to get it out into the open and work it out than depend on steady sex with a third. You can also become one of those dreary couples always on the make. We’ve all seen them on the dance floor: eyes darting everywhere but on each other, turning guys into cream filling for their human Oreo. Not only does it inhibit the sheer fun of dancing, but it gives off a distinctly icky — even desperate — vibe. Much hotter: Being into each other and letting the other guy discover you. Make a subtle invitation with your eyes but let it be known you think the guy you’re with is hot as hell. Then there’s the dilemma of the guy who thinks a trick is the real deal. Forgetting Harvey Fierstein’s dictum that a thing of beauty is a joy until sunrise, some people actually believe that recreational sex means something. Big mistake. Just ask John Edwards. The publishers of this august journal tell the cautionary tale of a couple they knew. They broke up — after 10 years! — when one of them was convinced a threeway partner was the real deal. Well, a fine romance that was — less than six months, and now there are three more unhappy people cruising the bars along the Santa Monica Boulevard strip. You might want to set up some rules beforehand: no repeats — within a certain period of time, or ever (up to you); no contacting the third privately or when the spouse is out of town; no social events — dinners, cocktails, movies — with the third. Don’t let the pitfalls scare you, however. If you’re not feeling the love, consider inviting a third in to make those bedsprings do their work again. And remember: the couple that strays together, stays together.   2010-04-26T17:10:25+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/the_straights_are_coming/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/the_straights_are_coming/ The 1962 film Advise and Consent broke the Hollywood Production Code when it showed a scene in a Manhattan gay bar. What was shocking then may be only of historical interest today, but the iconic scene perfectly captured a moment in time: unmarked from the street, several steps underground, the patrons uniformly men—all impeccably turned out in Mad Men suits. Flash forward several decades to G, the ultra-popular Chelsea lounge. A huge window takes up nearly the entire street front of the bar’s brick facade. It fairly screams, “We’re here, we’re queer, we’re drinking.” The clientele, too, differs greatly from its pre-Stonewall counterpart. It’s no coincidence that G invented an icy twist on the preferred drink of the four Sex and the City über-fag hags. While the vast majority of the patrons are good-looking gay men, there is a healthy smattering of women, and even the occasional straight men. I remember taking a straight male friend to G a few years back. Not a particularly attractive guy (OK, he’s homely), he had a great time, thanks to a pair of beautiful women flirting with him. Apparently, they figured that if he could hang with his gay homie, he had to be cool. We’ve gone from pariah status to status symbol. The situation is similar in other bars in other cities. It is a phenomenon everyone has noticed. They’re socializing with us, true. But more and more often, they’re there by themselves. And sometimes they’re even—gasp!—kissing. Some see this as a healthy outgrowth of society’s growing acceptance of homosexuality. With gay men becoming more open about our sexuality, and the rest of the world more accepting, heterosexual friends and colleagues feel comfortable mixing with gay friends. We, on our part, welcome them into our formerly exclusive spaces. Others, however, believe we have lost something intangible: safe spaces where we could be ourselves without prying or judging eyes; our sense of specialness. You can scoff that the status of gay bars is hardly a touchstone issue. But for years, these were our town center, our meeting place, our safe space. Even now, in smaller cities and suburbs that don’t have a gay center, bars serve as a place where young people can come out and older people can socialize without fear. One who has noticed and doesn’t like what he sees is a blogger who calls himself “Jewish Author Tough Gay Activist Bear,” or J.A.T.G.A.B. The very few straights who went into bars even ten years ago “were generally accompanying gay friends, were very gay-friendly and supportive, and knew how to behave in a gay bar,” he writes. Today, straight folks are attracted to our scene because of depictions on Will & Grace or Queer as Folk and go into gay bars like a petting zoo with better accessories. “Straights today often go into gay bars for the wrong reasons and with the wrong attitude,” he continues. They’re there for titillation, to be hip and a bit naughty. Not long ago, I walked into Vlada, a Midtown Manhattan bar that has become popular with groups of single women, and seeing a straight couple making out at the front table. No one seemed to mind or even notice, I might add. J.A.T.G.A.B., however, is especially upset seeing such displays of affection, “as if arrogantly assuming that every gay person is just dying to watch ‘normal’ people show them how it’s done.” Why can’t they stick to their own, far more numerous, bars? Why do they have to come to ours? In the case of G or Vlada, the answer might be simply that these are great spaces—as nice or nicer than comparable straight bars. But Addam Stobbs asked recently in the Australian Q Magazine whether the increased presence of straight folks is a result or a cause of decreased gay bar cruising. The many straights he saw on a recent bar outing “seemed to blend in quite seamlessly,” he wrote. “None of them looked uncomfortable, none of them looked as though they were there to see the ‘freak show’; in fact they seemed to be having a good time with their gay friends. There were a number of straight girls there as well, all getting on really well. There was no sexual tension. None.” Is it, as some allege, the predominance of Internet hook-up sites that has made bars a place where we might have a drink or two with friends but would never consider as a place to look for sex? Or is it, as Stobbs believes, a generational difference? “The group who seems to be the least interested in casual sex are the younger gay guys,” he noted. “There are a lot of randy old buggers at most sex-on-premises venues, very few younger.” It’s certainly true that younger gay men are much more comfortable with straight counterparts. Does that contribute to, or is it a cause of, their not hooking up in bars? Consider the Other Side Now consider the situation from the other side. Straights believe they are often made to feel unwelcome. One male commenter on Boston’s Yelp site related an unpleasant incident when he accompanied a gay colleague and some women into a bar. After overhearing guys complaining about “that fishy smell” and making other misogynistic comments, he told them, “You wouldn’t like it if you walked into a straight bar and were treated the same way, would you?” More recently, Brian Moylan, a gay writer on Gawker, initiated a heated discussion when he criticized straight women for wanting a gay friend, as though we were the latest chic toy breed or must-have accessory. “Do not come to our clubs,” he warned fag hag wannabes. “A gay bar with too many women—especially the kind of club where frisky things are going on—makes everyone uncomfortable. Also, any gay in a bar with a girl is almost guaranteed not to get laid. When it’s a night out at the gay bar, please stay at home.” I recently wrote a story on stag hags, the newly minted male equivalent. Several of these BFFs to gay boys told me they didn’t so much mind getting hit on in bars (an occupational hazard, they realized). But they did object to nasty comments about their presence. Sue Sena, the founder of SWISH, told that the group initially brought together straight women and gay men—hence the name, an acronym for “straight women in support of gay men.” But now, there are enough straight men to render that inaccurate. Basketball star Dennis Rodman wrote in his 1996 autobiography about how he preferred gay bars and felt more at ease with gay men. When he played with the San Antonio Spurs, Rodman befriended another player because he wasn’t freaked from a visit to a gay bar. Stag hags often cite our well-developed sense of humor, aesthetics and bromance abilities. But they also remark on how they feel much less competitive and at ease in our bars. The Abbey is one of the best-known bars in West Hollywood. Voted the “best gay bar in the world” last year in an online poll by Logo viewers, ironically, it has become less exclusively gay, to the point where one activist was considering a demonstration to take back “our” bar. Owner David Cooley pooh-poohs such naysayers as practicing “reverse discrimination.” The Abbey remains solidly gay, he insists. If anything, it’s become “a shining example of the progress we have made as a community. No more back alley entrances to bars catering to an underground, closeted gay community.” To those who complain that “they” are invading “our” space, Cooley just smiles and shrugs: “I love when customers say, ‘This is the first place where I was comfortable when I was coming out,’ but also, ‘I can bring my friends here.’ Isn’t that what we were fighting for?” 2010-02-13T06:22:24+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/the_wasted_war/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/the_wasted_war/ Quick, name the unwinnable war that America is still engaged in that costs taxpayers a staggering $600 per second, kills nearly 15,000 Americans per year, and incarcerates over one million people annually, making us the country with the highest percentage of its population kept in captivity. A public relations war against a nebulous concept that has only flourished while we continue to pour money and manpower into its gaping maw. It’s the Drug War, and if war in general is good for absolutely nothing, this one is dramatically more so. The War on Drugs has never been a war that was meant to be won. The Law of Unintended Consequences runs rampant through its history, as a sprawling global black market syndicate emerged to fill the void where a legal, regulated market should be. By grouping all illegal substances under the generic rubric of “drugs” and refusing to make any meaningful distinctions between them, absurdities abound. Take our shameful record of imprisoning a huge portion of our young African-American population merely for having weed on them. Over 10% of all black men aged 18-29 are in jail on drug-related charges. Compare that to the 1.5% of young white men in jail on similar charges. Once mandatory sentencing went into effect in 1986, the average federal drug sentence for African-Americans went from being 11% higher than white people to 49% higher four years later. With a black president in office, it would seem to be high time (pun intended) to stop this disturbing practice. With a demented factory-like efficiency, we are churning low-level weed dealers in and out of our bloated prison system—and making them into hardened criminals along the way. What drugs we’re ingesting in undiminished amounts will remain questionable, since there is zero oversight or quality control in their production. Recently released documents from the federal Drug Enforcement Agency showed that almost a third of all the cocaine being imported into the U.S. had levamisole in it as a cutting agent. Levamisole is a dangerous livestock deworming medicine that has already taken three lives and put dozens more in the hospital. Most party people are familiar with “bad pills” that came from god-knows-where and contain pollutants like speed, caffeine, heroin, or dangerous obscure chemicals meant to simulate a high instead of giving you a real one. A recent piece in The Washington Post revealed that homegrown high-end quasi-legal marijuana crops from inside our borders are giving the Mexican cartels a run for their money and slowing their sales. How many billions have we wasted attempting to do the same thing with militia units and black helicopters? Increasing the quality of our weed supply with American-grown crops while crippling the Mexican murder/kidnapping industry would certainly be more effective at reducing the casualties of this war than decades of paramilitary waste and corruption. Absurdities Abound The absurdities of their Drug War, however, have reached their nadir in Afghanistan, where 90% of the world’s heroin is grown and cultivated in the poppy fields that have traditionally provided the only stable source of income for many Afghani tribes. A government analyst specializing in the region and studying the narcotics industry there spoke to noiZe on condition of anonymity. He told us that addressing opium production from a practical economic and political perspective instead of our knee-jerk law enforcement would save “billions of dollars and thousands of lives” in Afghanistan alone. He thinks we are in a unique position right now to steer the country in a better direction. “What we’re seeing now is total market saturation,” he said. “By some accounts, there is enough opium stockpiled in Afghanistan to supply the entire planet for two to five years. So, because the price of opium has crashed, and at the same time the global food crisis has spiked the price of crops like wheat and barley, farmers are finding they can make an equivalent income by growing legal crops.” But not if we continue to raze their poppy fields and treat them all like drug kingpins. He also notes that “opiates are artificially restricted in the U.S. Drug companies can only produce, market, and sell so much here, so flooding the global market with opium won’t lower their cost or increase their availability.” In other words, if we stopped meddling with their poppy fields right now, it would have zero effect on the price, the supply or the demand for opiates. All of our ham-handed attempts to regulate that market only serve to piss off the people we claim to want to help. We spend billions of dollars and countless lives for nothing over there, and while stymieing any real progress for the Afghan people. Why Are Some Drugs Illegal? What are “drugs” exactly? How did a concept and activity as old as mankind become manipulated, along with our emotions and fears, into something much more sinister than reality dictates? How are children supposed to make informed choices about their extracurricular activities when all they are told is “Just say no”? Once they puff on that first joint and don’t see anything bad happening to them, they’re likely to assume that all drugs have gotten a bad rap, which may lead them to experiment with things that could actually prove dangerous. At the same time, legal substances such as the massive amounts of amphetamines that we pump into our children when they can’t focus at school are given a stamp of approval, mixing the message even further. How do Adderall and Vicodin get a pass while ecstasy and marijuana are demonized? Children aren’t stupid; they figure this kind of hypocritical bullshit out very quickly. How dangerous are drugs, when you really look at the numbers? All illicit drugs combined killed less people in 2006 than the following causes of death did individually: tobacco, poor diet, car crashes, and suicide. Not just by a little bit, but by whopping margins. Also, both alcohol and prescription drugs killed more people than illicit drugs that year, four times more and two times more, respectively. This is most certainly not due to a lack of supply or demand: Nearly 10% of Americans use illegal substances. This leaves some pretty big questions unanswered. Why have we wasted almost $40 billion this year alone, in the middle of a crippling recession, on this senseless war? Three out of four people who use illegal drugs use marijuana, which accounts for zero deaths in any given year. Why are we throwing them all in jail? Why do we divert precious law enforcement resources to bust up harmless parties in major cities where most people seem to be having a good time safely? Why do we attempt to brainwash people with ineffective advertising funded by taxpayer dollars that has been proven time and time again to actually increase drug use instead of curb it? There are signs of hope. Recent reports have shown that California’s marijuana trade could benefit the faltering state to the tune of $1.4 billion in revenue if they went ahead and started officially regulating the drug. It could also have environmental benefits, as it would curb and organize some of the reckless illegal farming that occurs now. Much like the reality of gay marriage in some states dispels the myths about the dangers it supposedly represented to the institution, the quasi-legal medical marijuana industry that has sprung up in states like California and New Mexico hasn’t led to wild orgies, the classic anti-weed propaganda film Reefer Madness notwithstanding. Perhaps the drug warriors were right about one thing, though, marijuana probably is the gateway drug. The gateway out of the Drug War. More and more, Americans seem to be giving up on the idea that drugs, as a concept, are some sort of existential evil that must be eradicated. With adults back in the White House, the Obama Justice Department. announced earlier this year that it would not prosecute medical marijuana distributors who comply with state laws. They also announced that the term “The War on Drugs” would not be used any longer, which is an important symbolic first step to ending the madness of this wasted war. 2009-10-31T16:40:00+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/circuit_spirituality/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/circuit_spirituality/ From time to time, we at noiZe feature a classic article from Circuit Noize. This one, adapted from 1996, is by Christian Hart, who has studied the sociology of AIDS. I always tell people if you want to feel God, or the presence of God, you have to go to the most packed Circuit event, or a packed gay bar. Grab your partner and head out until you’ve worked your way to the very center of the dance floor, underneath that big ball. Erase from your mind the decadence around you and feel the vibration in the music coming at you from every direction. Straight people may go to church for their spirituality, but Circuit events are my form of church and the DJs are my priests. So someone said in an interview back in 1996 in now-defunct Genre magazine. Circuit parties as church? An outrageous statement—which I happen to understand completely. I am beginning to find in conversations with friends and strangers that many other gay men do as well. In discussions where I uneasily mention my sense of spirituality at Circuit events, I have been surprised and relieved to find others who feel exactly the same way, but who thought they were alone in that experience. How can a Circuit party be spiritual? Something deeply important is wrought collectively and unconsciously by your community. You may have to let go of the idea of spirituality as defined by traditional Judeo-Christian ethics to go where I’d like to take you. Some of us have the sense that the Circuit has a meaning for gay men that involves a community-wide creation of a new—or maybe ancient—form of ritual involving music, dance, sexuality and at times, even drug use. The Circuit can be seen as both a reaction to and progression from the era of AIDS. To see this, one needs to view the Circuit from a historical perspective. The early party scene centered on the major dance clubs of the ‘70s and early ‘80s: The Saint, Trocadero, Probe and others were places where we created communal bonds. That early party scene focused heavily on affirming our community’s burgeoning sexuality. We rebelled against the lie that our love was wrong or even that sex outside of a relationship was wrong. Then came our Dark Ages. How AIDS Affected the Scene The party scene gave way to the massive loss and grief experienced by so many of us. Entire social networks—families of gay men—died out. The mind-numbing number of deaths impacted all of us. Many feared becoming infected or infecting others. Some dreaded any physical contact, let alone sexual. Yet humans require touch by others. Perhaps nowhere is this greater than among gay men, who have been taught that touch between men is taboo. HIV cast a great fear about sex among us but couldn’t lessen our need for contact. That fear, however, expanded to intimacy: How will I cope if I get close to this man and he dies? Is his T-cell count lower than mine? How will I reveal my own serostatus? What if he’s not positive (or negative) like me? The disease put a major damper on our ability to connect with each other, physically and emotionally. But it also forced us to grow in other ways. We realized the importance of taking care of our own. We expressed courage in the face of death. We achieved success in creating a positive sense of identity for those living with HIV. We created new organizations, movements, and political armies. We explored forms of enlightenment that spoke to our yearnings in ways that traditional religion did not. Our spirituality emerged—in contrast to its general absence previously. Eventually we began to rediscover the joy of music, dance, and, yes, sex. But this renaissance wasn’t simply a recapitulation of the early party scene. The old joys became enhanced by our growth during those Dark Ages. We were tempered by death and our subsequent search for meaning. I appreciate the importance each moment so much more now. As a community, we have learned how precious life and love really are. In his book Reviving the Tribe, the late Eric Rofes wrote movingly of his personal renaissance: “It was when Patrick Hernandez’s deep voice boomed over the speakers singing ‘Born to Be Alive’ that I lit up—fully alive for the first time in a dozen years. I could tell myself finally that awful things had happened, the men the music sparked me to remember were now dead, and the dreams I once had had been mutilated beyond recognition. But I was alive, and it was Spring reentering my body and my life, as if returning after being beamed up to a UFO and psychically possessed for a dozen years. It was then that spirit once again filled me, and the legacy available to all survivors of disasters—the return of the possibility of again living and thriving—came to me like a wave of salty seawater wildly washing over me, giving me a moment to catch my breath, then rolling over me again.” Rebirth Later, he writes of our community: “To see men embrace and love each other in response to neither loss nor terror revives my dreams from a life long ago. To watch masses of men dance together, celebrating raw life-giving powers of music and desire forces me to acknowledge that the human spirit is not easily subdued. When once again two men can kiss hard on the mouth as neither victims nor survivors nor captives of stealth terror, then peace and order will settle over the tribe and life will again move forward.” This rebirth from AIDS Rofes refers to is epitomized in the Circuit. It’s no coincidence that so many Circuit parties are fundraisers. They have become an escape from the plague and a way to meet the needs of those who require our care. Circuit parties: Events held around the world by large groups of shirtless, sweaty, handsome men celebrating our love, sexuality and tribal connection. Certainly, different people attend for different reasons. For many, they provide a place to regain a sense of joy about life, to experience the rapture of dancing and free expression. For some others, they’re a rite of passage, where young gay men can experience the joy of openly reveling in their sexuality. For me, such experiences include a sense of spiritual connection with the universe. I remember being at a party on Fire Island with friends. During dance breaks, we discussed our weaknesses and fears and the unwavering support we both gave and received. I remember discussing philosophy and playing silly games to the beat of the music. I remember meeting and lusting after incredibly handsome men. I remember feeling a connection binding all of us on that dance floor. And at a certain moment, I realized something as I was basking in that glow, bobbing in the ocean of men, music and sheer physicality of the dance. My realization surprised me, but at that moment, the combination of love, grief, play, intellectual challenge, dance, music and the sensuality of so many handsome men brought about the happiest moment of my life. My sense of integration with myself, my friends and the other dancers at the dance, and to whatever force binds the universe together was complete, perfect and according to plan. Immediately following that party, my companions and I held a farewell ceremony at the water’s edge for our dead friends. We found we could fully express joy for life one moment and acknowledge our utter finality the next—and do so with grace, style and humor. Confronting the Circuit’s Dark Side The idea that music, dancing, sexuality and altered states could involve spirituality is not without precedent in other cultures both past and present. Most pre-Judeo-Christian religious events included music, dance and sexuality. Circuit parties evoke comparisons to Native American powwows—ritualistic tribal gatherings with music, dance and psychotropic plants. Recent archeological work suggests that primitive rock and cave art paintings depict shamanic drug trips. Many criticize the Circuit and our community in general for drugs. It’s true that extreme measures like drug use are not necessary to experience the kind of spirituality I’ve described here. But what about the dark side of the Circuit? When do we cross the line from recreational use to abuse? When does joyfully expressing our sexuality degenerate into compulsive sexual behavior? When drugs or sex start to be used as primary coping mechanisms or lead to unsafe sex, how do we deal with it as a tribe? We’ve learned to take care of each other in sickness. It is only a short step to caring for each other in health. The Circuit is often criticized as overemphasizing superficiality. Because of the cult of body worship and beauty, some claim that inner qualities are devalued. But this is not unique to the Circuit—and the claim may involve some insecurity on the part of the person making it. A man who attends a party for the first time, especially if he is alone or with someone who also has not previously attended, might feel unwelcome in that seemingly closed circle of muscular men. As in any social situation, I feel more comfortable introducing myself to those I’ve seen before at other events. It may be precisely seeing and recognizing the same men at different events that creates a bond even with someone who would otherwise be a stranger. Our eyes meet across the dance floor in the seconds during which all intervening heads have somehow simultaneously parted, and we express our connection. We have always had to develop our own sense of who we are by questioning assumptions. Despite growing up in a largely hostile world, we have learned that being gay is wonderful. But we still have to deal with internalized homophobia. Who better, then, to question traditional notions of what religion or spirituality entails than ourselves? The Circuit is a phenomenon in our community. Are these events merely chance occurrences? Are they just men being boys? Or is there something here that bears more thoughtful consideration? We only benefit from discussing our community openly, rather than in hushed conversations, while looking over our shoulder, lest someone hear us blaspheme. 2009-10-31T16:34:00+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/atlantic_city_discovers_the_circuit/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/atlantic_city_discovers_the_circuit/ When Harrah’s, one of the major casino-hotels that dominates the skyline of this New Jersey city, hosted its “Out in Atlantic City” weekend in September, it marked a coming out of sorts for the entire city. The casino-hotels recently rediscovered the gay market—and the party boys are beginning to take notice. Once a gay destination on a par with Fire Island or Provincetown, this venerable resort can boast of the world’s largest and oldest boardwalk, the invention of salt-water taffy, the first Miss America pageants, and the street names that dot the Monopoly board. Its Steel Pier was the first big entertainment venue of its kind in this country, with thrills like a horse that dove off a high platform into a pool of water. But it also has an equally venerable gay backstory. In the days before Stonewall, New York Avenue was dotted with rooming houses and a dozen bars. Some believe that the city fathers drove away the scene after the New Jersey Legislature legalized gambling in the 1980s. Whatever the reason, there is only one bar left standing, the rakish but loved West Side Club, which Village Voice columnist Michael Musto calls a “David Lynchean hangout.” Whatever the reason, the latter part of 2009 has seen a resurgence of interest from the city and regional customers from New York and Philadelphia, which together make up the majority of Atlantic City’s visitor base. At the forefront of the effort is a newly formed group, the Greater Atlantic City GLBT Alliance. The group’s purpose is to promote gay tourism as well as provide a focal point for locals. By one estimate, the Greater Atlantic City region of 300,000 is 10% gay, which means 30,000 queers live in the city or nearby. “It is time for us to wake up and smell the pink champagne,” GACGA President Rich Helfant recently said. “We are actively courting a return of the gay clientele.” Once better known for the day trippers who traveled down in discount buses, ate at buffets and played the slots, in recent years, the city has undergone a transformation into a high-end luxury resort. Brand-name chefs like Geoffrey Zakarian, Michael Mina, Wolfgang Puck and Bobby Flay have opened outposts. Entertainers like Donna Summer, Lenny Kravitz, Stevie Wonder and Robin Williams make it a regular stop. Even Madonna played here—the smallest city by far on her last tour. Dance clubs like Dusk, mur.mur, and Mixx rival clubs in New York or Miami for size, lights and sound. The biggest names in clubland either spin here frequently or have taken up residency—everyone from Victor Calderone and Junior Vasquez to Samantha Ronson, Tiesto and Paul Oakenfold. Gay Party Weekends The big hotels are doing their part. The Borgata began the trend with the “True Colors” tour, which had a wild after-party two years ago. Cindy Lauper performed, while the party proved a big hit. In September, “Out in Atlantic City” brought down scensters like New York City promoter Daniel Nardicio and Musto. Both are longtime fans. Nardicio brought down his demented tour bus for an outing. “The Borgata ushered in a whole new era of luxury,” says Musto, who is a frequent visitor.  He’s referring to the Borgata, the casino-hotel that opened earlier this decade. Harrah’s, the Trump Taj Mahal, Caesar’s, the Chelsea, the Water Club and the Tropicana are other hot hotels. Harrah’s weekend-long party was the first real stab at a Circuit-type event. It featured a full schedule of dancing, a pool party, a meet-and-greet with the cast of The L Word, and a “Recovery Brunch” with a drag bingo game. Gay rapper Cazwell performed on Friday night at Club Worship at the Showboat, one of the many dance clubs, with the ever-fabulous transgendered icon Amanda Lepore, who performed her latest single and dazzled the mixed crowd. The face of Heatherette, MAC. and Mego Jeans, and personal muse to photographer David LaChapelle, Lepore compares Atlantic City to “a gay Disneyland.” She’s not the only one who’s taking a closer look. The Borgata is reportedly in talks with a major New York promoter about the possibility of a party. Harrah’s definitely plans more weekend outings and is also talking to promoters. A Trump spokesperson tells noiZe that the organization is actively looking at a night at one of its clubs. It’s all part of what Jeffrey Vassar, head of the Atlantic City Convention & Visitors Authority, calls a “major outreach. We’re certainly a gay-friendly destination,” he says. “But Harrah’s took it one giant leap forward. We just have to keep the momentum going.” Larry Sieg, the ACCVA’s senior director, also expects to see a lot more such events in the future. “For Harrah’s to give up its ballroom for a Saturday night party speaks volumes,” he notes. The height of “Out in A.C.” was a huge dance party at Caesar’s main ballroom. Hot go-go dancers writhed while Jai Rodriguez sang and (for a while) DJ’ed. Lance Bass was also there to meet and greet. Refreshingly, this was an equal-opportunity flesh fest: At the same time as the “Decadence” party at Caesar’s, there was “LaLaLadies Night.” The day pool party took place at The Pool, a huge year-round space that dominates the main floor of Harrah’s complex. With a climate control set at a comfy temperature, constant humidity, a sound system, bars serving tropical confections, and lots and lots of water to get lost in, this would seem to be a space tailor-made for Circuit boys. Harrah’s also priced its weekend competitively: $160 for access to all events; or $80 for the girl-only or boy-only parties. What’s In the Cards The big question is whether the big hotels will give up one of their clubs—where bottle service brings in big crowds and big bucks—for a gay evening. There’s also a question of making the city more compelling to gay visitors overall. “We’re all looking at ways to attract that market,” says a spokesperson for the Trump properties here (there are three—the Marina and Plaza in addition to the Taj). “We all agreed we have great dining, accommodations, shopping and gaming. The one thing we don’t have is targeted entertainment. Then, suddenly, Harrah’s—a conservative company—put a lot of money into this weekend, which was encouraging. We’re all just kind of trying to see where this can take off.” What will help attract the gay crowd are the amenities. Aside from the world-class entertainment and food, there is the shopping: one of the largest outlet malls on the East Coast offers a cornucopia of designers. And the spas here have become world class, on a par or even exceeding Vegas or the Florida resorts. For now, gay visitors are welcome in the clubs, although they shouldn’t plan on taking their shirts off. Aside from the West Side Club (a cab ride away from the Boardwalk or the Marina District, where the hotels are), the Ram’s Head Inn, a local restaurant, is hosting “Out at the Inn” on Monday nights. If the city takes off as a gay-friendly destination, it will probably involve more mixed evenings in the clubs than a stricter gayola policy. That’s the trend everywhere, it seems. As Sieg (who is gay), says: “It’s a chance for the gay and straight markets to come together. Who today thinks we have to have a gay or straight night, anyway?” 2009-10-31T16:27:00+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/randy_pants/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/randy_pants/ It’s something that happens to all of us at our first Circuit party: We see a man, and he’s the most beautiful object we’ve ever seen. We want him. Even more, we want to be him. His name was Randy Carver.  It was the summer of 1999.  The Summer of Love. I was 24, and had just come out, and he was the most beautiful man I had ever laid eyes on. He was 27, cool, stylish: the way he danced, the way he talked, even the car he drove. Not only was I in love with him, I wanted to be him—great body, great hair, trendy as all hell, yet so nice, so kind, so friendly—without any of the cunty, queeny, “Who-are-you- Miss-Thang?!” attitude that scares off so many fledgling gay boys. No, Randy embraced me as soon as we met, through my then-boyfriend, Brian, and he exuded charm. “It’s so great to meet you,” he exclaimed. “Welcome to Portland!”  I was immediately put at ease and always found myself smiling whenever we hung out. That summer, I really came to know what music felt like: to be able to dance all night long at these wonderful underground after-parties, and then, cuddling and laughing with a fabulous new set of friends in a park overlooking the bay, waiting for the sun to come up. I thought I knew how to dance before, but with a party favor as catalyst and Randy as my guide, I started moving and twisting and locking and twirling like I never knew I could.  Absurdly, his boyfriend cheated on him and then dumped him, and Randy was hurt, terribly hurt for months afterwards. There was a sexual tension, an almost tangible chemistry between us from the start. Although we would hold hands and give each other back rubs, after-rolling, whenever we started kissing or becoming too intimate, he would draw away and choke, “Dan, I’m sorry, it’s just too soon after Jim,”  which pissed me off to no end. I thought he was just brushing me off, because up until then I had never been hurt like that before. Just the same, he was my idol, and I emulated his style. I began combing the shops and boutiques from Portland to Boston to New York for just the right outfits—fierce club kid clothes, tight spandex t-shirts. Blinky—flashy watches, earrings, and bracelets. And phat pants with lots and lots of pockets—Randy pants—like the kind he always wore. You know the routine. I always looked good in them, felt confident, stylish, self-assured, sexy. I started going to Circuit parties. New York, Montreal, D.C. I grew in confidence and met so many people, and I would return to Portland with a thousand stories and a million phone numbers and email addresses and guest tickets to all the clubs: Twilo, the Tunnel, Rise,  Stereo, Avalon. Randy would just laugh, and say, “My god, Dan, when you first got here, you didn’t know anyone, and now you’re everywhere, and everybody knows you!” It was hilarious to me that he didn’t understand that it was in trying to impress him, I had transformed myself into this professional club kid. Then I met the man of my dreams in Boston, and I forgot about Randy and all my friends in Portland—left them all behind to be with this guy, which at first seemed to be a good idea, but then it turned bad. So very bad, so very quickly. He hurt me, broke my heart, ripped my guts out, and tramped on my soul, or so it seemed, and I was left all alone, having alienated my friends in Portland. It took a long, long time for me to heal. Fast forward three years, and by this time I had moved out to California, but I made plans to meet up with friends in Montreal for Black & Blue. There I was, flagging up on stage at Millennium while Manny Lehman was spinning behind me. This guy at the base of the stage beckoned with a finger for me to come closer. It was Randy. I leapt off the stage and into his arms. We kissed like long-lost lovers, and then we caught ourselves and broke apart, and I was all like, “Omigod, look at you, you look great!” (He did.)  He answered, “Me?  Look at you!  You look fantastic! “The next thing, simultaneously was “ Wow—do you have a boyfriend?” “No?” “Oh ... Oh !” My heart jumped, and I think I saw his jump too. We wanted to say more, but just then his friends crashed into us, and we couldn’t really talk. But we danced close, so blissfully, achingly close, and I made plans to meet up with him at his hotel after the club closed in case we got separated (which, unfortunately, we were, dammit!). So the next morning I stumbled from the Olympic Stadium to his hotel. When he let me in, there were a couple of his friends asleep in one bed, and he was slightly out of it. Not to be denied, I let it all out:  how I had fallen in love with him at first sight all those years ago.  How I hadn’t understood how badly his ex had hurt him, but now, after my own failed relationship, I got it. I told him about the huge effect he’d had on me; how I wanted to be cool like him, to be nice like him, to have a great body, great hair; all that and more. He just sat there with mouth agape, eyes wide, and a childlike expression,  “I really did that?  You really thought all that?” Then his eyes glazed over, and he dropped asleep in my arms, and I had to laugh ruefully.  He probably hadn’t even comprehended the last few minutes I’d been talking.  But that was OK. The next day, I flew back to California, knowing where I’d come from, having experienced the magic of recognizing one person’s touch on another’s life. I still look great in my Randy pants. Dan Tyler is an ethnographic researcher and essayist at the University of California, Los Angeles.  He can be reached at danieltyler@mac.com 2009-10-31T16:21:00+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/cinema_the_circuit/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/cinema_the_circuit/ As anyone lucky enough to experience it knows, a big Circuit party contains enough plots for a whole network of soap operas. Romance, intrigue, sex, substance use and abuse, hot men, sex, hot women, fierce music, dance-music divas, mind-altering psychotropic drugs, great-looking crowd ... did I mention sex? And it all takes place over several hours of a long weekend. So why, with the exception of one minor documentary and an indie, has the Circuit never been depicted on film? “Part of the reason there haven’t been more films is the distance that the idea of a Circuit party has from mainstream culture,” notes Matthew Breen, the executive editor of the Advocate. “A lot of gay men want to keep it as a secret.” In addition, there’s what Breen describes as “the difficulty depicting that environment; imagine describing it to someone who’s never experienced it—the high sexual temperature, mood-alerting drugs, a communal feel. It’s hard to describe such an alternate experience on film.” Only consider the spate of really bad films in the ‘60s that attempted to reproduce hallucinogenic states of mind, such as The Trip, starring Peter Fonda. The Circuit represents only a small slice of gay life—and one from which many gay men, in Michelangelo Signorile’s phrase, spend their life outside. “Anything that implies that this is the essence of the gay community, is something that all gay men share as an interest” would be controversial, Breen points out. As a party producer (the impresario behind the Saint at Large’s Black Party), and as a film producer (he helped bring seminal New Queer Cinema director Gregg Araki to a larger public), Stephen Pevner brings a dual perspective to the subject. “The people on the Circuit aren’t very self-critical,” he says. “They don’t want to see it in a negative light. Who wants to sit in a theater and watch a movie about people just having a good time?” With those caveats in mind, here is a critical history of the Circuit on film—such as it is. Proto-Circuit Movies Before the Circuit, there was disco. If you’ve suffered through Can’t Stop the Music or Xanadu (both 1980), you know that disco may have produced some dynamite music, but it was responsible for really horrible films (to match those clothes). The only disco-era film that stands the test of time is Saturday Night Fever (1977, whose dance scenes were filmed in a Brooklyn, N.Y., club that later became the area’s major gay disco). Into this mosh pit of bad films with good scores also goes the disco-era drama 54, a 1998 drama about the most famous disco of them all, Studio 54, in which Ryan Phillippe, at his most androgynously beautiful, plays a straight boy drawn into drugs, polymorphous sex and swoopy dance hooks. If the disco-era films were suffused with a gay consciousness, none of them featured out-gay characters. In fact, before this decade, there was no depiction in a mainstream film of gay men dancing together except for a brief scene in 1970’s The Boys in the Band, in which the “boys” do a line dance “like the one we used to do on Fire Island”—where such dancing was necessitated by laws forbidding men dancing together. In Cruising, the controversial 1980 film, Al Pacino, as a New York City policeman who goes undercover to find a serial killer of gay men, finds himself on a tiny dance floor in Greenwich Village. Cruising was excoriated at the time for the way it portrayed gay men as obsessed with hardcore S&M, but lately it’s had a second look and has begun to be appreciated as the only Hollywood artifact of the heady days between Stonewall and the advent of the AIDS crisis. Non-Gay Parties Since the advent of talkies, Hollywood has been giving us depictions of straight couples dancing, from those Fred-and-Ginger RKO confections and MGM musicals to American International surfer quickies and Strictly Ballroom. More recently, there have been attempts to capture the rave or big-room straight club scene, with various success. It’s All Gone Pete Tong, a 2004 Canadian mocumentary about a DJ who goes deaf, paints a mildly satiric portrait of nightlife in Ibiza. The island gets a darker spin in the 2002 dark British thriller Morvern Caller, in which a poor Scottish girl comes into money and goes raving in sunny Spain. Raves come out a little better in films like all three Matrix films; Groove (2000), a look at the San Francisco rave scene; and 24-Hour Party People (2002), a British film that is most notable for its exploration of Manchester’s underground raves.  Circuit Drama A very few recent films have dramatized the gay party scene, most notably Party Monster (2003). It fictionalizes real-life club kid Michael Alig, who made New York’s Limelight notorious before his incarceration for the murder of an alleged drug dealer; it also gave Seth Green and Macaulay Culkin their first grown-up roles. For better or worse, that leaves Dirk Shafer’s Circuit (2001) as the only full-fledged fictionalized portrait. John, a small-town police officer, moves in with his cousin in L.A. and finds himself in the middle of the West Hollywood scene. He befriends a hustler and an old female acquaintance while he starts taking steroids and every other drug. The film climaxes at the White Party in Palm Springs. Shafer was constrained by a low budget, but he managed to get some interesting footage of the White Party, and it helps that his two leads (both straight) are good looking enough to pass for Circuit stars. The critics were deeply divided about this film, and so was the ostensible crowd the film dramatized. Many men find this a hateful depiction that emphasizes the worst aspects of the Circuit; while others believe that it legitimately dramatizes the darker side of the party scene. Aside from Circuit, there have been a few experimental films that have tried to capture the magic of the gay dance floor. Schwarzwald is a short film that depicts the 2006 Black Party theme in fictional form. It stars the female-to-male porn performer Buck Angel as a medieval prince abandoned by his evil mother and watched over by a sorcerer. The movie ends with footage from the party itself, including sex performances, flaggers and the dance floor. Director Richard Kimmel shot it in one day outside New York City. Pevner meant it as a keepsake for partygoers, but also something that would “legitimize the Black Party for people who had never seen the inside.” It has been on the gay festival circuit, as well as being shown in clubs, which fits with Pevner’s stated goal as “the movie you can dance to” (Saint veteran DJ Michael Fierman scored the film). Documentaries The one genre where the Circuit has fared best is in the nonfiction realm. The lone full-length documentary about the Circuit experience itself, 2002’s When Boys Fly follows a group of friends as they prepare for, and experience, the Miami White Party. The most controversial aspect of the film is the depiction of drug use, especially GHB: One cast member did, in fact, suffer severe medical problems and went into rehab. Most observers believe the film is an unfair portrayal. In Maestro (2004), Roxy: The Last Dance (2008) and Where Ocean Meets Sky (2004), the scene is portrayed far more positively. All three depict aspects of New York’s gay club culture. As its name implies, Roxy celebrates the famous roller rink that hosted a longstanding gay Saturday dance party where Victor Calderone, among others, was resident, and that was the site of many notable occasions, such as appearances by Cher and Madonna. While Where Ocean Meets Sky isn’t strictly about music, this history of Fire Island Pines contains much information about the Sandpiper, where Tom Moulton invented the EP, and its successor the Pavilion. Maestro is a loving look back at the Paradise Garage, a mega-club that thrived in the early 1980s, and especially the resident DJ, Larry Levan. Although Levan is shown warts-and-all (he died in 1992 after years of drug use), it also celebrates his musical legacy, with notable acolytes such as Frankie Knuckles, Junior Vasquez and Manny Lehman paying tribute to his genius. The film ends with an expansive montage of superstar DJs from around the world. It’s a beautiful sequence that summons up how Levan’s signature beat mixing helped give birth to a whole musical style; but it also celebrates the very best aspects of that ecstatic communion we call the Circuit. 2009-07-29T06:00:00+00:00 http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/the_bright_stuff_guy_smith_lights_up_the_night/ http://www.noizemag.com/index.php/articles/the_bright_stuff_guy_smith_lights_up_the_night/ For many years, a delicate dance has occurred on the floors of major events all over the world. Light and sound come together to elevate your experience to a magical place, a synthesis of the senses when music and lighting become one. It’s not easily achieved, and done correctly you probably won’t even notice all the work and skill that goes into it. DJs tend to lead in this dance, since we are more conscious of their contribution to the proceedings. But without the right lights, the music can’t fully achieve that three-dimensional maelstrom of emotion and drama that we crave as discerning party people. Anyone who has attended major Circuit events in the past 20 years has probably seen the work of one of the true masters of this craft, Guy Smith. This maestro has lit blue-ribbon dance events, stadium-level concerts, and corporate shindigs. As a psych major at Brandeis University in the ‘80s, Smith became fascinated with the human brain and how it experiences the world around it. His work as a detox counselor gave him a respect for drugs and the fact that they can lead to self-destruction and even death. Nevertheless, the impulse to reach higher states of awareness and communion with one another is obviously a powerful one that can help people as well, and in that sense he has never stopped being a student of human psychology. But he also loves to tinker with things, to pull stuff apart and figure out how it works. All that contributes to his craft. It was at the gay club City in Boston (later Avalon) that he saw the light, as it were: “I had never seen moving lights in a show before. When I walked in and saw this whole lyrical experience going on I had to know how it worked.” The next morning, he marched into the club and announced, “I’d like to do lighting here.” For $6 an hour, he lit Avalon at night while working as a psychiatric counselor during the day. Finally, in 1995, he dedicated himself to lighting full time. Since then, he has planned and worked lights at the Saint at Large’s Black Party, as well as New York’s massive Pier Dance and Alegria, the Pines Party on Fire Island, and Wonderland in L.A. He’s worked concerts for heavy hitters such as Jewel, Shakira, Justin Timberlake, Cyndi Lauper and Missy Elliot. Corporate events such as a Bulgari jewelry launch with Kanye West give him a chance to create more intimate settings. He even dabbles as a DJ occasionally. He is particularly proud of the work he does for non-profits such as the Komen Cancer and Michael J. Fox Foundations. The Psychology of Lighting His psychology background makes him particularly attuned to the way that lights and music can work together to create powerful experiences for the observer. “We don’t really know why, but certain colors and forms are associated by the human psychology with certain emotions,” he points out. “There’s even a psychological disorder where people ‘hear color’ or they ‘see music.’ It’s also something that happens when you’re on hallucinogens.” Smith believes in the power of the dance experience for our community. “Gay people go to Circuit parties like Baptists go to church,” he says. “You’re in a nightclub, which is a lot like being in a cathedral, which is also a lot like being in a cave around a fire. And you’re all trying to reach some form of altered state, which is something that has been going on for 10,000 years, in order to experience a certain oneness with each other.” A consummate perfectionist, Smith works with all manner of heavy-duty lighting equipment, old and new, and the boards and computers that make it all come together. He has been known to climb to the rafters on a rickety ladder if even one of the hundreds of pieces of the puzzle he created isn’t working correctly. He likes to use every brush at his disposal to paint swirling colors on bodies, walls, and smoke. “I have to give them something to physically look at,” he explains. “It can’t just be a bunch of random lights. It has to have a center of focus, some symmetry—or asymmetry, but if it’s asymmetry it’s got to be intentional.” Crisis Management So how closely does he work with the DJ? He emphasizes that he’s become very good friends with many of the big names over the years—but they don’t necessarily coordinate their nights together beforehand. “A lot of the DJs and I have worked together a lot, and we sort of play games with each other. They know how I work and I know how they work, and they try to surprise me. They’ll glance over and give me a funny look, like ‘This one’s for you.’” As with any job, things can and do go wrong. Smith vividly recalls Masterbeat’s 2006 New Year’s Eve party. Deborah Cox had just performed and it was just past midnight, so the party was settling into its groove. Suddenly at 1:30 a.m., the lights sputtered and then died completely. This is a not-uncommon disaster. He rushed out to the massive semi-trailer that housed the generator, where he found his production manager standing next to it scratching his head. Smith quickly discovered the problem: The gauge needle had been stuck; the generator was out of gas. Smith grabbed as many gas-like containers as he could find and found a service station with diesel fuel. He gave Manny Lehman the thumbs up, who cranked the music for a dramatic explosion. Reaching peak buildup, Smith threw the lights back on to thunderous applause, and the boys happily partied through the rest of the night. Later that morning, people complimented Smith on the amazing “dark period” he gave them. He just smiled and thanked them. Smith embodies the Circuit ideal of finding your own life groove and making it work for you. His professionalism and pride in his craft are matched by a respect for the community he works with and its gratitude for being able to do what he loves most. This is a man who has taken his insights about the mind and its innate desire to experience the world around it in exciting and mysterious ways and translated them into a moveable, transient art. Next time you’re lost in a whirlwind of color and sound, look up to the lighting booth and give the technician a wave of thanks and recognition. He’s been up there dancing with you for years. 2009-07-29T06:00:00+00:00