Jonathan Bailey, Peter Daut, Matt Bomer, Romeo Beckham and more in this week's rag 'n' mag roundup BELOW.
Thursday, November 06, 2025
Wednesday, November 05, 2025
Sophie Ellis-Bextor Kills at Webster Hall
We had a hoot seeing Sophie Ellis-Bextor last night at Webster Hall, a venue I used to frequent but don't think I'd seen a show since Adam Ant in 2017. I didn't know an awful lot about her. But Damian is a big fan, so I was pleasantly surprised by how many songs I recognized from his having blasted her music in the shower over the years -- I have my husband to thank for not one, but three Sophia Songs of the Day -- and possibly dancing to "Groovejet (If This Ain't Love)" at the Roxy back in the day.
First off, I have to say that Sophie is such an adorable goofball -- her kick dancing! -- so it was a joy to see her basking in the newfound popularity she gained by the use of "Murder on the Dancefloor" in the closing scene of "Saltburn." (She joked that it was her biggest hit, "twice"!) Her gratitude was expressed throughout the show, which features her little brother on drums and hubby and father of her five sons on bass.
Although it seems she's been recording since the mid-90s, first with the indie band theaudience and as a solo artist since 2000, it was only last year that she was "big" enough to tour the U.S., with Tuesday's show being her second time in NYC in the past 18 months. She's just released a great new album, "Perimenopop," which is a bit of a love letter to disco from a woman of a certain age. (She's gorgeous at 46 now, which sounds young to me, but is definitely old in pop star years!)
Because I'm not that up on her, I was shocked when she launched into a cover of Cher's "Take Me Home" as her second song, only later learning that it was a huge hit for her off her debut, the one that also included "Murder on the Dancefloor." Further confusing me, she also did "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! A Man After Midnight" and a bit of "I Feel Love" -- and Dennis Parker's "Like an Eagle" played before her set (if you know, you know) -- so the entire set list complemented the campy, disco-party feel of it all, making for an incredibly fun and carefree outing.
She ended things by surprising the crowd after the encore by re-appearing on the balcony -- Evita style -- to do the night's only ballad: "Don't Know What You've Got 'Til It's Gone," which is also the new album's closer. She may not have, say, Pat Benatar's range. But Sophie's voice is certainly unique. And to hear her sing as the final song of the concert, on the final night of the tour, a cappella with no microphone really spoke to just how special she is. Verdict: Sophie didn’t just murder the dancefloor -- she resurrected it. Upgrade me from casual to actual fan.
Before
During
After, getting a late dinner at Veselka
Read up on this sexpot HERE.
Remains of the Day (11/05)
Greg in Hollywood: Cher says her career is like a "bumper car": "If I hit a wall, I would just back up and go in a different direction."
Wrestle Wednesday: Garrett's singlet is "half off," although I'm not sure about its cost
The Advocate: Jim Obergefell warns that people should be "concerned" about Supreme Court considering marriage equality case
Out: Chelsea's g Lounge returns with frozen cosmos, drag and a mission to make everyone feel at home
Hot Cat of the Day: And I didn't think it was possible to love Wendi McLendon-Covey more
Tuesday, November 04, 2025
First Tuesday in November
I must say I haven’t seen this much hope and excitement from my party since Bill de Blasio ran for New York City mayor in 2013!
Decrescendo: A Gay Ear’s Lament
I always say that I stopped paying attention to new music after the Bangles’ "Everything" came out in 1988. But the truth is a little more … melodramatic.
After five long years of dating a Colombian control freak -- the kind of guy who thought Carlos Vives, Luis Miguel and the Gipsy Kings should provide the score to every waking moment -- I emerged from that relationship musically shell-shocked. Picture me, trapped in a BMW 352i with “Bamboleo” blaring for the thousandth time, praying for death -- or at least for Blondie.
Once I regained custody of the stereo, I discovered that the ’90s actually had some incredible music -- and, unsurprisingly, it was mostly the women doing the heavy lifting. Saint Etienne, Ivy, Garbage, Shakespears Sister, Belly, the Breeders -- they were the cool younger cousins of the divas we grew up worshipping. And of course, some of my childhood faves -- Everything But the Girl, Paul Weller, Divinyls, Aimee Mann, Sade, Chris Isaak -- were still carrying the melodic torch into adulthood, making it safe for me to sing along without irony.
Then I stumbled upon this list of the best-selling albums from each year of the ’90s. Out of the 10, eight were by women. Artists like Madonna, Whitney, Mariah and Cher strutted through the decade like the legends they were and still are -- with Alanis doing her best angry-diary thing in the corner.
But by the end of the decade, things started … well, hitting a sour note. The music got worse (Celine), then worse (Shania) and somehow even worse (Britney). By the 2000s, I wasn’t sure whether to turn on the radio or flee the country. (At least Argentina never stopped believing in rock.)
Maybe I’m just nostalgic, but sometimes I miss when music had a pulse -- when choruses soared, bridges mattered and the girls sang like they meant it. Today’s playlists sound like background music for a skincare commercial, or worse.
So yes, I still joke that I stopped paying attention after the Bangles' eternal flame figured out a way to extinguish at the end of the '80s. But if I’m being honest, I think music just hit its own decrescendo -- and I never quite recovered.
In fairness, maybe it isn't reasonable to think you wouldn't be let down when you grew up in an era when the average Top 20 includes the likes of Stevie Wonder, Prince, Diana Ross, Madonna, David Bowie, Tina Turner, Chaka Khan, Elton John, Rod Stewart, Hall and Oates and Cyndi Lauper.
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