Playlist/212: Marc Lallanilla

This week's playlist is by my writer friend Marc Lallanilla, whom you may recall from his days guest-blogging this fall while I was in San Diego for my stepfather's 60th birthday party. Take it away, Marc ...

You can listen to the whole mix below or in a new window HERE.


It's supposed to be the holiday season, but the whole world is going to hell in a handbag. I guess we should all stay home and cry about it ... boo-hoo-hoo. I can see the Grinch up in his cave, looking down on us with smug satisfaction. Wait a minute. What's that sound? Fah who for-aze, dah who dor-aze, welcome Christmas, come this way!

Here are a few songs -- some old, some new, some happy, some sad -- to help you celebrate, or at least get through the season.

1. Badly Drawn Boy - Promises (Beyond The Wizards Sleeve Reanimation)
He was born Damon Gough, and performs under the quirky name Badly Drawn Boy, but there's nothing bad about his musicianship. BDB won a Mercury Prize (Britain's version of the Grammys) in 2000 for his debut album, "The Hour of Bewilderbeast." This more recent song is from his EP "Promises."

2. Brazilian Girls - Don't Stop
This might be a nasty little song about sex ... it's hard to tell. But it's definitely a sexy track from New York City favorites Brazilian Girls (who are not Brazilian and have only one girl in the foursome). News update: They just got nominated for a Grammy for Best Electronic Album. You go, Girls!

3. Kaskade - Everything (Kaskade's Big Boom Mix)
Maybe you were lucky enough to catch Kaskade (born Ryan Raddon) this past weekend at Webster Hall. Or, maybe you're kicking yourself now for missing it. Either way, it's hard to stay in your seat when Kaskade starts spinning what is some of the best dance music to come out of San Francisco.

4. Sam Sparro - Black & Gold
He's handsome, he's a brilliant musician, and he's openly gay. What more do you want? A Grammy nomination? He's got that too -- for Best Dance Recording -- and will be competing against the likes of Rihanna, Daft Punk and some broad named Madonna.

5. Fujiya & Miyagi - Ankle Injuries
Their name sounds Japanese, but these Brighton boys will do anything to mess with your head. As their MySpace page explains, "It's Darwinism gone mad." Um, OK.

6. Sia - Little Black Sandals
Sia may be best known for singing the gorgeous song "Breathe Me," featured on the series finale of HBO's "Six Feet Under." Openly bisexual, she has also recorded with Zero 7, lending her ethereal vocals to several of their tracks.

7. Mike Doughty - 27 Jennifers
Mike is the former leader of the great '90s band Soul Coughing, and he hasn't lost any of his wit or pop sensibility on his newer acoustic work. He's touring these days to promote a great new album, "Golden Delicious" -- you can catch him live New Year's Eve in Hoboken, N.J. (insert tired New Jersey joke here.)

8. Josh Rouse - Streetlights
I refuse to use the ungainly term "alt-country" to describe anything as beautiful as this song, from his album "Nashville." His eagerly awaited 2009 release is due in a few months.

9. Nancy Wilson - The Good Life
You've probably heard the Frank Sinatra version, where he beats the living crap out of this song. Fugettaboutit, and now listen to the way Nancy draws out all the bittersweet emotion of this gorgeous, sad song.

10. Antony and the Johnsons - Another World
The holidays are here, so stock up on Zoloft, climb under the covers and let this song carry you away. Another Mercury Prize winner, Antony Hegarty defies easy gender or musical categorization. He's performed with everyone from Lou Reed to Boy George, who didn't chain and beat him. Or maybe he did ... who are we to judge?

11. Love Song Surprise - Sweetest Day
I couldn't leave you clinically depressed after the three songs above, so now listen to Static Revenger (Dennis White) pour his heart out on this lush, romantic love song. It's reportedly a favorite of Britney Spears, so that clinches it for me.

12. Ikon - Do You Dream (Kraak & Smaak Remix)
If you saw Kraak & Smaak perform last month at the Mercury Lounge in NYC -- or anywhere else -- you know why I'm a huge fan of these Dutch partiers. Everyone from Kanye West to Perez Hilton is feeling the love. And talk about sexy -- definitely one group that's easy on the eyes.

View all Playlist/212 posts HERE.

Goldfrapp – Ooh La La!

EDITOR'S NOTE: The following review was (kindly) written by my friend Marc Lallanilla, who attended a concert I'd have killed to see, if only I had any remaining time off from work this year!

Goldfrapp treated their fans to a psychedelia-inspired concert last night at Radio City Music Hall. Coming off the success of their latest release, "Seventh Tree," the band -- led by Alison Goldfrapp and Will Gregory -- got the crowd on their feet within minutes with glittering renditions of hits like "Happiness," "Ooh La La" and "Strict Machine."

Speaking of glitter, there was as much in the audience as onstage. The gay lads were out en masse, so there was no shortage of skin-tight shirts, big scarves and guyliner. And this is one sexy band -- both guitarists were decked out in snug white Greg Brady pants, while Alison lit up the stage in a fringed top reminiscent of swingin' 60s London.

It's not often you see a band that features a harp and violin as well as rock 'n' roll drumming, and the sound in the art-deco hall was perfectly tuned to show off the band's superb musicianship. Alison's vocals were luminous, whether she was using her trademark girlish whisper or breaking into a soaring, operatic aria.

But the energy level in the 5,900-seat auditorium wavered a bit on some of their slower ballads, and despite the big trippy graphics and glam fashion, you couldn't help but wonder if the show would have come off better in a smaller, more casual venue without a battalion of security guards. (The Pentagon could take lessons in crowd control from these androids. No dancing, you must have your ticket at all times -- hell, just going to the bathroom required passing through two security checkpoints.) -- Marc Lallanilla

'Tis the Season

Had a great time with my pals at the Genre magazine holiday party last night at DTox in the East Village. Sure, the open bar with just two bartenders made getting a drink virtually impossible. But the cute crowd and festive mood more than made up for it -- and dinner at Lucien on First Avenue afterward was to die for. (P.S. My shirt is CHEr -- NOT Madonna!)

My friends: Craig Bentley and "Band Fags" author Frank Anthony Polito with Marc Lallanilla way yonder

Celebutante Richie Rich and blogger Kenny Ken

Me with Genre editor in chief Neal Boulton and publisher Bill Kapfer; Neal's wife Claire joins the party, right

I put the blog meat in a Neal and Claire Boulton sandwich (and find out what it was like to be greeted on Dino on "The Flintstones") ....

Bill Kapler and Marc Lallanilla

Going Back to Cali

By the time you read this Michael and I will be on a jet plane en route to San Diego, where we are meeting up with my entire family for a surprise gathering for my stepdad's 60th birthday. We're staying not far from Carlsbad, where my parents used to live in, and are spending the end of the trip visiting old friends up in the O.C. While I'm away my good pal Marc Lallanilla -- a talented writer with his own site whom you may recall reviewed Goldfrapp for me over the weekend -- has graciously agreed to fill in here in the (212). Have a great week and please make Marc feel welcome -- I will catch up with you when I get back!

Even Stephen

Visited the Stephen Sprouse "Rock on Mars" exhibition at Deitch Projects on Friday with my pal Marc Lallanilla. The second I walked in I immediately recognized Debbie Harry's dress from Blondie's "Heart of Glass" video. (Stephen began dressing Deb during the early days on the Bowery, long before she hit the big time.) From there we checked out dozens of his designer outfits -- several Day-Glo numbers similar to what Debbie wore on "Andy Warhol's 15 Minutes" on MTV to a safety-pin jacket. Downstairs housed a bunch of Sprouse's paintings (the Warholish Patty Hearst painting is my fave). Finally, the upstairs featured a bunch of the Louis Vuitton bags Sprouse designed (in bondage!). The best part of the show, however, was the wall covered in test Polaroids from over the years. There are a bunch of famous faces, but none more glamorous than Stephen's muse herself, Debbie Harry.

Marc's imitation of Christ?

To celebrate this Sprouse trifecta -- the exhibition, Louis Vuitton's re-release of its Sprouse line of bags and the release of "The Stephen Sprouse Book," which I paged through and loved, especially the "Rockbird" parts -- three parties were held on Thursday night. The one to be at was the Bowery Ballroom, where Debbie performed "One Way or Another," "Heart of Glass," Rip Her to Shreds" and "Call Me" to an ecstatic crowd. Those who caught Blondie's "Tracks Across America" tour back might even recognize the purple and black Sprouse outfit she wore onstage, which the now-63-year-old proved she could still slip into nearly 27 years later.

Previously: The Legacy of Stephen Sprouse

UPDATE: Check out this fun AP report:

Yodel Worthy

I'm heading out to Birmingham tomorrow morning for the first-round Davis Cup tie between the United States and Switzerland. (That's Andy Roddick, Mike and Bob Bryan, above.) As bummed as we were about Roger Federer's pulling out at the last minute, my partner in crime Greg stumbled upon these dreamy photos of the mostly unknown Swiss squad last night, below, and we've suddenly decided we won't be complaining about the competition at all.

Hunk Alert: Yves Allegro, Stephane Bohli, Severin Luthi, Stanislas Wawrinka and Marco Chiudinelli

Sign your names across my heart ...

Greg and Kenny near the University of Arizona, Tucson 1986

As excited as I am for the tennis, the real point of the trip is to catch up with my longtime friend Greg. We've known each other since 1980 (we met when we played tennis against each other back in junior high) and have been like brothers ever since (lots of laughing, lots of fighting, lots of love). It's hard for me to even imagine that this is true, but because of a number of factors, it's actually been nine years since we last saw each other, at my sister's wedding in February 2000. I couldn't be happier that our in-the-flesh drought is almost up.

While I'm away, my pal Marc Lallanilla -- who did a wonderful job filling in for me last fall when I was at my family reunion in San Diego -- will be guest-blogging for me (tech issues permitting). Since the beginning of the year, Marc's been writing his own blog -- THE SHINBONE STAR -- that I encourage you to check out, too.

Jesus Wants Me to Touch You ... Down There

(EDITOR'S NOTE: This post was written by guest blogger Marc Lallanilla.)

In the time-honored tradition of Christian-ish sexual hijinks, Tony Alamo "Christian" Ministries in Fouke, Ark., have come under investigation for running a child pornography ring.

But he looks so normal ...

The group is described as "a cult that opposes homosexuality, Catholicism and the government." Not sure what those three things have in common ... control issues, maybe? I dunno.

And Tony himself is quoted as saying that for girls having sex, "consent is puberty." Yup, that sounds like something Jesus would say.

Does anyone understand why religious types are so obsessed with sexuality, either their own or that of others? Religion could address more spiritual concerns like man's role in the universe, or the nature of life and death and the human soul. But no ... modern religion is instead concerned with one dumb thing: rules for fucking.

I'll leave you with a quote from Judith "Miss Manners" Martin: "The basic political division in this country is not between liberals and conservatives but between those who believe that they should have a say in the love lives of strangers and those who do not."

Amen.

I Feel the Magic

I just got home last night from a wonderful four-day trip to the Davis Cup tie in Birmingham, Ala., with my dear friend Greg, and I have nothing but good things to report.. (A BIG thanks to Marc Lallanilla for filling in for me while I was away. You can check out his blog HERE.) After James Blake dropped the opening match to dreamy Stanislas Warwinka, the United States had no problem defeating the Federer-less Swiss team, 4-1. (The chant of U-S-A! U-S-A! is still ringing in my ears!) My first visit to the Deep South was nothing but delightful. Birmingham has endless charm, beautiful architecture (particularly the old churches throughout downtown and the surrounding areas where we mostly were), great restaurants and friendly people. And my friend Greg was looking great and his usual sweet -- and hilarious -- self. I'm exhausted from traveling, so I'll let the (many) photos take it from here:

After attending a brief Davis Cup reception at the Birmingham-Jefferson Convention Center (BJCC), Greg and I did what all homos do -- we headed downtown to see what was happening. But not unlike our desert hometown, the answer was pretty much nothing. (We're the guys who used to drive downtown in college for free chips and salsa at the Matador just to be close to the half-dozen high-rises Phoenix had at the time.) Right around the time we'd given up we stumbled upon Safari Cup Coffee, a cute coffee house that was actually open on a Thursday night. Although the boy behind the counter was crestfallen when we responded negative to his greeting, "Are you here for the show?" The cookies and scones were deelish, as was the coffee, and it was enough to give us our second wind for the call-it-kismet movie that was playing down the street at the luminous Alabama Theatre -- "St. Elmo's Fire"! (Greg and I had seen it in Tempe with our friends Tina and Yuki back when it was released in 1985 and it's long been a favorite of ours.) It was Film 4 in a five-part Totally Awesome '80s Movies festival (sorry, Matt. I wasn't able to wrangle up any royalties for you on this one). "The Breakfast Club," "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," and "Sixteen Candles" were the first three (out of order, but OK). And "Dirty Dancing" is the final installment -- which totally doesn't fit in with the theme (HELLO! have they never heard of "Pretty in Pink"?) -- although I'd be hard-pressed to pick a fight with the fun queen who organized the whole thing and starts the evening off with a recital -- on a Wurlitzer theater organ!!! Get a load of this '80s classic:



Afterward, he tried to get the audience to partake in a singalong that included songs by Tina Turner and Rick Astley. While it went NOWHERE fast, I couldn't help but love his spunk.

Before and after, Greg and I were mesmerized by the gloriously restored movie palace that was built in 1927 to show silent films. So many balconies and bars on every floor. And check out the downstairs "lounge":

Back out on 3rd Avenue North, my architecture-obsessed friend was marveling at this Art Deco clock on the corner while I was equally dazzled by Kate Jackson's star on the Walk of Fame (she's from Birmingham, you know).

Then it was Friday -- Day 1 of the Davis Cup tie -- so we headed out to get some breakfast en route to tennis. Greg loved this church near the convention center ...

which was not far from the Magic City Grille, a soul food kitchen where we got some breakfast ...

and made a couple new friends, who snuck into our booth to play with my camera. (That boy on the left is quite a charmer while his cute sis is the brains of the operation!)

Then we got to BJCC just in time for the opening ceremonies. It sounds kinda corny, but Greg and I both got a little emotional during the whole thing, between the two national anthems and all the other patriotism stuff that goes with representing your country.

Then I ran into a "Friend of the (212)," Todd, who was working the event and kindly got us into some great lower-level seats that not only took care of all of my nose-bleed issues, but allowed me to see that the hunky Wawinka does have bad skin as Greg had warned me. (Stan still has the best ass in men's tennis!) You're the best, Todd!

After James Blake's four-set loss to Wawrinka, Andy Roddick defeated Marco Chiudinelli 6-1, 6-3, 7-6 (5), to even things at 1-1.

That night, Greg and I had some good Mexican food at a little dive called La Cocina over on the southside of town. Afterward, we popped by Our Place, a little gay video bar that apparently is just celebrating its first anniversary. Greg's not big on nightlife, but he humored me long enough for me to get a drink and run into blog reader Scott, a sweet native who graciously showed me the ropes of Birmingham's gay scene. (Very friendly -- but steer clear of the right-wing aerobics instructor with the nasty streak -- yikes!)

The following day Bob and Mike Bryan gave the U.S. a 2-1 lead against Switzerland by defeating Wawrinka and Yves Allegro. With the win, the twins also became the most successful American doubles team to ever play Davis Cup. That night we headed over to the trendy Five Points area that's got all these spectacular old apartment buildings and a commercial area that's filled with one-of-a-kind shops and restaurants (they still have cluttered used record stores!). We ate dinner at this good Thai place called Surin West and then had coffee (OK, that was a Starbucks).

Afterward, we drove much further than we had planned to see the male cheerleading film, "Fired Up," which was mildly amusing at times, despite the unnecessary (read: not even funny) homophobic humor and long-in-the-tooth leads (the dark-haired guy is a total stud but the blond looks like the EBN-OZN guy and is kinda gross). (Manohla Dargis keenly describes the film as "at once funnier than it should be and more witless than it should have been.")

Then before I could even develop a Southern drawl it was Sunday, with team captains Andy Roddick and Stanislas Wawinka set to battle to either win it for the U.S., or set up a decisive fifth match. The two had never met before (other than when Andy retired in Rome last summer trailing 0-3), and everyone really thought Stan had a good shot at making a match of it.

But as beautiful as his backhand was, he folded under the pressure and Roddick never even faced a break point, winning in three easy sets. The highlight of the match was when longtime TENNIS magazine writer Peter Bodo sat down in the seat next to Greg and we ended up having a fun chat with him. I told him how much we used to LOVE the Tennis annual yearbook and how Greg and I would often nearly come to blows when one would receive his copy in the mail first. And that I loved how Judith Elian would rank whoever won the French Open No. 1 no matter what else happened all year. Bodo laughed and said he used to give her grief about that same thing, and about her undying love for Ille Nastase, who could be 0-6 against all his rivals and still get Judy's No. 1 nod. ("He's the best player," she'd tell Peter!)

But then after a weekend of great tennis and a lot of laughs (not to mention Heinz Gunthardt, Tom Gullikson and Van Heflin lookalike sightings), it was finally time to say goodbye to my partner in crime. I was on a 5:40 p.m. flight to La Guardia and poor Greg had an eight-hour drive back to Mountain Home, Arkansas, in the Celery Mobile. We both fell a little bit in love with Birmingham and a lot more in love with Davis Cup. Rumor has it that the Magic City is angling to be the home to future ties, and Greg and I are hoping there's truth to this. Despite a nine-year break, the magic is definitely still in our friendship, and we both agreed we'd like to make an annual event out of this.

Old friends: Sat on their park bench like bookends

No More Virgins

This post was written by guest blogger Marc Lallanilla, who writes his own fab blog over HERE:

By this summer, you won't be able to find a Virgin anywhere. The iconic record store chain will go the way of so many other institutions : Tower Records, buggy whips, and penmanship. I used to love going to the big megastore on Sunset Blvd. in West Hollywood, as well as the one in Union Square, NYC, even though it meant passing that street vendor and his deliciously smelly burned food. (What is that stuff anyways?) But I guess now I'll have to get music the same way I get sex -- all alone.

Go Ahead, Sue Me

This post was written by guest blogger Marc Lallanilla, who writes his own fab blog over HERE:

A couple of big, powerful institutions are all scared today because you now have the right to sue the crap outta them.

Ever been messed up by drugs? (The prescription kind, that is.) The Supreme Court ruled that you can sue pharmaceutical companies now -- and lots of other people who make potentially dangerous products. Like Chicken McNuggets.

Ever been molested by a priest? Sure, who hasn't. But the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals -- those liberal hippies out in San Francisco whom all the conservatives hate -- ruled that you can now sue the Vatican for abuse. That's right, the Vatican! And those bitches are RICH! Someone tell evil Sister Mary Renata, the dominatrix from Clearwater Central Catholic High School, that she's in my crosshairs.

Pick on someone your own size ...

(EDITOR'S NOTE: This post was written by guest blogger Marc Lallanilla.)

In case you thought Christian zealots were the only pseudo-religious crackpots around, a Muslim cleric has now declared that Mickey Mouse is "one of Satan's soldier's" and must be killed.

Satan's soldier? "The power of cheese compels you ..."

Sheikh Muhammad Munajid, a former diplomat at the Saudi embassy in Washington, D.C., provided no advice on how to kill a cartoon character. Maybe he can convince Wile E. Coyote to drop an ACME anvil on the mouse's head.

Long Live the Queen(s)

(EDITOR'S NOTE: This post was written by guest blogger Marc Lallanilla.)

For gays of a certain age -- you know who you are -- a recent Newsweek.com article may get you thinking.

"Invisible and Overlooked" describes many of the challenges faced by, and the unique strengths of, our aging gay population.

This need not be your fate -- though you could do a lot worse:

Quentin Crisp, fierce gay provocateur (1908-1999)

Summer in the City

As someone who A) works weekends and B) doesn't tan, you might assume that I'm not a big fan of New York summers. But ever since they stopped being unbearably hot (if "The Seven Year Itch" had been filmed today, Marilyn Monroe would have been coming downstairs to borrow a space heater), I find the ghost-town atmosphere and the endless supply of offbeat events make the season one of my favorite times of the year.

Last night was a Guys' Night Out screening of "The Proposal" -- with a special guest appearance by Betty White, who plays Ryan Reynolds' grandmother in the film. Although my dreams of having my photo taken with the Happy Homemaker herself did not come true, it was fun hanging out with my "plus one," Marc Lallanilla, and Matt and Jose, who were there more to see one Rose Nyland (and were just far enough inside the St. Olaf border to get a picture with her!).

Nothing against Betty, but I couldn't help but notice that the Left Coast Guys' Night Out event -- which apparently was for actual "male office assistants" like Reynolds' character in the film as opposed to the NYC event, a veritable fagapalooza -- featured a visit from Ryan himself, something our group was dreaming about but which I dismissed as an impossibility given the perilous "Suddenly, Last Summer" scenario that would likely unfold with Ry in a room full of gay men. (Who knew gay men in Los Angeles knew how to control themselves?)

The movie was tolerable enough, which means it was filled with cliches (YES Sandra Bullock took a dive; YES they broke into a "retro" song out of nowhere; and YES they HATE each other but somehow manage to fall TOTALLY in love) and implausible plot twists. But with Ryan Reynolds 100 percent naked (OK, he covered his dong), it would be hard to call it a complete waste of time.

The Boys of Summer: Me, Jose and Matt

Tonight promises to be way better (entertainmentwise, at least), as I'm going to a double feature of Susan Seidelman's classic '80s New Wave films, "Smithereens" and "Desperately Seeking Susan," at the 92nd Street Y Tribeca. As regular readers know, it was these works --along with help from Woody Allen, "Times Square" and reruns of "Family Affair" -- that inspired me to move to the city. So if you're at all interested in watching a grown man make a complete fool of himself, you might want to stop by and see how flummoxed I get when the Seidelman herself does a post-screening Q&A for one then introduces the other and I break down and tell her how much she altered the course of my life. (She's the cool aunt I never had!) Although it will be a riot to see "Desperately Seeking Susan" on the big screen again, I'm even more excited about seeing "Smithereens," a film I only used to catch on USA Network at 2 in the morning when I was a kid (remember Night Flight?). Back then, the idea of someone with little or no talent trying to self-promote themselves to fame (Angelyne, anyone?) was a novel idea. I'm curious how dated it will seem in the post-reality-TV era, when "real" stars are increasingly becoming the minority of celebrities.

"Smithereens" (1982)
7:30 p.m.
Director Susan Seidelman in person for post-screening Q&A.

Wren is a self-promoting wannabe punk from Jersey who moves to New York City with the dream of getting in on the music scene -- in spite of the fact that she has no musical talent. Aiming to create a buzz about herself, she posts flyers of her face around subway stations captioned with the question "Who Is This?", but no one seems to care enough to find out. Susan Seidelman’s first feature had its premiere at the Cannes Film Festival in 1982 and co-stars punk legend Richard Hell.

"Desperately Seeking Susan" (1985)
10 p.m.
Director Susan Seidelman in person to introduce the film.

In this ‘80s love letter to the downtown scene, Rosanna Arquette is Roberta Glass, a bored New Jersey yuppie housewife who finds escapism from her mundane life in the New York personal ad exploits of a flighty bohemian named Susan (Madonna). When Roberta travels to the city to witness an ad-inspired meeting between Susan and her lover Jimmy, she bumps her head, loses her memory and for all intents and purposes, becomes Susan, thanks to a case of mistaken identity. As a result, she is pursued by crooks and other shady characters through the funky East Village of the early '80s.

"Times Square" (1980)
Girls, Interrupted

Although I've had the same (unwatched) movie from Netflix for months now ("Short Bus"), I need to get slash rewatch "Times Square," the best movie about two girls breaking out of a mental institution to form a punk band of the 1980s. (Or can a revival be far off?)

It's only the second week of June and my calendar is already jam-packed with lots of fun stuff. Too bad I'm too lazy to go to the Jersey: The Psychedelic Furs are playing this weekend at the Wellmont Theatre in Montclair, but Martha Davis and the Motels are coming back to the city later in the month ....