By Araceli Cruz
By Tessa Stuart
By Anna Merlan
By Keegan Hamilton
By Albert Samaha
By Village Voice staff
By Tessa Stuart
By Albert Samaha
Most people who celebrate their birthdays do so quietly. But then most people are not CASEY SPOONER, who loves nothing more than a big party. The birthday boy threw himself a bash February 3 at the FISCHERSPOONER loft in Williamsburg, where they host a weekly salon. He wore a ridiculous JEREMY SCOTT-designed black and silver lamé cape contraption over a high-waisted red cummerbund. "It's my job," he explained. No longer lying about his age just to confuse people as he did a few years ago, he happily told anyone who asked, "I'm 35 and proud. I'm out."
If you couldn't find Casey in the crowdwhich included MELISSA BURNS from W.I.T., SPENCER PRODUCT, and TOMMIE SUNSHINE, who was DJ'ingyou could find Casey on the wall, where four massive photos of his transformation into a monster were displayed in succession from least scary to most scary. Footage of Casey, Casey, Casey played on a huge overhead video screen. There was Casey in Fischerspooner's new video, "Just Let Go," which was basically all Casey in various outfits striking rock star poses, and no WARREN (FISCHER, the guy who makes all the music, and who was also at the party, content to be the Wizard to Casey's Dorothy). It included a slo-mo shot of Casey against a yellow moon, falling backward melodramatically. "That's my favorite part," said Casey as he watched Casey on the screen. Mine too.
In the center of the room, a Fischerspooner "cop" guarded Casey's birthday presents on a table surrounded by red velvet rope. I gave him a heart-shaped box of chocolates with a teddy bear attached. Someone else gave him a 'do-rag. Next to the table stood a life-size cutout of, yes, Casey. "It's been a running joke at the label," he said. "I always wanted one." I made Casey pose with himself, who was just a tad bit smaller than the real thing, and asked, "Doesn't all this freak you out?"
"No. I am the work!" he replied with absolute sincerity.
"Well, you're definitely a piece of work."
We left Casey and his replicants to go to ULTRAGRRRL's birthday shindig, held at the new goth party for trendy hipsters "Visions of the Impending Apocalypse" at Happy Ending, where the King of all Goths, CARLOS D., spun an all-gothic set. At one point we met BOB, a blond, unassuming nice guy with a British accent. The room was crowded with twentysomethings, and it was getting hot and stuffy. Bob made a funny: "It's like a sauna in here." For the uninitiated, Happy Ending is actually a sauna. Later, I asked Bob what he did in London. "Actually, I'm from Scotland." What do you do in Scotland? "I'm in a band," he said (can everyone else but me see this coming?), "called FRANZ FERDINAND." Who's the dummy? I raise my hand. On our way out, I accosted FANNYPACK's FANCY, the gayest straight man in New York, and demanded to see the contents of his leather man-purse. Inside: three Sharpie markers, loose playing cards, not one but two mini-tubes of toothpaste (but no toothbrush), a mini-bottle containing mouthwash instead of liquor, breath freshener, and a makeup compact. "It's not mine!" he protested, disavowing only the compact.
I spent a lot of time with twentysomethings last week. At MisShapes, I watched everyone watch JARVIS COCKER, the man of the hour, who was DJ'ing with his PULPbandmate STEVE MACKEY. Jarvis tends to bring out stalker tendencies in people, as one girl came all the way from San Francisco and literally had to be detached from him. She had thrown herself under his wife's legs in the DJ booth and was clinging to Cocker before security yanked her out. The event served as the after-party for the M.I.A. show at the Knitting Factory. There were rumors that JAY-Z might turn up. He never did, but maybe he should take a cue from Casey and make a life-size cutout of himself and send that in his stead.