Fischerspooner may have fooled the world with their highbrow conceptual art, but they couldn’t fool the police. Wednesday’s show, the first of their three-night stand at Deitch Projects, was abruptly cut off, with Casey Spooner begging an officer to let them perform their “one hit song, please!” We couldn’t be sure if it was real or just part of the act.
A fuel leak had forced the 10 p.m. show to be delayed by an hour, and when it went long, neighbors complained to the cops.
The Wooster Street space was set up like a theater-in-the-round, with three stages flanking the audience. For all the hype, it was akin to a high school play—with garish costumes and makeup, choreography resembling a third-rate Janet Jackson video, and hunky Casey lip-synching to the CD #1.
Spooner looked awfully uncomfortable doing all those Rhythm Nation hand-jives. But then again, that was probably part (and the point) of the performance: uncovering the artifice of a massive arena production and exposing how painful, how hard, how silly, and how very unglamorous these spectacles really are. In this, FS are brilliant.
Which may be why their original $75,000 asking price skyrocketed to a reported $2 million record deal with Ministry of Sound. FS were given $300,000 to stage the event, which drew some 10,000 ticket requests, even though only 350 could be honored each show. Of course, it helped if you were a celebrity: Downtown luminaries in attendance included Jim Jarmusch, Lene Lovich, Spalding Gray, David Byrne, Lou Reed, and Debbie Harry.
Tommie Sunshine spun at the Soho and Tribeca Grand after-parties, turning the two swanky hotels into his second residence. Felix Da Housecat‘s right-hand man is in high demand, getting remix requests from neo-garage band the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, but he was floored when Nick Rhodes requested their studio trickery for Rhodes’s project with Stephen Duffy, Duran Duran‘s original singer. Apparently, Rhodes and Duffy have a batch of early demos that were never properly recorded, and they want Tommie and Felix’s hot touch. All five original D2 members are planning a reunion, with a new record produced by Nile Rodgers due for a fall release. The new wave comeback doesn’t end there: Soft Cell and Human League also want the electro slutz to turn out their brand-new tracks.
Gloss‘s two-year anniversary party held last Saturday at Meow Mix would’ve made the Catholic Church proud. Drag-king host Murray Hill “married” Rachael and Chloé, the party’s two hostesses with the mostest. Rachael, the bride-to-be, appeared drunk as a skunk, wearing a little two-piece, white-leather boots, and—oh yeah—a veil. She carried a martini to the stage, where she greeted her chain-smoking groom. Two butch altar boys and a punk-rock flower girl stood by. The lovely lesbos repeated their vows—something about promising to wipe the glitter off their faces in the morning—and gave each other a deep French kiss. They tossed the bouquet into the crowd and promptly flashed their tits. Who knew weddings could be so much fun?
There was no escaping Moby last week. Posters for his new album, 18, were plastered everywhere, and there were a bazillion record-release parties in his honor. The Little Idiot also celebrated the opening of his new L.E.S. vegan/vegetarian restaurant, appropriately called Teany, last Sunday. The avid vegetarian co-owns the wee space with his friend Kelly Tisdale. I sampled the Un-Turkey club sandwich ($8), with tempeh bacon and “veganaise,” and happily report that meat eaters will not feel like they are partaking of rabbit food.
Word-of-mouth appearances by big-name DJs are always a blast, as was the surprise set from Chicago jock Derrick Carter, who dropped in for Tronic Treatment last Monday night. Baktun was jam-packed, and Richie Hawtin adamantly proclaimed, “I’m going to dance!” Carter rocked the house with old-school disco and ’80s house, mixing them with newer tunes like Miss Kittin‘s raunchy “Frank Sinatra.” The other miss thang, Miss Honey Dijon, performed her own brand of deep-house aerobics and lip-synched the XXX bits: “Suck my dick, lick my ass.” Honey! I blush.
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on May 21, 2002