We knew she was smart, but damn. Last Saturday night at Centro-Fly during her DJs R Not Rockstars party, Concetta Kirschner, a/k/a/ Princess Superstar, showed off a silver ring with a weird “M” logo and dared us to deduce what it was. Appraising her outfit—a form-fitting shiny black one-piece, gold belt, gold lamé boots with one shoe folded over—we hazarded a guess. “Pimps ‘n’ Hos Association?”
“Mensa!” she said with a grin. “I’m a member!” The blond rapper received her genius accreditation recently when—after failing the online Mensa exam—she sent in a test that she had taken as an eight-year-old, on which she scored 127. “They still take it,” she said, “because supposedly your IQ doesn’t change.”
Not to be outdone, our friend Rob Levine, an editor at Wired magazine, produced from his wallet proof of his newly acquired Friar’s Club membership. Ms. Superstar was equally impressed. “We’ve gotta go!” said Princess.
“Yeah,” said Levine. “It’s all 70-year-olds.”
Upstairs, Junior Sanchez spun to a sparse crowd, taking over after ghetto-tech DJ Disco D. The flashing strobes and punishing sound system reminded me of why I don’t like big clubs anymore, even if they come with a massage room, as the new Spirit club—housed in the old Twilo space—promises to have. (The club, due to open this summer, has a bizarre, New Age-y vibe to it.) Let’s hope that Spirit’s owners have better luck at rejuvenating an old space than David Marvisi did with the Limelight. There’s already a “For Sale” sign hanging out front, and I’m told that the Lyons brothers, longtime nightlife proprietors from Boston, are about to sign a new deal for the beleaguered club.
At Centro-Fly—where, the week before, co-owner Tom Sisk graciously let people with unemployment stubs in free all night—the speakers blared the new P. Diddy–Deep Dish single “Let’s Get Ill.” Not as fresh as I remembered it (yeah, I was UTI—under the influence), the rap impresario’s dance record was sounding more intriguing after I talked to Felix Da Housecat earlier in the week. Felix—one of several people collaborating with P. Diddy—has been flying over from Chicago to work outrageously long hours with Puffy. (“He’s a workaholic,” said Felix.) Felix is no slouch either: He’s been working on his own album, the follow-up to the successful Kittenz & Thee Glitz. The new record, tentatively titled Devin Dazzles and Neon Memoirs, features special guests Peaches, DFA’s James Murphy, and the Glamorama girls.
I asked the ‘Cat how their music sounded: “Like electro-rap, but not retro,” explained Felix. “And a little more street.” Puffy, not surprisingly, has very discerning taste in dance music. Says Felix, “He’s not good with names, like he doesn’t know what it’s called, but he knows what’s good and what’s cheesy.” Cheesy in Puffy’s eyes is trance. “Basically, he likes music that black people would like,” giggled Felix.
All this was good and well, but I wanted dirt. I wanted to know, Did you get to roll with the posse? On one occasion, the two headed down to Erick Morillo’s b-day party at Discothéque with the bodyguards, the whole shebang. Puffy walked straight up to the front door “not even looking,” says Felix, who is perhaps the opposite of Mr. Diva in every way.
The one person who outdivas Puffy was at Fez on Friday night for the Third Annual L.E.S. Pageant, hosted by that cheeseburger-eating, Budweiser-swilling skirt chaser Murray Hill. The event was packed to the gills with lesbian ladies, all of whom were perplexed and enchanted by the presence of one Ivana Trump, who was seated, even more bizarrely, with Le Tigre. (We heard that another diva, J.Lo, was supposed to show, but no.) The Voice‘s in-house celebrity Michael Musto was one of the judges, as were Marga Gomez, J.D. Samson, Linda Simpson, and Adrienne Truscott from the Wau Wau Sisters. The winner, Miss Bowery (Vlonda, Misstress of Pain and Pleasure), an Aeon Flux dominatrix type, trumped (sorry, couldn’t help it) the crowd favorite—the trashy, femme, glammed-out Miss Rivington (Golda Knockerstein), who bemoaned that the economy made it hard to afford Jimmy Choos. “Shoes for Jews!” she shouted as the audience roared its approval. Said a friend who was watching Ivana watch the show: “Ivana loves Miss Rivington!”
Research assistance: Daniel King
This article from the Village Voice Archive was posted on April 29, 2003