Berlin is the new Williamsburg, but Tommie Sunshine, the Chicago DJ, apparently isn’t hip to the trend of artists moving out of New York in droves (the latest casualty is Danny Wang of Environ Records), as Sunshine just moved to the city—Brooklyn precisely. He’s even been inducted to New York the old-fashioned way: by getting mugged at five in the morning.
“There’s one neighborhood where everyone looks like they are from Williamsburg, with faux hawks and mullets,” says the DJ of Berlin. “But none of them are from New York. They’re all German!” Well, probably not all of them. It is, after all, the home of Canuck Peaches—who should win the International Mullet Award. Sunshine, who is so over the mullet, has shaved his rattail and is now sporting a new fluffy, feathered hairdo.
In a final stab of irony, Berliniamsburg, the night that started this electrotrash-’80s craze in the first place—or rather, capitalized on it—is gasping its final retro breath on Saturday night after nearly two years. Promoter Larry Tee is putting the kibosh on the Luxx party, with a final, teary-eyed goodbye featuring W.I.T. and Mr. Sunshine.
I ran into Mr. Sunshine on Thursday night at the Rivertown Lounge, where I was spinning as part of my week-long birthday festivities. (I turned 21, y’all.) He was begging me to meet every single member of Atlantic Records’ “top priority band” Kill Hannah. I did meet all of them, and they were very cute—cute enough to replace the Strokes. The lead singer, Mat Devine, would make little reminders to himself via his cell phone memo button, which I never think to use (this could also be why he’s somebody’s top priority and I’m not). Anyhoo, playing rawk at Chris Zahn‘s party Rocks Off was really fun, but I was a little perplexed when some girl came up to me and asked if I could play some “like, salsa or hip-hop.” I looked at her and said, “It’s a ROCK PARTY.” “Yeah, I know, but can you play something more upbeat?” I said, “I’m playing Blondie.”
The one good thing about spinning techno is that you rarely get requests (trainspotters don’t ask, “Like, can you play more minimalist German techno, please?” or “Do you have ‘Strings of Life’?”). At P.S.1 on Saturday, Danny Krivit actually did play “Strings of Life,” and it made the crowd happy. He also made me very happy when he played Galaxy2Galaxy‘s “Hi Tech Jazz,” another old Detroit record. The sight of so many New Yorkers joyfully partaking in that by now foreign thing called dancing made me a little verklempt. I was also greatly moved by the hula-hoopers in the corner, the cute li’l children bopping around, and the obvious lack of truckers’ hats and mullets. (Deep thought of the day: Apparently, the only way to get jaded nightcrawlers to a museum is to hold a party.)
DJ E-Man, who also played at P.S.1, is moving his six-year-strong jam Bang the Party once again. The little party that could is transferring from its current Fort Greene home at 667 Bar Gallery Lounge to the two-story Brooklyn venue the Duplexx on August 1. And I’m told there’s gonna be a BTP movie, set to be released this fall.
Let’s hope, however, that there are no home movies released of my birthday bash on Friday night at the Slipper Room, where my bare bottom was spanked by a giant man dressed in a blue bunny outfit. Scotty the Blue Bunny sneered as he put drunk li’l me over his knee and whacked away. (Memo to anyone with cameras: I will pay. Handsomely.)
Up until that point, I felt like a semi-important person, if only ’cause a real celebrity came to my party—OK, so what if it was Michael Musto, who also happens to be a co-worker, and who I had to bribe to come down—and ’cause Murray Hill, Amber Ray, and Lady Ace all performed. (The latter demurely offered me a bite of cake off her round booty. Like a lady, I accepted.) By the end of the night, or rather, morning, I felt like a mess as I did the walk of shame out of Hell’s Kitchen’s Siberia, looking like a trashed Courtney Love (is that redundant?), wearing a tiara, smeared red lipstick, and cake all over my shoes. Guess it was a good one!