The reports are in from the Winter Music Conference in Miami, which we skipped this year for the first time since 1999, much to the dismay of DJ MAX PASK, who complained, “How am I supposed to remember what I did?”
We had some eyes and ears in the form of techno DJ KIMYON, who, in between his bake sessions (and we are not referring to tanning), managed to DJ at his party with lovely lasses REID SPEED and LADY D and hang out with FELIX DA HOUSECAT at P. DIDDY‘s party at Pure. He got to witness firsthand the love between NAOMI CAMPBELL and TOMMY LEE, who hung out in the DJ booth and got real nice and friendly—when they weren’t pumping their fists to classic techno tracks and screaming, “Yeah dude right on!”
My BF CASEY SPOONER of FISCHERSPOONER fame reports that his favorite WMC moment came when he was being interviewed by Factory Records founder TONY WILSON while being filmed by Real World season one bimbo ERIC NIES. Says a tearful Spooner, “I was simultaneously misty and truly thankful to be alive.” Also thankful to be alive is Spin writer ADRIENNE DAY, who managed to get run over by a car on her first night of the conference (she claims she’d only had “a few” drinks). At least the car wasn’t the Hummer she’d ridden around in with DIZZEE RASCAL. The wee scribe had to wear a cast for the rest of the trip, but was consoled by a full prescription of Percocet.
While the rest of the club industry was busy getting run over by cars and/or getting drunk, we were busy expanding our horizons and crashing the V.I.P. opening of the Whitney Biennial, where we broadened our limited worldview by . . . hanging out at the bar. We figured it was too crowded to actually see the art, so we decided that the people would have to serve as the art. And what art! WILLEM DAFOE canoodled with a young brunette who appeared to be half his age. (It has been reported that he split from longtime partner ELIZABETH LECOMPTE.) We figure that Dafoe’s “piece” was a commentary on how utterly predictable men are.
Also in the crowd were LE TIGRE‘s KATHLEEN HANNA and JD SAMSON, and . . . why is there a giant blue rabbit at the Whitney? How SCOTTY THE BLUE BUNNY managed to get past security in his requisite Lycra outfit we don’t know, but then we realized that JULIE ATLAS MUZ managed to get past security with no outfit. Yes, the burlesque blondie was absolutely butt-naked in the midst of all the artsy-fartsy uptown folks. Just as we were getting over the shock of Ms. Muz’s wonderful behind, we ran into a glammed-up DIRTY MARTINI and MURRAY HILL, both of whom were there to support Ms. Muz’s bare breasts and her Biennial show, The Rite of Spring. Viva le downtown freaks!
Speaking of downtown freaks, singer-songwriter DANIEL CARTIER, the guy with the tattooed bald head who was briefly signed to ELTON JOHN‘s label a few years ago, is back in town. Cartier, now a clean T, who once dated my friend, promoter-hustler MARIO DIAZ, has been living on Cape Cod with his boyfriend and three dogs for the past few years and is touring behind his self-released record Revival. He’s set to play at an album release party next Wednesday at Plaid’s Kitten Klub jam.
In addition to running a company that gets music placed on television shows, Cartier also started painting. A lot. “I hadn’t painted in 12 years and just flipped out one day and started going at it. I couldn’t stop. I was obsessed, I painted 70 paintings,” he says.
The paintings are all of devils. “Devils with their kids. Devils with their pets, devils out on dates, devils on the phone, devils getting drunk at bars, devils dreaming about other devils, devils giving each other flowers, devils giving each other blowjobs.” The artist decided to “get a lot of my sexual repression out” through photography, via giant photographs of penises with haikus written on them. (Gee, does someone have some inner demons they are trying to work out? Nah.) We figure it’s just another commentary on how utterly predictable men are.