I was never a fan of Kylie Minogue—until she gave me her fan. Sure, I couldn’t get “Can’t Get You Out of My Head” out of my head, but she’s really a European sensation. Then I met the wee lass at the Hiro after-party for the Scissor Sisters‘ show last week, hosted as always by those cuckoo kids the Trinity.
The next day she was in the studio with the Sisters, who are finishing up their second record, due out by the end of summer. I tried to pawn off my extra ticket for Jamie Lidell on either Shears or Babydaddy (hottest bear ever, by the way), but they both had a date with Elton John at the Lestat premiere. Elton—it turns out—is a fan of Lidell and had passed on his Multiply CD to the Sisters’ boys.
Too bad they couldn’t come, because they missed another showstopping Lidell concert, where he—as my friend, writer Will Hermes, put it—”single-handedly made up for 10 years of boring electronic-music performances.” Part ’70s soul tribute, part experimental improv, part sampling lesson, the concert showcased Lidell’s talents as a comedic performer, a smooth crooner, and a freaking genius with more charisma in his pinky than all the indie-rock bands playing Pitchfork’s Intonation Festival combined. Also, did I mention he’s hot? I’m his number one fan. I’ll fan him—and feed him grapes too.
Hopefully, after they fix their floors, Lidell can return to Rothko, which he once played. The club was shut down after last Thursday’s Blues Traveler show, when the buildings department determined that the two-year-old venue’s floors needed reinforcing. Owner Rory Maher is renovating the club for the next month or so and diverting his bookings to other spots around the city. A new, improved Rothko will arrive just in time for summer. “I need a vacation,” Maher quipped.
Me too—especially after this week. On Wednesday, I dipped my toes into the Tribeca Film Festival—with a party at the Time Warner mall thing, ostensibly an event for Across the Hall, a short featuring Entourage‘s Adrian Grenier (who also popped up Thursday at the Soho Grand and Saturday at the Bowery Ballroom with his band, Honey). It turned out we were really just vessels for Samsung advertising and bad hors d’oeuvres. I fled to the newly opened Buddha Bar in the meatpacking district with DJ Shoe, the first DJ I ever heard, who spins at Little Buddha in Las Vegas. The simple, unassuming exterior of the Paris-based chain’s local outpost didn’t hint at the flamboyant decor inside. The piéce de résistance was a giant, black, floating Buddha that loomed over the diners as they enjoyed pricey, mediocre sushi and listened to fine French import Sam Popat play Enigma.
We headed across the street to Cielo, where we found the Roots party, thrown by Blaze‘s Kevin Hedge and Louie Vega, in full throttle. It felt like a celebration, and that’s ’cause it was a birthday party attended by Cirque du Soleil bigwig Guy Laliberté for Vega’s gregarious sweetheart of a wife, singer Anané, who plied me with drinks. She didn’t have to. I was already a fan.