NY Mirror

In real life, the devil wears white.

Gigolo Records impresario DJ Hell,
reclining with his electro acolytes at the Tribeca Grand on Sunday, displayed a
knack for the all-white-suit look. It was the night after the big Miss Kittin/Hell
show at Centro-Fly, and he was having drinks and dinner with Kittin’s cohort the Hacker, Fischerspooner‘s DJ Unknown, DJ Ulysses,
and the two members of opening act Crossover (Desmond and Verona,
already insouciant and pouty-faced like real pop stars with lots of money and
fame).

C-Fly had been a full-on electro sleazefest with
Miss Kittin dryly inquiring from the stage, “Are you all asleep or what?” The
improbably mixed crowd consisted of typical Saturday-night C-Fly goombahs and
electro celebs like Fischerspooner’s singer Casey Spooner looking
baby-faced and damn near preppy as he lounged behind the DJ booth. Sexy rapper Concetta
Kirshner, a/k/a Princess Superstar, was seen mingling with the
crowd. And downtown trannie Amanda Lepore—getting freakier by the
moment, sporting a bright yellow bouffant ‘do—still managed to beat me to the
punch at the velvet rope. Could it be that a see-through black-lace
number—highlighting perfectly augmented tits and ass—is a surefire
attention-getter?

There was an awkward moment at the Grand between
Hell—who’s so German he’s Bavarian—and “Electroclash” promoter Larry Tee
when the latter arrived to catch a bit of Hell’s surprise set. The two had a
falling-out over the aforementioned festival, with Hell insisting the whole
thing was his idea. “[Larry Tee] stole the whole concept and even the name of
the Electroclash festival,” complained Hell via e-mail. (Hell’s so German he
even writes with an accent.) “He’s a very dangerous guy and I think he
will destroy the scene in NY very soon. He’s only interested in money and fame
and his personal profit.”

Tee, of course, maintains that Hell is loco.
“Well, he obviously feels it was his idea, which it wasn’t,” replied Tee. “How
could I steal such a big festival, anyway? He couldn’t have pulled it off
working out of Berlin. I am truly sorry he feels upset.”

I say let them both have it out in a mud pit,
set the whole thing to a Gigolo-Electroclash soundtrack, and charge money for
entry. Sort of a celebrity mudwrestling match for the dance-music underground.

Speaking of Tee, he’s got a new look-alike
neighbor in Williamsburg. The other bald-headed techno DJ who wears nerdy black
eyeglasses—known to most as Richie Hawtin—recently relocated from
Detroit to the trendy lil’ ‘hood. Hawtin and Tee had a giggle over the calamity
that they both get mistaken for Moby, and while Tee suggested rubbing
out the Little Idiot, Hawtin demurred. All three of them in a mud pit sounds
better than a Hell-Tee matchup, don’t you think?

We all know promoters are total bottom-feeders,
but this might be a new low. There’s one promoter who’s stuck his foot so far
in his mouth, it’s probably going to need surgical removal. The week before the
Winter Music Conference, longtime NYC fixture Alan Sanctuary sent out an
e-mail to quite possibly the whole world patting himself on the back for his
new party Spend the Night at Club Shelter, which was to feature Detroit techno
legends Kevin Saunderson and Carl Craig. I generally follow the
adage “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say it at all,” so I’ll let Mr.
Sanctuary speak for himself: “Those of you who have spent less time as a part
of this [club scene] will now see how and why I’ve often been referred to as
THE BEST PROMOTER EVER,” wrote Sanctuary. (His caps, not mine.)

The kicker: According to Club Shelter co-owner Kevin
Hedge, Mr. Sanctuary didn’t pay a measly $2500 deposit (discounted from
$4000) for his event, and so the club (smartly) gave the main floor to a party
with Marcus Intalex and Mathematics. In the end, Mr. Craig and
Mr. Saunderson arrived for their gigs (miracle of miracles! Detroit followers
will know what I am talking about), with Carl “spending the night”—in bed—and
Saunderson kicking it in the Shelter office.

Mr. Sanctuary’s transgressions don’t end there.
Apparently, only 157 people showed up for the Craig-Saunderson party. But wait,
how was it possible to know how many people came for his event? “Alan still did
the admission and took the money,” explained Hedge. The weasel apparently set
up shop at one entrance, took some of the armbands being used for the Intalex
show, and collected money until the club security and the Intalex promoters
caught wind. “He was just very thankless and very arrogant,” said Hedge.

Funny, neither Hedge nor the dance community at
large has heard from Mr. Sanctuary since then. He certainly hasn’t returned my
e-mails.

While at WMC, I found my dance-music Deep Throat
sitting poolside at the Governor hotel. DT divulged a great rumor that Phil
Smith, the infamous, but behind-the-scenes owner of Twilo, is
on the make to open a real-deal nightclub in DUMBO. E-mails and phone calls to
Smith and his lawyer, Peter Sullivan, went unreturned. But on www.phazonsound.com,
the Web site for Smith’s other business, Phazon Inc. (the fancy sound system
Twilo made famous), there’s quite a dicktease. Something called Glowbana
is touted as “coming soon (very soon)” to NYC as one of the newest “clients” of
Phazon Inc., and on the same page, Twilo is referred to as “the once and
future.” You do the math. I should note that this ain’t old news: The page was
updated just last month—March 6, to be exact.

It was a who’s-who of rock critics at the
birthday party for Spin writer Laura Sinagra on Wednesday night.
Everyone, including Sinagra’s main squeeze, Spin ed Jon Dolan, was in attendance at the East Village’s No Malice Palace. A beaming Andy
Greenwald, who recently quit Spin, celebrated his freshly
minted book deal with St. Martin’s Press by consuming cold medication and
alcohol. Greenwald’s only 24, a fact that I repeatedly pointed out to Rolling
Stone‘s Rob Sheffield, to which he pleaded: “Why are you doing this
to me?! Why are you doing this to yourself!!” Sheffield and Voice/Spin
scribe Sasha Frere-Jones met for the first time and embraced like
long-lost brothers, everyone wondered if Voice music ed Chuck Eddy
would start a fight about early-’80s metal bands (he didn’t), and eventually
the entire crew started talking baseball. That was my cue—it was time to go
home!

Tidbits to take to bed with you: The cat’s out
of the bag—superparty Subliminal Sessions is moving venues as of April 18 to
Club Shelter. . . . A certain New York indie film producer is having a naughty
affair with a certain dandy rock star. . . . A certain local punk rock legend
is undergoing treatment for drug abuse, helped along by a former abuser who is
going to escort said star to treatment. Best of luck.

Related article:

José Germosén’s Fly Life column