I like my weirdos glam and clever. Weirdo? A person who manifests her or his organic interior in a fascinating, creative, non-homicidal way. This blog is peopled with natural weirdos - and now that I am back for a while, I've just noticed another one to add to the galère.
Her name is Amanda Eliasch.
She's been under my nose for quite a while. Ages back she said I was her favourite blog (well, you won't confuse this site with anything by Toby Young) and I peeped at her biog and saw she is a photographer, and peripatetic fashion editor of Genlux Magazine in LA. She seems highly proactive. Always white-teeth smiling. And blonde. (Sort of sleb-ish herself - I mean, your average magazine person is pure subfusc with sniffs.) And about 25. Now I read she's 53 (Taurus - luxury lovers). For me, this is perfection. I cannot abide authentic youth. I will not have them in the house - except my new friend Lyndsy Spence (see interview here). There is nothing more vile than a human being in evolutionary transit who's dreaming over your shoulder. Why should I be bothered with this sort of fate-harlot?
But 53 is arrival time. 53 is about right.
Then recently I noticed Nicky Haslam ('Oh God, not him again!') pushing his latest heterosexuality-celebrating album of song, Midnight Matinee. And one of the tracks is called Amanda written by Amanda Eliasch. She assures me on Facebook that it is her voice. She sounds like a heavenly choirboy approaching the cusp of his first wet dream. Here listen (it's track 16 for a sample).
Recently, I noticed something about a movie. It's called The Gun, The Cake and the Butterfly. She wrote it, directed it and stars in it. This is auteurism at its most extreme. Don't call her Orson! She's won an award for it. I've not seen it. But apparently it's about her awfully glitzy, stars-strewn life. I am assured she has never had sex with Boris Johnson. But I believe she may have gone all the way with Sir Tim Rice. Lord Lloyd Webber will be well jel. At some point in her life she baked a cake containing the sperm of two fuckees. Well, that's what it says here.
Oh, here's the film trailer. I have a feeling I may say more about amazing Amanda.
OK, it's my birthday on May 23 and I'm struggling to get this (yes, this) up in thundery Salerno and it's all about someone you've never heard of before and she's called Josie Demuth. Ain't she a doll? (This is old skool tabloidese, I know; but I can do old skool tabloidese if I like) Josie is not just the editor of underground mag La Bouche Zine. She also has an e-novella out called The Guest (see links at bottom). Frankly, I couldn't give a toss what the youth of today think about anything, but I like players and Josie is a player. I can tell. Playing is an ageless, timeless occupation and ensures one gets from A to B. Also she's friends with singer-songwriter Bryn Phillips (see labels). So I lured Josie into celebrity culture-land and asked some pertinent questions.
Q: Josie Demuth! Editor of alternative online mag La Bouche Zine and author of the The Guest e-novella! Tell me in under 100 words what gets you up in the morning - what is your life purpose, what keeps your soul moist, your spirit aerated. What adds urgency to the teeth flossing?
Josie: I love life basically, in fact, I’d like to live till at least 800, if it were poss. There is so much to see, so much to know, so many ways to give, so many people to meet, all these great parties to go to, so much history and so much more to come. I love reading history books, but the present is fascinating too. I suppose all this gets me going - the excitement of what is out there and all the possibilities this presents and how artists and writers document this.
Q: Do you write all of La Bouche?
Josie: No actually, we have had many great writers contribute over the years. Most regularly a conspiracy theorist columnist, anti-poverty NGO War on Want who have written several features for us, and our Middle Eastern commentator StarBuks. More recently a gossip columnist has come on board; artist and pop star extraordinaire Quilla Contance who’s always up to something. She just sued Feedme music promoters for cancelling her gig at Punk Soho in favour of some dull corporate bash so you can read all about this exclusively in La Bouche. Some of my best friends Julia, Emily and Gemma have written for the zine too which is always interesting and fun reading.
Q: La Bouche is described as an 'alternative news and culture mag' - so what do you cover that The Sunday Times Culture section or Time Out fails to cover. And if you had a destruct button, which publication would you dispatch to the next life (with its staff and the cleaners), pronto?
Josie: We adore a genuine eccentric. We're not keen on prosthetic edge (Gaga), we like bona fide quirk. Yeah, eccentrics are our heroes, our pin-ups, in fact I think I’m going to start making special La Bouche pull-out posters of extraordinary people. I feel our society has become so timid of individuality. Mum says in the seventies everyone was just dying to be different and now it’s like we’re all desperate to be the same, unless the mainstream press starts telling us it’s okay to wear something, or like someone supposedly kooky. Also in the zine we give underground musicians and artists as much page space and time as our more well known interviewees. These have included some of the most talented, articulate and inspirational people I’ve encountered.
RE the button, I’d like to keep the cleaners but it would be The Mail or The Sun. I’d have to toss a coin.
Q: How many people read La Bouche?
Josie: Oh thousands MA.
Q: You've interviewed the likes of Bjork, Pete Doherty, Midge Ure and John Pilger (not forgetting my love, pianist and Occupy-prince, Bryn Phillips, who I note with displeasure has a partner with Greek relatives) - all of whom you say think outside the box. Who is the ultimate representation of alternative thought in your view. And which living person represents all that is conformist, destructive or life-denying - who is the dullest most ghastly person who personifies methane on this planet? Please don't hold back now.
Josie: I’m going to say my friend, the poet Stephen Micalef for the former. He is sooo thinking outside the box, he’s on another world with his thought. He carries around a big carrier bag full of poems, which he pulls out and reads wherever he goes, and his room is also up to the waist with poems. You can only open the door a few decimetres. it‘s surreal. His poems are like dreams, often about someone in the current media spotlight, like the King of Bahrain, sending these hilarious correspondences to Micalef or about the colourful characters he knows from the art world. No doubt he’s got some good ones about Rebekah Brooks. I’d love to hear them. I’ve heard he was never formally a student at Oxford but just decided to attend all the lectures, and went unchallenged the whole way. So he kind of mentally has an Oxbridge degree. So unofficial. I love it. For the latter, eugh, I don’t know, David Cameron? I often wonder if he is in fact a balloon man pumped full of toxic gas. A beige balloon man.
Q: Have you ever seen a ghost? Has a psychic ever hacked into your Akashic Records (apparently our spiritual national insurance notes) and told you something of your destiny? Or, are you a textbook secularist who lights candles to the graven image of Prof Brian Cox and his cretinous Willy Wonka-smile?
Josie: I had one possible psychic experience whereby bestie Julia (mentioned earlier) got her new phone stolen at a New Year’s Eve party many years ago. I was trashed in a corner but when I heard her calls of despair I got up, tore across the room, cornered this guy, stuck my hand in his inside jacket pocket and withdrew from it Ju’s phone! It could have well been a spiritual hacking, but I am also a big believer of the subconscious knowing all, as my book bangs on about, and perhaps the copious amounts of booze granted me access. I hope you don’t too much abhor my failure to fully commit to the possibility of a psychic intervention in this particular scenario, dear MA.
Q: And now you have an e-book novella out, The Guest. Granta likes it I see. Your hero is Gideon Golightly - he's not related to Holly Golightly is he, y'know that gamine flirt in Capote's Breakfast At Tiffany's?
Josie: He would like to think he is, but he is far less appealing, and thus must use sleazy mental trickery such as covert hypnosis to bed his bait.
Q: Anyway, I digress. Gideon I read earns fast cash on the 'underground seduction circuit' - what is that? Blow-jobs for bankers? Perhaps you'd better tell us what the book's about - do emphasise any sex as followers of this blog are jaded hedonists who have partaken too much of life's rich experiences and now pathetically seek any novelty to revive their limp and lifeless persons. I don't know why I bother sometimes. The cunts.
Josie: MA, you are so naughty! The Guest is about a disturbed and rather dangerous man named Gideon Golightly who goes about teaching and implementing psychological interventions designed to seduce women basically. As, Headpress said in their review of the novella, it’s kind of a bit like ‘Derren Brown on the pull. ' In answer to your Q, the world of seduction technique is that of a shadowy industry involving seminars, conferences, one-to-ones on the teachings of behaviour and language designed to unlock the seductee’s mind and induce a feverish condition of lust. This involves pressing all kinds of buttons, via the usage of emotionally stimulating phrases, a careful balance of insults and compliments, and in this case Gideon also employs stealth hypnosis. Anyway, one day Gideon meets April, this pretty but slightly irritating hippy and sets about practicing on her for his dysfunctional, sordid needs but feels a rare stirring of guilt and love much to his disgust.
Q: Do you sometimes hate your readers as an editor? I do. There they are, these passive recipients of all that you throw at them. Worthless scum doncha think? Perhaps I'll wipe them out by voodoo pinprick.
Josie: MA, you are so cruel to your doting army of followers (of whom I am one).
Q: How's the e-novella doing? Did you decide to self-publish as a didactic act or was it the last resort after years of bitter rejection at the hands of blonde Oxbridge trustafarians - oh, but I hope you're not Oxbridge. You can never tell these days....
Josie: I don’t know yet, I only put it up the other day. Yes, there is that stigma isn’t there of being a reject. I sent it to a few people and then this literary agency got back to me and said they would be much more interested if I had moulded it to 'The Talented Mr Ripley' author. This really put me off. I thought this is so ironic because I was so worried someone would pinch my idea or create something similar and then I submit something original and it’s like ‘make it like something that already exists.’ I don’t wish to sound pretentious, but I just wanted my writing to be more like my own art than a tried and tested product. I mulled the Kindle thing over for about a year and then I thought, oui, pourqoui pas? I am not an Oxbridge kinda gal, nope.
Q: Do you sleep under a duvet or blankets? Who shares your bed?
Josie: A lady never tells about their blankets..
Q: And where do you live? Do you have a garden with bedding plants? And what's your star sign.
Josie: Borough in a flat high up, I don't think I've ever had a garden, I wish I did I'd build myself a little tree house and have Bryn over for cocktails. I’m an Aries.
Q: Ten years from now you're a highly paid section editor on The Sunday Times. Have I just defamed and insulted you? Where do you want to be a decade hence? Would you still want to be in the Etonian paradise that is the current UK?
Josie: Well, I guess it would be a little pig-headed of me to say I’d be totally closed to the mainstream press. they are clearly a great platform to unleash info from, where allowed. I like to go to the Amnesty International Media Awards where I’m always extremely inspired by the brave journalism submitted by big news outlets from The Guardian to The Financial Times to even Sky actually! But I suppose writing wise , I'd like to make more zines. I'm making a poetry and fiction one and I write for art magazines too so ideally in ten years time I'd like them to be sending me to excellent parties in faraway places, and I have more shadowy novellas to get on with so hopefully they'll be done. I also hope to be a nurse by the end of next year so I don't know where this will all take me...
Q: Josie Demuth! Thank you so much for your time. Good luck with your wonderful mag and novella - Arcatistes wish you well. x
Josie: Thanks MA, you're a dar x x
La Bouche Zine, click here La Bouche Zine blog, click here Josie Demuth website, click here The Guest by Josie Demuth, click here to buy
Three years ago Madame Arcati turned Simon Cowell (that explains the sulphur fume - where's the violets nosegay?) and happened on an amazing singer-songwriter talent called Bryn Phillips. I even got to interview him - click here.
If you follow the link there's a video of him performing one of his own songs, Femme Fatale, on an out-of-tune upright piano at a Mark McGowan/Farah Damji event. Since then Bryn has taken up the Occupy cause, locked horns with the Corporation of the City of London, serenaded the cops on the steps of St Paul's, done something contentious in a Tesco (an unbooked gig, I think) and formed a new band - Bryn Phillips and the Big Society.
What I didn't see coming was his move into commercial dance/anthemic pop - love love love! Here's a fly-on-the-wall at a gig at The Elevator Gallery, featuring his last band Private Lives. The new version of Femme Fatale is a hit waiting to happen; I'm infallible in my tastes and judgement. This man's going to be big. He could end up a judge on Britain's Got Talent if he's not careful. And don't forget where you first heard all this! Plus he's a Leo. Can't fail.
Interview with Bryn in La Bouche Zine, click here.
It was of course your ever-reliable Madame Arcati who first foresaw the tragi-comedy that BBC1's The Voice is turning into - a vast £22 million wail of a show whose patron saint of vocal gymnastics is the late Whitney Houston. While most of you out there were swaying your arms to some pro-am screamed-out golden oldie, like tone-deaf seaweed in an old Jacques Cousteau TV doc, I was filing nails on two fingers.
Up to now I had no idea that there was a word for this endless, mindless, godawful screeching. Now, thanks to the legend that is Mary Hopkin, I have learnt it. Welcome to the world of melisma.
Mary - my new friend on Twitter - introduces us music illiterates to melisma on her splendid website at http://www.maryhopkin.com/. She defines the word as: 'Noun: several notes sung to one syllable.' Mary adds her take: 'The current definition seems to be: as many hemidemisemiquavers as humanly possible crammed into a single syllable.' She says that female popstars are most prone to 'melismating', tagging the tarts of tinnitus 'melismatrolls.'
Mary - a beguiling Taurean most famous for her 1968 No1 global hit Those Were The Days - is too well-raised to name the stellar culprits of this singing style but telepaths know who she means.
She does wonder, however, whether the overuse of melisma is the result of social phobia or something. She reveals that she herself can melismate by seating herself on a washing machine and setting it to fast spin while in song. I'm sure Jessie J would be impressed.
For more of Mary on melisma, see her blog for March 6, 2012 - click here.
The Earth Turns from Mary Hopkin's latest album You Look Familiar (with son Morgan Visconti)
Madame Arcati debuted (post-Coward rehearsal) as warrior. These days, this site is a salon of the precious talents - a refuge from the tyranny of media criminality and the tiresome reflexes of tenured hacks (I have yet to see one decent media cock-cocker or cunt-cunter at the Leveson inquiry - do you now see the playground prejudices at work? The recycling of stereotypes in real-life real-time?).
But enough of transitory fashion. The passing delusions. One of the talents the Madame Arcati salon adores is actor Susan Penhaligon. I have already showcased her poetry (clickhereto read); and I'm honoured to publish yet another example of her work - I ho hope publishers are paying attention.
The Ashes was written in memory of actor Richard Warwick (1945-1997). Susan tells me: 'He played my husband in A Fine Romance. Tragically he died of Aids. He was one of my best friends.'
I had vowed not to give further promotion to performance artist Mark McGowan's videos after his ghastly support for the Tories* at the last election. Fancy being a nihilist notice-moi-ist (moist?) who thinks Old Etonians can run a modern multi-cultural democracy (as if!): even our benign anarchists nowadays are no better than Julian - Downton Abbey - Fellowes or Louis - 'Wag-ner' - Walsh.
But Mark's latest movie, 'We are being controlled by the internet' (click here) has at least wit. We see the silly poppet prone on his bed mucking about on the internet and offering us a series of Alf Garnett-y reaction shots to the online bedlam. Obama's a jackass, lizard-hating David Icke's admirable (such is the level of satire)... and we are warned: beware people with short arms. I am most disappointed that he does not mention Madame Arcati, though I do not have short arms. He should at least have mentioned Daniel Radcliffe's cock or Sheila Vogel-Coupe's 81-year-old snatch as part of the Arcati online mental stew. I mean, who cares if Britney Spears is short?
How very remiss. How very Old Etonian of him.
*Mark now claims in comments that he did not support the Tories. Likewise, may be this posting is satire in kind.
I could say something about Michael Foot who has just died, aged 143, but to be quite honest I always disliked the way his mouth seemed to froth up during windbag monologues. History can turn on such things. Instead enjoy the work of the love of my life (after Molly Parkin, natch) Bryn Phillips who has just held an "illegal" Guerrilla Party at a Tesco supermarket (Dalston, London) amid trolley-pushers and other discount-slavering agony aunt writers. I understand he held a similar do on a London train a while back. These parties are so good that the police gatecrash them, as they did at Tesco. Isn't Bryn sooo cute - he's the one singing in his tan coat. We must make him famous. Lovely voice. And hands. Keep him away from Simon Cowell. He's mine.
He boldly pushed a trolley bearing a "Sorry" cardboard sign through the near-empty streets of Wootton Bassett. The cortege flag-wavers stayed away, not a coffin or a Dimbleby was to be seen. But perhaps curtains twitched. Scenes of mass destruction may upset some Arcatistes.
Will these Wootton Bassett burghers turn savage and rip poor lickle Mark to pieces in a zombie-like fit of frothing, tabloid-driven rage?
My dear remote friend Mark McGowan (how's sexy Bryn?) plans to crawl on his hands and knees through the touchy town of Wootton Bassett with a sign on his back which simply says, "SORRY". The event is planned for Sunday 21st February 2010 at 2pm.
The artist has previously completed many famous crawls including London to Canterbury. He also pushed a monkey nut with his nose for 7 miles to Downing Street.
He says, "This performance/art event is an attempt to say sorry for all the civillians that have been and that are being killed due to this country's foreign policy. Also, 'this is not a protest'."
I do hope Mark is not kicked to death by the flag-waving burghers of Wootton Bassett, egged on by circulation-chasing tabloids or the giggly presenters of the Today programme. That would be too distressing.
Nirpal Dhaliwal - the former long-suffering husband of the professional loony and miaow lover Liz Jones - and Farah Damji are planning a joint reading from their respective books, Tourism and Try Me, in the New Year. Their topic is: Did the 60s ever really happen? "Welcome to the no sex, no drugs and strictly no rock ‘n’ roll world of 2 and 3G British Asians." For more details click here.
One of the questions under consideration will be: "Why do so many Asian bloggers and wannabe 'meejah-sites' hate Nirpal and Farah? Are they really the same person? Or maybe twins separated at birth? I mean the blogger(s) not Farah and Nirpal."
And while one awaits this possibly life-threatening event - Madame Arcati may preside (she has yet to decide) - catch up with Farah's July book launch party movie starring, among others, Anthony Haden-Guest, Darcus Howe, Mark Reeves, Vicky Gold and Mark McGowan and The Snails. Soundtrack by the unutterably sexy Bryn Phillips - Madame Arcati is sooooooooo in love.
First, Molly Parkin's off to Split in Croatia next month with her art exhibition. Now I hear stunt-meister Mark McGowan is off to Split, too: he'll be exhibiting a piece of Michael Jackson's skin at the Ghetto Gallery from July 18, 2009, at 21.00. "The Body and Soul of Michael Jackson" will also include a video projection, a small drawing and McGowan wrapped in a white shroud, representing the dead body of Michael Jackson. McGowan says, "I expect people will cry, it will be very moving, I got the piece of skin from a memorabilia collector. Some people have asked how do I know it is real. But there are lots of relics from dead saints, for example, and people do not question, you must believe it's real. I was told that Michael's chiropodist was the contact." For more info call Sonia @ the Ghetto Gallery 0915667000
Bryn Phillips: Madame Arcati's very own singer-songwriter discovery - sign him up while you can, bitches. Photo by Margaret Stone
It's not everyday that Madame Arcati throws caution to the wind and falls publicly in love with talent at a distance. But such was the case when her gaze fell upon the singer-pianist waif who unexpectedly popped up in the video of Mark McGowan's latest stunt, the burning of Gordon Brown's effigy (see bottom of this piece).
After flames had licked away the PM's cardboard jowls and blackened his terracotta Guerlain powder makeup, Madame Arcati was consumed by a febrile passion - one stoked by a most beautiful belter of a voice that soared effortlessly above the sound from an upright out-of-tune filthy piano in a room with the acoustics of a serial killer's basement. Madame Arcati was blown away! A star was born! I subsequently learnt that the voice belongs to Bryn Phillips and he agreed to an email interview. Record companies please take note. Don't be slow.
Bryn Phillips! What did you think when you realised an elderly matriarch who wears plaid and rides a basketed bike was lusting, er, I mean, admiring your singing talent on YouTube?
I thought "beauty is in the eye of the beholder".
Give us a spec of your musical range - your voice, instruments - I mean, have you recorded anything?
At the core of my art is the act of song writing. I have always been musical - I play the piano, guitar and violin. I play with synthesisers, electronic beats and other ways of generating sounds, like tape loops too. I’m obsessed with popular music, but I think pop music often lacks strong lyrics and I am not ashamed of writing poetically. And yes, I have been recording, with my band Private Lives.
Andrew Weatherall said I should call my album ‘Better Than Bowie’, which is very flattering. Our recordings aren’t mixed yet, so I won’t post anything on the internet for a couple of weeks. However, you can see me perform live at Hackney Wicked Festival, on Saturday August 1st. It’s a festival in edgy, Hackney Wick and I’m excited to be playing there. Check our MySpace page http://www.myspace.com/privatelives for details.
Tell us how you ended up on Mark McGowan's Gordon Brown burning video. And was your wonderful performance impromptu?
Really MA, you’re extremely kind. Actually, I was surprised to see the video on the internet. My performance was genuinely impromptu, and isn’t that piano terribly out of tune? Personally, I would have preferred that Mark had burnt Boris Johnson or Peter Andre. I don’t agree with you about making an effigy of Nick Griffin. He is doing a very good job of burning himself. If you believe in eternal damnation, of course.
Oh, before I forget, what's your astrological sign or at least give me your birth details. You're from Wales I understand.
Predictably, I am a Leo. My birthday is the 13th of August 1981. Actually, my mother is English but my father is Welsh. My parents met in a stable, although unfortunately I wasn’t born in one. I grew up in the fens, north of Cambridge and I speak basic Welsh. My genes have given me the lungs of a valley boy and my upbringing has given me the teeth and tongue of Joe Orton. I am the dark side of Oscar Wilde.
Oh, and that song you sang. What's it called?
It's called Femme Fatale. It's a tragedy about a girl whose baby gets put into care. The recorded version I did with Private Lives sounds far superior, and I am extremely proud of the vocal.
What do you think of Mark? I like his stunts but his Jade Goody one annoyed me.
Oh yes…he’s quite a minx, don‘t you think? I have noticed, other than the Gordon thing, that Mark is a pyromaniac. He’s always burning things, isn’t he? In truth, I think he’s a talented satirical artist. The Hackney Gazette were furious about the Jade stunt, Mark was denounced all over Hackney on every billboard for a whole week. The tabloids seem to utterly hate him, so he must be doing something right. Although they do always send a lot of photographers to take nice pictures of him…
You live in a bedsit in Clapton. Now, I don't know how to ask you delicately but if an elderly matriarch wanted to pay a visit would your landlady/lord object? Or do you already have a bitch/whatever? Please feel free to go into intimate, micro-detail.
Well, I have a stalker. Really, I do.
And yes, I live in Clapton. It’s very rough where I live. Even dangerous. My bedsit is an old shop. It’s located on "the murder mile" and the E5 Crew meet outside my front door on a nightly basis. Sociologically, gangs are very interesting, but they make for ghastly neighbours. Just a few weeks ago a boy was stabbed to death at the end of the road and the police tape made it very difficult to get home. I have no hot water at the moment, so I don’t think my landlord is in any position to start vetting my guests. But my kettle works, so please do pop by if you fancy a nice cup of tea.
You say your shower is in disrepair. Tell us about your bathroom ablutions.
I hate to sound maudlin, but my shower is definitely on the brink, it runs, or rather more, it drips, cold. Which, in turn, it seeps its way into my work, haha. I must admit, after seeing the video I did a bit of a SuBo, got me hair done, scrubbed me nails and all that. I like my Mac though. Do you think I need a stylist Madame Arcati? Does the hat really maketh the man?
You just stay the way you are for now though I'd add a bit of eyeliner. Now, Bryn, seriously - you're very talented - what do you want from life and what must happen next to get you there? Do you compose songs?
Oh, you’re very generous MA, I’m flattered. Yes, I do compose the songs, I’m quite prolific in fact. All I want from life is a decent, permanent place to live, books, a piano and a fridge full of food. Oh….and to be really famous, hang around with Amy Winehouse and get papped outside Dalston Superstore. For all of this I need to secure a record deal. In fairness, I haven’t tried to yet, but I’m very much open to offers.
Who's the greatest singer ever? And when you're famous, what do you want to be famous for?
Who’s the greatest singer ever? My friend Paloma would be extremely offended if I didn’t say her…so Paloma Faith. But really, Billy Mackenzie - without a shadow of a doubt. I love him. Hmmm…when I am famous I want to be famous for the subjects I write about and for the life I have led.
Finally (for now) - have you ever consulted a mystic? If so, what was foretold?
I never have MA, apart from an elderly gentleman I knew as a teenager, who used to dabble with the occult.
Bryn! Thank you so much. Madame Arcati will chart your ascent with her usual enthusiasm.
A reminder of Bryn's powerful voice - he starts at 2:30 after Mark has turned Gordon Brown to ash.
NoticeMe-meister Mark McGowan has sent me his latest video - his burning of the effigy of Gordon Brown. Why Gord? Why not David Cameron or that boring polyglot amoeba Nick Clegg or that fat BNP cunt Nick Griffin? McGowan's gone off a bit lately: he really screwed up on Jade and now he's worn the wrong party frock on Gord: Gord's got four planets in Pisces, OK?, so he can't help but be secretive, cryptic, sneaky, dour, grim, insincere, dark: astrologically he belongs to the shadows. Leave the man alone! He is precisely the leader we need for these tiresome times. He'll look the part in the history news footage. Ghastly! It's fate's synchronicity! Ask Sting.
But Mark has accidentally discovered a star - Bryn. He plays the piano and sings a song from 2:30 on (just skip through the Gordy idiot fire bit). I love this man. Wonderful voice, the piano is filthy sexy: his mack is disgusting: his hands are grubby: oh God, some people need a lick-wash, doncha think? D'ya think Bryn would like a Madame Arcati Lick-Wash? What's the song? - one line is "They're gonna take the baby into care" and another is "she's a disposable girl" and "she'll become a femme fatale". Name that tune, cunties.
