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When The Trickster Starts A Pokin’ (Sunday A.M. Punk Rock Gospel)

Posted in Goof & Glamour, I Heart Tricksters, Lipstick Shamaness, Music & Life & Sundays, Mythos, punk rock, Rock & Roll, Spirituality & Religion, Sunday AM Punk Rock Gospel, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2010 by alphabetfiend

For this very special Happy Birthday –to me! — edition of  The Punk Rock Gospel, I’ve chosen a song about the trickster by actual tricksters.

As I walked into the bar
A man came up to me and said:
you know the older you will get
the more perverted you will get

Back before barely anyone had heard of Gogol Bordello, I had that between the shoulder-blades twitch. The itch that tells me to expect something important. I got word — via emails from friends or omens from the universe — that this was a band I needed to see. Me, in particular.

“Why?” I asked, “Why me in particular?’

And they said, Well, y’know, they’re like crazy carnies, they’re anarchist gypsies, they’re circus & costumes & pageantry.

Then the Robot Boy delivered the final seal-the-deal detail: their first single was a song called “When the Trickster Starts a Pokin’ .”

The perfection! 

Is the trickster poking into our life, making a mess, causing creative chaos?

Or is it our own trickster-self, poking out or sticking up or suggesting something inappropriate?

 

“When the trickster starts a pokin'” by the band Gogol Bordello is the PERFECT punk rock gospel choice: thanks to the trickster-laden meaning and Gogol Bordello’s gypsy punk style.

They are noisy and kinetic on stage, many things happen at once. There’s costumes and gorgeous goof-blessed dancing. There are lights and drums and uninhibited giddy fun that is lovely and contagious. This is something more than music, more than performance. There is something otherworldly here. It’s a trickster’s fortune cookie. It’s a gypsy curse.

There’s a shamanistic showmanship to Gogol Bordello’s Eugene Hutz. He moves with the trance-rock spirit of Morrison or Iggy. Hutz performs with that same  limit-pushing boundary-crossing urgency. Exhaustive and unfurling, Hutz has a loose-limbed physicality that challenges the inertia and ennui of the audience. 

It’s almost as if Eugene Hutz is endowed with the same kind of magic-making movement as the Trickster:

Ah ha hey!

When the Trickster starts a-walking
He sends the whole world askew
just when you think that it’s all through
It’s just a birth of something new
And when the Trickster starts a-pokin
who does he need to ask permission
before he goes in third position
I guess he’s just a Bordello kind of guy!…

Sometimes I have to remind myself that I invited trickster energy to unfold in my life, so why am I so surprised to see that the trickster has fucked my shit up?  As tricksters are wont to do. Never invite Coyote to dinner and act all disgusted when he pisses in your crock pot. Don’t jump on Fox’s back unless you can flee quicker than he jumps over the lazy dog. But whatever troubles Trickster causes? New life will grow from those soot-filled fields. Just when you think that it’s all through, it’s just a birth of something new.

As I write this, I am wearing my Gogol Bordello tee. I look almost obscene, being sans bra. Luckily, the tee is so tight and has such a cool screen — “This mustache kills fascism” — that I can justify my bare-breasted look as a radical pro-curves statement. Shall I be a classic self-crasher? Or be a good flasher?!  Tonight, in my too-tight tee, I’m gonna be a good flasher cause I’ve been a classic self crasher way too many times.

So I walked out of a bar
and drove like crazy for half mile
I was thirteen beers drunk
on Houston I jumped in some trunk…
We ventured on New York Throughway
where I heard myself say:
Shall I be classic self crasher?
Or be a good flasher?!

I chose the above version because it is such an unusual performance for them and so few people have seen it. It’s from an in-store performance at Criminal Records in Paris. I have provided another clip at the bottom should you care to see a more typical performance full of the usual noise and chaos.

*****************************

When the Trickster Starts A Pokin’

As I walked into the bar
A man came up to me and said:
you know the older you will get
the more perverted you will get

Hey, I’d like to see you try it
Oh what you gonna do about it?
Optzay, be a bad priest?
Ili primernij ononist?!
Be bad transvestattn? (Da yuta nigh!)
Or be a good zoldatten?! (Ozay Optzay!)
Yeah, give it a try, (By by by by)
But me I’m jasto Bordello kind of guy!..

Mama, of course all hopes are so fragile…
Papa, i can’t believe what it costs?..
Sily, Sily oni menja pokidajut
So i did what I did and its worth what its worth what it’s worth

Ah ha hey!

When the Trickster starts a-walking
he sends the whole world askew.
Just when you think that it’s all through
It’s just a birth of something new!
And when the Trickster starts a-pokin
who does he need to ask permission
before he goes in third position?
I guess he’s justo Bordello kind of guy!…

Mama, of course all hopes are so fragile…
Papa, I can’t believe what it costs?..
Sily oni menja pokidajut
So I did what I did and its worth what its worth what it’s worth

Ah ha hey!

So I walked out of a bar
and drove like crazy for half mile
I was thirteen beers drunk
on Houston I jumped in some trunk…
We ventured on New York Throughway
where myself I heard I say:
Shall i be classic self crasher?
Or be a good flasher?!

Hey, I’d like to see you try it
Oh what you gonna do about it?
Heeeeeeey, be a bad priest?
Ili primernij ononist?!
Da yuta nigh!
Ozay Optzay!
By by by by!
I guess I’m justo Bordello kind of guy!

Bordello kind of guy!
Bordello kind of guy!
Bordello kind of guy!

Click on this if you wanna see this band in motion. Pay attention to all the crazy on-stage antics!

Mr. Blackwell On Hell’s “Worst dressed ” List

Posted in Goof & Glamour, SPOOKY KABUKI with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 30, 2008 by alphabetfiend

Ding dong the bitch is dead! The wicked bitch is dead!

The notorious meanie Mr. Blackwell died on October 19 after a long illustrious career as a cruel-eye. I don’t actually think the man is in hell or even deserves to be. He’s not black-hearted or evil. But he was a wicked bitch whose doorway to fame was a the tight sphincter of his own asshole. After failing at acting and fashion design, he made a name for himself with his mean-spirited “Worst Dressed” list.

I wonder what he was wearing when he died. Whatever it was, I wouldn’t be caught dead in it.

I’m not one to disrespect the dead but SPOOKY KABUKI will do it in a heart beat. Or Lack there-of.

SPOOKY KABUKI has never forgiven Mr. Blackwell for wagging his judgemental finger at Bjork’s bewitchingly bizarre swan dress.

Halloween isn't the only day that Bjork comes out to play.

I blame Mr. Blackwell and his hater ilk for taking all the damn fun out of fashion. It doesn’t bother me a bit cause I don’t give a toad’s shit but not everyone has the thick skin for ridicule that I do or the self-indulgent whimsy. Blackwell didn’t appreciate the playful pageantry of fashion. His restrictive and staid style “rules” created, for many, a fear of fashion. Blackwell was the Jim Jones guru in the Cult of Negativity. He appointed himself the official “fashion watchdog.” Time reported on Mr. Blackwell’s passing.

The designer and mordant fashion critic who dared to call Madonna the “bare-bottomed bore from Babylon” died Oct. 19 in Los Angeles. Richard Blackwell, a.k.a. Mr. Blackwell, of the infamous worst-dressed list, made a name for himself not with his own creations but by skewering those sported by celebs on the red carpet. His favorite targets, however, were celebrities like Zsa Zsa Gabor and Britney Spears, who he felt lacked any innate sense of style or glamour. He said his criticism had nothing to do with talent and once remarked that Meryl Streep looked like a “gypsy abandoned by a caravan.” Born Richard Sylvan Selzer in Brooklyn, N.Y., Blackwell started out as an actor but switched to fashion in 1958 when his career stalled. Fame came with the publication of his first list in 1960. While his original intention was to act as a sort of fashion watchdog, Blackwell and his list became a dreaded Hollywood institution that paved the way for other red-carpet critics.

Blackwell broke the skin with a biting wit. I even chuckled from time to time. Can you match these Blackwell zingers with the “tasteless” stars. (Lindsay Lohan, Patti Davis, Ann Margaret, Barbara Streisand, Bjork, Christina Aguilera, Sharon Stone, Camilla Parker-Bowles.)

  1.  “A Hells Angel escapee who invaded the Ziegfeld Follies on a rainy night.”
  2. “An over-the-hill Cruella DeVille.”
  3. “Packs all the glamour of an old, worn-out sneaker.”
  4. “She looks like a masculine Bride of Frankenstein.”
  5.  “The Duchess of Dowdy.”
  6. “A dazzling singer who puts good taste through the wardrobe wringer.”
  7.  “From adorable to deplorable.”
  8. “She dances in the dark? She dresses in the dark!”

We have Mr. Blackwell’s Legacy of Enforced Taste to thank for the total yawn of today’s Red Carpets — gone are the days of Cher with her bum-exposing gowns! Which may be for the best. But at least Cher was doing her own very CHER thing and partying like a rock-star via her style choices. Sure, Britney’s never brought much to the table fashion-wise but Ann Margaret is a style icon and a seriously sexy bitch. Meow. Patti Davis in her french pirates tee? Is there anything more dreamy? Oh wait, that was Patti Smith. No matter. I’m sure Blackwell thought Smith was a ragamuffin. Best/worst lists make bebes afraid to develop their own looks. They forsake their own fantasies in favor of the homogenized safe look of the “best dressed.” They never develop the confidence to flaunt their fantasy self. What is fashion if not a fantasy? 

I can’t count the times I’ve had women and men swoon over one of my REDONKULOUS ensembles. After a poetry reading a man breathlessly confessed “I find women in turbans to be terminally erotic” and then avoided me for years because I was the source of his dreams & his humiliation. Women will exclaim “Oh I wish I could wear tulle/hats/wigs/capes/tiaras!”

Who says you can’t?

Who says we have to wait until Halloween to dress up in outrageous fineries, circus-punk costumery or disco glam get-ups?

Oh right.

Him and his.   

Now that Mr. Blackwell’s gone, Simon Doonan — famed window designer & author of “Eccentric Glamour” — should rise up and take his rightful place as fashion’s talking head. So break out your pink leopard stockings and your gold lame boleros. Summon the spirit of Isabella Blow or even your inner-Cher.

Is that a chain mail lobster Issie's wearing?

Issie, is that a chain mail lobster? WOW!

 Answers to the zinger-star match-up: Lindsay Lohan*7, Patti Davis*3, Ann Margaret*1, Barbara Streisand*4, Bjork*8, Christina Aguilera*6, Sharon Stone*2, Camilla Parker-Bowles*5.

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