issue 63 by debbie stoller

FOR WOMEN WITH SOMETHING TO GET OFF THEIR CHESTS

JUST A GIGOLO MEET JAPAN’S BOYS FOR HIRE

APR/MAY ’10

30 ROCK’S

TRACY MORGAN IS OUTTA THIS WORLD

MY NIGHT WITH ELVIS A FORMER FLING TELLS ALL

SISSY BOUNCE NEW ORLEANS’ GAY RAP REVOLUTION

MEN WE LOVE WILL ARNETT RATATAT AZIZ ANSARI WILL FORTE CHRISTIAN SIRIANO CHROMEO JUSTIN KIRK RUFUS WAINWRIGHT AND MORE!

FEATURES [APRIL/MAY ’10]

CLOCKWISE FROM TOP LEFT: WESLEY ALLSBROOK; RAMONA ROSALES; DANIELLE ST. LAURENT

40 MAN POWER Tracy Morgan is the new black. By Priya Jain

62 A FEW GOOD MEN The inspiring stories of ﬁve men who are making the world a better place for women. By Erin DeJesus

46 MEN WE LOVE Our writers cozy up to a collection of their celebrity crushes. Starring: Will Arnett, Aziz Ansari, Justin Kirk, Chromeo, Rufus Wainwright, Will Forte, and Ratatat. By Emily McCombs, Molly Simms, Lisa Butterworth, Callie Watts, Laurie Henzel, Jenni Miller, and Erin Wengrovius

66 SISSY ACT New Orleans’ gay “sissy bounce” rappers are taking over hip-hop, one wiggling butt cheek at a time. By Callie Watts

72 MY NIGHT WITH ELVIS True tales from the King of Rock ’n’ Roll’s Beverly Hills boudoir. By Kitty Stuart

56 WHERE THE BOYS ARE Beautiful Japanese “host boys” treat ladies nice if they can pay the price. By Molly Simms

76 BOY CRAZY These menswear-inspired looks are off the hook. Photographed by Danielle St. Laurent, styling by Galadriel Masterson

ON THE COVER: TRACY MORGAN PHOTOGRAPHED BY RAMONA ROSALES IN L.A. FOR BUST; STYLING: DJUNA BEL; GROOMING: TRACY MOYER @ CELESTINE; ASTRONAUT SUIT: WARNER BROS. COSTUME HOUSE

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CONTENTS

Editor’s Letter Dear BUST

Broadcast Don’t miss the Living Sisters; la-di-da-di, we like Food Party; bringing matrimony to Ugandan refugees; and more. 10 She-bonics Amy Winehouse, Serena Williams, Meryl Streep, and Gloria Steinem drop some quotable gems. By Whitney Dwire 14 Pop Quiz Pee-wee’s the guy for me. By Emily Rems 16 Hot Dates Play the days away in April and May. By Libby Zay

21 Real Life Go ﬂy a kite; sample some succulent seaweed; natural fabric-dying tricks; and more. 22 Old School GreatGrandma Ryan’s rolls. By Jenny Rose Ryan 27 Buy or DIY Together we’ll make these chains of love. By Callie Watts 31 Looks Secrets of a well-dressed seamstress; Christian Siriano gets ferosh; wearable wonders by This Charming Man; and more. 34 BUST Test Kitchen Our interns get into a lather with toner, body scrub, and conditioner. 37 Page O’ Shit Looks strong enough for a man but made for a woman. By Stephanie J

97 Sex Files DefloweredMemoirs.com is not for your mom; and more. 98 Real Talk Sex advice by our special guests from Candy Rain magazine. 100 One-Handed Read Roadie. By Louise Dexter Columns 12 Pop Tart The futuristic saga of Lady Gaga. By Wendy McClure 13 Museum of Femoribilia Friday night’s all right for pillow ﬁghtin’. By Lynn Peril 18 News From a Broad Bracing for a world without Chinese girls. By Laura Krafft 26 Eat Me Try a treat with some Latin heat. By Chef Rossi 30 Mother Superior Milo’s pain leads to an ER waiting game. By Ayun Halliday 38 Around the World in 80 Girls Travel your way to Philly, PA. By Kari Molvar 107 X Games Cop a Feel. By Deb Amlen

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The BUST Guide 85 Music Reviews; plus Everett True’s First Ladies of Rock. 89 Movies Chloe asks that you Please Give to The Runaways. 91 Books Reviews; plus Jillian Lauren’s tales from inside a harem. 102 BUSTshop 108 The Last Laugh Another whammy for Tammy. By Esther Pearl Watson

FROM TOP: GLYNIS SELINA ARBAN; M. SHARKEY; BLOSSOM BERKOFSKY. TOP PHOTO: DRESSES: DREAMANDAWAKE FROM KAIGHT AND MARA HOFFMAN; RING: LOVE BRIGADE; BRACELET: KAIGHT

REGULARS

EDITOR’S LETTER

ISSUE 62, APR/MAY 2010

FOR WOMEN WITH SOMETHING TO GET OFF THEIR CHESTS

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Debbie Stoller CREATIVE DIRECTOR Laurie Henzel MANAGING EDITOR Emily Rems

you’ve got male WORKING ON THE “Men We Love” issue can sometimes feel a bit like Opposite Day here at BUST HQ. Whereas normally we focus all our energy on profiling the kind of women’s stories that are overlooked by the mainstream media, in this issue, we’re all about the mens. So why devote so much space to the unfairer sex? Isn’t it true, as some readers have complained in the past, that if you wanted to read about men, all you’d have to do is pick up any other magazine on the newsstand? Well, sure, but dedicating an issue to men every once in a while is not at all inconsistent with our mission. I’ll save you all the grad-school gobbledygook about the “female gaze,” “men as spectacle,” and “visual pleasure,” and simply say that here at BUST, we’re dedicated to presenting an image of the world viewed through girl-colored glasses, and sometimes (OK, often) those glasses are squarely pointed at men. In fact, the last “Men We Love” issue we did, back in 2008, continues to be our bestselling back issue. So don’t even try to front. That said, we’re pretty damn picky about the men we choose to slip between our sheets. Our cover choice, Tracy Morgan, has long been a BUST favorite; we already loved him for his bizarre SNL character Brian Fellow (whose signature remark, “That’s crazy!,” quickly became an in-house go-to response for anything and everything—“Wait, ‘lay’ is the past tense of ‘lie’ and also the present tense of ‘lay’? That’s crazy!”). And as the unpredictable Tracy Jordan on the Tina Fey–produced-and-written NBC series 30 Rock, we learned to love him even more. What lurks inside this man, who not only has Fey’s seal of approval but also answers to her as boss? We just had to find out (page 40). But Mr. Morgan is just one dish in the multi-course man meal we’re serving up. We’ve also got a delicious manwich layered with our favorite dudes from the worlds of music, movies, and television, including Will Arnett, Aziz Ansari, and Ratatat, to name a few (pages 46 – 56). Then we smothered that in a look at the phenomenon of Japanese “host boys,” hotties who cater to women’s every passing fancy—for a fee (page 56). You can wash it all down with our article celebrating men who have made major contributions in the fight for women’s rights both here and abroad (page 62), but don’t forget to save room for our surprising story on New Orleans’ exciting gay rap scene (page 66). And for dessert? An insider’s look (literally) at what it was like to spend a night with Elvis (page 72). Yes, that Elvis. All that, plus adorably androgynous fashion, cute chain crafts, yummy book and music reviews, and plenty more to satisfy your appetite for lady stuff. Dig in! xoxoxo

Debbie 6 / BUST // APR/MAY

SENIOR DESIGNER Erin Wengrovius ASSOCIATE EDITOR Lisa Butterworth CUSTOMER SERVICE + CRAFTY LADY Callie Watts BOOKS EDITOR Priya Jain ASSOCIATE MUSIC EDITOR Kelly McClure CONTRIBUTING EDITOR Molly Simms PUBLISHERS Laurie Henzel & Debbie Stoller DIRECTOR OF ADVERTISING + MARKETING Emily Andrews, 212.675.1707 x112, ads@bust.com SALES AND MARKETING MANAGER Susan Juvet, 212.675.1707 x104, susan@bust.com BOOKKEEPER Amy Moore, accounting@bust.com EDITORIAL INTERNS Leala Arnold, Laura Catalano, Brooke Connolly, Sheila Dichoso, Stephanie Gunther, Claire Hamilton, Katie Oldaker, Stephanie Valente VIDEO INTERN Vanessa Rees FOR SUBSCRIPTIONS Please email subscriptions@bust.com or call 866.220.6010 FOR BOOBTIQUE ORDERS Please email orders@bust.com

MEMBER OF THE MAGAZINE PUBLISHERS OF AMERICA

WWW.BUST.COM ©2010 BUST, Inc. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the permission of the publisher. The articles and advertising appearing within this publication reﬂect the opinions and attitudes of their respective authors and not necessarily those of the publisher or editors. Canada Post: Publications Mail Agreement #40612608 Canada returns to be sent to Bleuchip International, P.O. Box 25542, London, ON N6C 6B2

DEAR BUST OUR READERS HEART BUST FEB/MAR Thank you for featuring Amber Tamblyn’s ’s interview with America Ferrera (“Sisterhood Is Powerful”). When Ugly Betty premiered, I really identified with Ferrera’s character and couldn’t stand read-ing magazine coverage about—gasp— eading the how pretty Ugly Betty was in real life! Reading story made me want to hang out with America and Amber. They’re sarcastic, witty, and driven, three qualities I demand in a best friend. Michelle Garcia, Los Angeles, CA After years and years of struggling with my weight and selfimage, I had a major breakthrough realization about my body after looking through your recent lingerie fashion story (“Oh! You Pretty Things”), which featured beautiful women I could identify with. Nobody will love me better than I love myself, right? So thank you for the spread. It brought about the change I needed to finally feel comfortable in my own skin. Sara Rose, Vermillion, SD Johanna Gohmann’s article on tween-sex fact finding (“Let’s Talk About Sex”) was one of the sweetest, most poignant, and well-written pieces I’ve read in a long time. I was my playground’s Dr. Ruth, and it makes me incredibly happy to know there are discreet educational resources available for today’s Judy Blume fans. Mary-Kate Gaudet, Brooklyn, NY

BUSTING OUT AROUND THE WORLD I love your magazine. It makes me laugh, makes me think, and during the four years I lived in Qatar, BUST helped me keep my sanity in a region where being a lady ain’t easy. This summer I visited Turkey with my best friend, Kimberly, and here we are in Istanbul, reading our favorite magazine in front of the famed Hagia Sophia mosque. Hallie Engel, Amsterdam, Netherlands

Prospective intern Catie Colliton knows how to get noticed

OOPS, WE DID IT AGAIN In “Squared Away,” (Feb/Mar ’10), the ﬁrst line of the motif pattern stitch directions are: With ﬁrst color, ch 4, Sl st in 1st ch to form a ring. Get it off your chest! Send feedback to: Letters, BUST Magazine, P.O. Box 1016, Cooper Station, New York, NY 10276. Email: letters@bust.com. Include your name, city, state, and email address. Letters may be edited for length and clarity. // BUST / 7

CONTRIBUTORS

Originally from Lafayette, LA, Brady Fontenot, who photographed “Sissy Act,” resides in New Orleans. He ran away briefly to New York but retreated back to the South shortly after Hurricane Katrina so he could spend his time drinkin’ coffee and eatin’ oatmeal cookies with his favorite NOLA ladies, the Dearie sisters. He dislikes mean people, unruly crowds, and traffic. Fontenot’s work has appeared in The New York Times Magazine, Spin, XXL, and Men’s Journal. Jessica Hische, who illustrated our “Men We Love” feature, is a typographer and illustrator in Brooklyn, NY. Her client list includes Tiffany & Co., Target, Entertainment Weekly, GQ, InStyle, New York Magazine, Victoria’s Secret, Chronicle Books, and The New York Times, to name a few. Hische was featured as one of STEP Inside Design magazine’s 25 Emerging Artists, Print magazine’s New Visual Artists 2009, and The Art Directors Club Young Guns, and was named LetterCult.com’s Person of the Year. When not drawing fancy letters, she can be found obsessing about her cats, furniture, and pork-laden food dishes. Stephanie J is the editor and founder of N.E.E.T., an online magazine featuring independent and eco-friendly fashion and design. As BUST’s new Page O’ Shit columnist, she’ll be bringing her impeccable taste in products to our pages as well. Stephanie is also a freelance Web designer and magazine contributor. When not being a total Internet geek, her interests include cigarettes and alcohol, soul searching, and Star Trek. Celebrated entrepreneur Kitty Stuart, who divulged the details of her sexcapade with the King in “My Night With Elvis,” created one of the world’s most successful collectables businesses, Kitty Collectables. Growing up in Los Angeles, Stuart launched a flourishing career as an actor. Along the way, she met and married Dwight Stuart, one of the richest men in America, and quickly found herself on such shows as Oprah, Montel, and Geraldo discussing the pinnacles and pitfalls of romance and relationships. Now she’s writing a memoir called Cinderella After Midnight. To find out more, go to www.kittystuartproductions.com. 8 / BUST // APR/MAY

NEWS+VIEWS

l.a. women GETTING THE SCOOP ON THE LIVING SISTERS ALL-GIRL SUPERGROUP IN CASE YOU ever wondered what it might take to merge three thriving, independent music careers into an all-lady supergroup, singer/songwriter Eleni Mandell [left] can sum it up pretty succinctly: “Man, you gotta have a lotta backbone.” »

PHOTOGRAPHED BY BLOSSOM PHOTOGRAPHED BY JOHANBERKOFSKY RENCK

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Mandell, 40, and fellow celebrated L.A.-based singer/songwriters Becky Stark of Lavender Diamond [previous page, right], 33, and Inara George of the Bird and the Bee [previous page, center], 35, have recently united to form the Living Sisters, a dreamy harmony trio that effortlessly weaves together ’60s-era folk, pop, and funk styles on their upcoming debut, Love to Live. Seated in a sun-soaked café in L.A.’s Los Feliz neighborhood, the three brunettes gleefully joke with one another like dear friends and sweetly reminisce about the process of putting together the Sisters. Over a few drinks at a local watering hole one night in 2007, Stark and Mandell bonded over a shared love of harmony groups, particularly the country music duo the Louvin Brothers and the Dolly Parton/Emmylou Harris/Linda Ronstadt supergroup that created the Trio album. “Throughout my life, I’ve always

wanted to make a record like that,” says Stark, peeking out from under her ﬂoppy, suede sun hat. “I love love love love love love love that record. The threepart harmonies are so beautiful.” While continuing to focus on their respective projects over the last three years—and, for George, getting ready for a baby arriving in a few, short months—the three slowly chipped away at the project, working on each other’s songs while on tour, recording when all three were in town, and performing live when possible. According to the Sisters, the running theme of the project was for it to be as relaxing and organic as possible. “We’re kind of, like, the least ambitious band,” Mandell says with a laugh. “And when I say we’re not ambitious, I think it’s a good thing because we just allow things to happen really naturally. It was just meant to be.” Ambitious or not, the results of the

Sisters’ unpressured evolution on Love to Live speak for themselves. A gorgeous collection of free-ﬂowing singalong melodies wrapped in a retro-pop bow, the album is irresistible. But the most striking thing about the group might be the amount of genuine mutual admiration that shines around the table when the three women—each a powerhouse performer in her own right— discuss the project. Still, they’re careful not to make juggling solo careers and their collaboration sound like a walk in the park. Stark seems to hail the trio’s dedication to a life of making independent music when noting, “So many people confuse making money with being a musician. But there’s nothing that should ever stop you from playing music or doing what you love. It’s like not eating.” After pausing and smiling at her fellow Sisters, she adds, “That’s your life, ladies!” [JESSICA JARDINE]

SCREEN GRABS Fascinated by looking into strangers’ windows? Then ChatRoulette.com—a new service for one-on-one text, webcam, and microphone-based chat—is for you. Just log on (no screen name is required), and you can instantly see and hear another random user. The results are entertaining at best and horrifying at worst, but usually a bizarre good time. [SUSAN JUVET]

she-bonics

OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES

[COMPILED BY WHITNEY DWIRE]

“I’m still so proud of Back to Black. I feel like it’s a big fucking platinum gun with 10 fucking silver bullets in it.” Amy Winehouse in Q

“It’s incredible. I’m 60, and I’m playing the romantic lead in romantic comedies! Bette Davis is rolling over in her grave. She was 42 when she did All About Eve, and she was 54 when she did What Ever Happened to Baby Jane?” Meryl Streep in Vanity Fair “[Twenty-five years from now,] I want Oprah, by now a very old lady, to be interviewing men about how they combine career and family.” Gloria Steinem in Ms. 10 / BUST // APR/MAY

PHOTOGRAPHED BY JO ANN TOY

“There’s this crazy notion that I don’t work out really hard or regularly because I have huge features. I’ve been called a cow, a loser, and mocked as fat. I feel I’m the woman I was born to be. I love my body, my curves, my hips, my giant boobs, and my tush.” Serena Williams in Vibe

SPRING

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Featuring over 50 of the hottest crafty vendors from across the nation, selling the very best in handmade wares—from clothing, cards, and posters to jewelry and gifts! Drinks, DJs, dancing, eats, and more! Don’t miss it!

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bust.com

broadcast POP TART [BY WENDY MCCLURE]

weird sister WHY LADY GAGA IS A SUPERSTAR FOR OUR TIME IT’S 2010, AND we still haven’t gotten our ﬂying cars or robot servants, but by God, we have Lady Gaga as proof that the future has arrived. It’s a future that came on the heels of her grotesquely smart videos, her avant-garde awards-show performances, and her improbably shaped couture shoes that weigh 500 pounds and shoot blue ﬁre. The world of the past thought Björk’s

funny; their offbeat charm might inspire you to wear earrings made from tuna cans. Lady Gaga, however, knows the line between cute and creepy (and crosses it often), and she’s funny only if you count the nervous laughter that comes from watching her bleed onstage at the VMAs. Weirdo girls like Gaga also should never be mistaken for different girls, those snarky

That’s right, the former Stefani Germanotta is the ﬁrst weirdoAmerican woman to achieve major pop-star success. swan dress at the 2001 Oscars was a “fashion faux pas,” but now that we live in the future, we can accept someone like Lady Gaga for who she is: a weirdo. That’s right, the former Stefani Germanotta is the ﬁrst weirdo-American woman to achieve major pop-star success. But what does it mean to be weird and female? For starters, “weird” is not the same as “kooky,” though they’re often confused. Cyndi Lauper and Katy Perry are classic kooky chicks—funky, cute, and 12 / BUST // APR/MAY

nonconformists like Ellen Page in Juno or crazy girls like Courtney Love—types who revel in their outsiderish existence. Weirdos don’t yearn to be understood. Then again, weirdness isn’t terribly deep; we all know it when we see it. Lately, it’s whatever freaky thing Lady Gaga has stapled to her head at the moment, and we can’t get enough. That might be the weirdest thing about weird these days: that mainstream audiences are getting such potent doses and loving it. And that the weirdo who’s administering

the weirdly goodness isn’t a performance artist but a woman like Lady Gaga, who with her heartfelt songs could otherwise be a perfectly conventional pop princess. If you look around the entertainment world, you might notice other weird sisters doing it for themselves. Angelina Jolie was a weirdo slightly before her time, at the 2000 Oscars, when she showed up looking like Morticia Addams and snogged her brother. And on America’s Next Top Model, the weirdo girl (there’s one every cycle) has become the major competition. The latest girl to win spent most of the season saying things like, “Kids at school used to call me ‘Bloody Eyeball.’” Somehow, when it comes to approval-hungry careers like modeling and superstardom, weird girls are thriving. Weirdness comes with a skill set well suited for fame—nerves of steel and a willingness to take risks—but I think there’s more to the weirdo girl than that. Lady Gaga would most likely be a pop star just for her ability to sing, dance, write preternaturally catchy songs, and show off her butt cheeks in leggy costumes. But she seems to know that, as an audience, we want far more. We think we want our broken stars like Britney Spears and Michael Jackson to make comebacks, except we get bored when their lives are uneventful and then worship them when they’re dead. She knows that our demand for multitalented, high-performance dazzle is matched only by our thirst for human train wrecks. The way Lady Gaga destroys herself so spectacularly in her videos and live shows is made more pointed by the fact that she’s so composed in her interviews and off-stage appearances. She knows that we’re hungry for blood as long as we can be reassured that it’s fake. Of course, Lady Gaga’s performances are as calculated as anything Madonna ever did, with her famous ambition. But ambition is overrated nowadays—we’re all working our asses off at whatever jobs we’re lucky to ﬁnd—and it only brings stars more swiftly to the media gauntlet that picks women apart. Perhaps weirdness is the new evolutionary trait for female celebrities; maybe fame will become a survival of the weirdest. If that’s the case, Lady Gaga really is the future. ILLUSTRATED BY KIRSTEN ULVE

MUSEUM OF FEMORIBILIA [BY LYNN PERIL]

in your face

IMAGINE IT’S CHRISTMAS Day 1964, and you and your brother are opening two similarly shaped gifts. His is a Milton Bradley board game called POW! Cannon Game for Boys, in which “boys try to ‘shoot’ the opponent’s army” with a plastic cannon that lobs a marble over a cardboard wall. You think it looks fun, then hurry to open your own gift—which turns out to be a pastel-colored inverse of his. WOW! Pillow Fight Game for Girls is a “safe, fast-action game in which girls imagine they have a pajama party and toss miniature pillows at the girls in the adjoining room.” Instead of cannons, there are tiny plastic beds that players use to catapult miniature pink or blue fabric pillows over the barrier dividing the game board. Instead of soldiers, wee pajama-clad cardboard girls and a “housemother” are the targets. Once again, you resolve to raid your brother’s toy box when nobody is looking. »

STYLING: STEPHANIE HANES

PILLOW FIGHTS HAVE ALWAYS MADE GIRLS WANNA HURL

PHOTOGRAPHED BY SARAH ANNE WARD

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broadcast On the other hand, WOW! was a rare bird among mid-20th-century girls’ board games. Instead of being the first to date the prom king or put together the perfect outfit, the winner was the first to knock down all her opponent’s girls and housemother. Girlish aggression, even of the sporting kind, was rarely rewarded in this era, when young women were occasionally still required to play basketball according to antiquated “girls’ rules” designed to restrict unladylike competition. There were no such rules when it came to the pillow fight, of course. This was one arena in which little girls have always been allowed to spar alongside their brothers. When teenage girls left home to attend the first women’s colleges in the mid-19th century, dormitory pillow fighting was one tradition they quickly adopted from the boys’ schools.

“The pillow-fights of the gentler sex are currently reported to be waged with even more fierceness than those of the most reckless school-boys,” reported The New York Times in 1878. Almost two decades later, a short film featuring an energetic pillow fight between young girls in their nightdresses proved so popular that a copycat filmmaker rushed a similar product into the theaters, its climactic blizzard of feathers helped along by a few strategically placed slits in the pillows. Somewhere along the line, however, the good, clean fun became eroticized. Around the same time that audiences flocked to the cinematic spectacle of A Pillow Fight or Pillow Fights (both 1897), the pink-paged tabloid Police Gazette featured a much less innocent take on the same subject. “Sport for Seminary Girls. Muscular Maidens of the Lake

Forest University…battle with pillows,” read the caption below an illustration of nightgown-clad young women, whose exposed shoulders and décolletage were considered daring for the era. By the time WOW! appeared in the mid1960s, the risqué pillow ﬁght was a staple of men’s magazines, while naughty-but-nice versions frequently made the pages of more family-oriented ones. Ultimately, catapulting a miniature fake pillow at a miniature fake girl didn’t provide the “fast action” the box promised, and WOW! soon disappeared from toy-store shelves. Even today, amidst the electronic din of video games and other high-tech pastimes, nothing captures what The Big Book of Girl Stuff (2006) described as “the excitement of a good old-fashioned pillow ﬁght” as well as the thing itself.

pop quiz PEE-WEE HERMAN IS OUR KINDA MAN!

[BY EMILY REMS]

WITH HIS TIGHT little checkered suit, clip-on red bow tie, military haircut, and signature adolescent aphorisms, Pee-wee Herman was one of the most wonderfully weird cultural icons of the 1980s. But when scandal rocked his kids’-show empire in the early ’90s, the world almost lost this memorable man-child forever. Think you know how the Playhouse got back on top? Then take the quiz!

1. Pee-wee Herman is a character created by actor Paul Reubens. But what was Paul’s given last name when he was born in Peekskill, NY, in 1952? a. Reubenstein b. Rabinowitz c. Rubenfeld d. Rasputin 2. Reubens grew up in Sarasota, FL, where his parents owned a _____ store. a. lamp b. magic c. lingerie d. bicycle

5. Reubens made his TV debut in 1976 on what show? a. Maude b. Sesame Street c. The Gong Show d. Fantasy Island 6. In 1981 The Pee-wee Herman Show debuted at this famous L.A. nightclub, sold out ﬁve months’ worth of tickets, and became an HBO special. a. The Roxy b. The Viper Room c. Rodney Bingenheimer’s d. Whiskey a Go Go

7. Reubens asked this friend to direct his 1985 ﬁlm 3. Reubens started his acting career with what comedy Pee-wee’s Big Adventure, a project that would make troupe in the mid ’70s? them both stars. a. The Groundlings b. Second City a. Quentin Tarantino b. John Waters c. The Upright Citizens Brigade d. The Kids in the Hall c. John Hughes d. Tim Burton 14 / BUST // APR/MAY

8. Reubens launched the popular CBS kids’ show Peewee’s Playhouse in 1986, but it was canceled in 1991 after he was arrested for ________. a. driving while intoxicated b. marijuana possession c. indecent exposure d. attempted murder 9. After the arrest, the Pee-wee character was retired for almost 20 years. But Reubens has revived it for an upcoming ﬁlm and a stage show that opened in what city this year? a. New York b. London c. Buenos Aires d. Los Angeles 10. Complete the following Paul Reubens quote: “The public may think I’m weird. They may think I’m crazy. That’s all ﬁne. As long as one of the things you’re not thinking about me is that I’m a ______. Because that’s not true.” a. pedophile b. Scientologist c. one-trick pony d. Republican Answer Key: 1. c, 2 .a, 3. a, 4. d, 5. c, 6. a, 7. d, 8. c, 9. d, 10. a

4. While in that troupe, Reubens developed his Peewee Herman character with help from what future Saturday Night Live cast member? a. Bill Murray b. Gilda Radner c. Dana Carvey d. Phil Hartman

good enough to eat

PHOTOGRAPHED BY JENNIFER GRAYLOCK / IFC

IFC TAKES A WALK ON THE WEIRD SIDE WITH THU TRAN’S FOOD PARTY

STEPPING ONTO THE Brooklyn set of Thu Tran’s show, Food Party, is like wandering into a deranged toddler’s LSD trip: there’s wallpaper covered in pizza slices, a sink that rolls out into a bed, and a table laden with peanut butter–and–jelly meatloaf, all covered with a hefty helping of glitter. “If there wasn’t glitter in everything, it would all be edible,” notes Melody Roscher, producer of the performance-art piece/cooking show, which enters its second season on the Independent Film Channel in April. The show’s star, 28-year-old Thu Tran, along with her posse of friends from her alma mater, the Cleveland Institute of Art, have been working diligently to actualize this crazy vision since they began the show. It started as a labor of love that gained a cult following on YouTube in 2007. “We have lots of puppets on the show, and it has a very handmade aesthetic,” Tran PHOTOGRAPHED BY MATHU ANDERSEN

says. “We make everything out of cardboard, and we paint everything. I like construction paper and drawing pictures and making stuff with my hands.” Although plotlines in which Tran is stalked by lascivious anthropomorphic cornbread or embarks on an underwater search for caviar don’t exactly conjure up Julia Child, cooking is an important part of her life. She keeps a food journal on her Web site, www.thutranthutran.com, in which her populist approach to cooking is more “anecdotal than factual,” and her accessible food vocabulary (“beat together until satiny”) is a far cry from the traditional culinary world of measuring cups and recipes. “You cook to make people happy, to feed people, to nourish people,” says Tran. “So it’s not a matter of ‘What’s this dish supposed to be?’ It’s ‘Does this taste right? Do you like it? Are you full now? OK. Let’s hang out!’” [EMILY MCCOMBS] // BUST / 15

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hot dates THINGS TO SEE, PEOPLE TO DO

GOING GREEN WITH THE GUIDE GIRLS’ ECO-FRIENDLY COMEDY THE STARS OF the Web series the Guide Girls realize it’s not easy being green (composting can get ugly!), and that’s why they’re willing to sacrifice both their dignity and their style cred in their quest to create a more eco-conscious public. Starring comedy duo Johanna Hosking and Jenny Rask, both 38, each episode on www.theguidegirls.com features the pair’s wackadoodle alter egos, Maxine and Winnie—two wild women tarted up in tranny makeup and Brownie uniforms, who dole out helpful, real-world advice about sustainable lifestyle habits in the craziest ways. Like mash-ups of Absolutely Fabulous and An Inconvenient Truth, their riotous online “instructisodes” cover topics such as saving water, conserving energy, and reducing waste—things we know we’re supposed to do but don’t always know how to—while convincing viewers that “changing daily habits towards living more sustainably is addictive,” says Rask. Hosking and Rask discovered a mutual interest in raising environmental awareness over their decade-long friendship in L.A., a place they found to be riddled with a dispiriting culture of waste. At one point, they enrolled in a course on permaculture (ecologically self-sufficient design) that Hosking says made them think about “taking control of your own life instead of feeling helpless.” The class ultimately inspired them to overhaul their lifestyle habits, and soon they were looking for a way to help others do the same. But they found that it’s hard to get people psyched about green living when the message either overwhelms them or puts them to sleep. So in 2008, they invented Maxine, the mono-browed, bossy leader who brings out Hosking’s “perverse, dominatrix side,” and Winnie, who Rask describes as a “happy-go-lucky gal with a voluptuous bum,” and created videos about their sustainability antics. Hosking, originally from London, writes the scripts (which explains the offbeat British wit—but not Maxine’s lady-mustache), and Rask, a former graphic designer and editor at MTV, edits their growing library of films. Hosking and her family recently moved back to England, but not before she and Rask recorded a bunch of new instructisodes, including one about eco-friendly transportation that features a rented donkey. And they have plans to expand their site too, with diary entries from their characters and videos shot on the other side of the pond. Check them out, but proceed with caution: Maxine and Winnie’s toilet humor may cause you to pee your pants laughing—but at least they can show you how to wash and dry them with minimum impact on the environment. [CORRIE PIKUL] 16 / BUST // APR/MAY

April 8 – 9 FEMINIST PORN AWARDS Now in its fifth year, the Feminist Porn Awards will once again be making a scene in Toronto, Canada. This two-night celebration is dedicated to honoring pornographers whose work “offers a fresh perspective on the sexual expression of women and everyone who finds themselves underrepresented in mainstream pornography.” The event is put on by Good for Her, a women-centric sex shop in Toronto, so you can get the steamy specifics and much more at its Web site, www.goodforher.com. Begins May 5 AMERICAN WOMEN: FASHIONING A NATIONAL IDENTITY Drawing from the Brooklyn Museum’s recently established costume collection, this exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York will follow American women’s fashion from 1890 through 1940, tracing the ways fashion mirrored social, political, and sexual liberation. Gibson girls, bohemians, and screen sirens are just a few of the style initiators that will be featured through August 15. So gather your most fashionable friends, and get ready for this fancy field trip by visiting www.metmuseum.com. May 6 – 8 LADIES ARE FUNNY FESTIVAL Women comedians face a glass ceiling splattered with decades of tomato guts, but this event hosted by Girls Girls Girls, an improv musical comedy troupe from Austin, TX, proves that lady jokesters are about much more than period humor. The all-female function promises sketch troupes, onewoman shows, dance ensembles, and stand-up comedians that will have you rolling in the aisles. Check out laff.austinimprov.com for all the juicy details. [COMPILED BY LIBBY ZAY]

PHOTOGRAPHED BY PENELOPE FORTIER

Rask [left] and Hosking are total tree huggers

tips and giggles

April 2 – 4 B.SUPREME The U.K.’s only festival exclusively for women in hip-hop, b.supreme is “dedicated to giving a platform to the best female talent and bringing together every discipline in hip-hop and urban culture.” The three-day event at the Southbank Centre in London will include dance performances, beat boxers, spoken word, MC workshops, and dance battles. Visit bsupreme.wordpress.com to learn how you can show off your skills and counter the gender imbalance in rap.

[Clockwise from top left] Guests enter the church; A bridesmaid’s hair decoration; Bride Larech Lily; Katie Pelgrine helps dress a bridesmaid

they do KATIE PELGRINE MAKES MATRIMONIAL MAGIC FOR REFUGEES IN UGANDA WHEN MINNESOTA GIRL Katie Pelgrine (née Karpik), 25, arrived in a refugee camp in Pader, Uganda, in January 2008, the last thing she was looking for was a husband. She had traveled there to aid those displaced by the region’s bloody 22-year civil war, through a charity called Harvest Vision. Yet a month later, she was married to 25-year-old Ocitti Pelgrine, the minister who had invited her overseas to help members of the Acholi tribe, the ethnic group from northern Uganda primarily uprooted by the conﬂict. “I didn’t come to Africa to ﬁnd love,” she says, laughing. “But we just knew we belonged together.” Inspired by her own happiness with Pelgrine, Katie hit upon the idea of organizing a mass wedding for the camp’s couples as a way for them to celebrate the end of decades of violence. “I wanted to do something to give them hope for a better future,” she says of the refugees she’s been working to help

for the past two years. They are among over 1.6 million people who were displaced during the war. Characterized by widespread murders, abductions, civilian mutilations, sexual assaults against women and children, mass destruction of homes and property, and the recruitment of child soldiers, the war began in 1987 and raged for close to two decades. Since the 2006 Ugandan peace process, an uneasy calm has returned to the region, but even years after peace was declared, those left in the camps are still living with minimum shelter, nutrition, and hygiene. A celebration, Katie thought, could bring the community together and become a testament to the fact that the refugees were now free to start a new life. To make her plan a reality, Katie enlisted the help of Carol Halton from the U.K. charity Jireh Women, who was able to gather 54 donated wedding dresses for the event. Meanwhile, back in Pader,

PHOTOGRAPHED BY BECKY MATTHEWS AND CLARE STRUTHERS

everything for the ceremony was being begged for, borrowed, or built by the community itself, including chairs, food, and music. When the big day finally rolled around on January 31, 2009, the camp’s church was packed with people spilling in through windows and doors for a glimpse as the wedding ceremonies for six couples went off without a hitch, followed by a massive party with singing and food. Since the wedding, Katie has continued using the donations she gathered to help the refugee community. “We’re setting up a wedding-dress-rental shop, with the profits going to help the women of Pader start their own businesses,” she says. “There will also be a mass wedding every year using the dresses because the first one had such a great impact. It sent the camp the message that the war is over—you can celebrate now and live in expectation instead of fear.” [BECKY MATTHEWS AND CLARE STRUTHERS] // BUST / 17

broadcast NEWS FROM A BROAD [BY LAURA KRAFFT]

sausage party ALL BOYS AND NO GIRLS MAKE CHINA A DULL COUNTRY WHAT HAPPENS WHEN you take a patriarchal country with a population of 1.3 billion, institute a one-child-per-family rule, and then drag it out for 30 years? In China’s case, you get a country where the ratio of boys to girls is starting to resemble the ratio of male to female customers at Hooters. In fact, it was recently reported in The London Times that by 2020, more than 24 million Chinese men of

ban on tests that determine the gender of a fetus, these tests are still widely available, as are late-term abortions. The closest China has come to alleviating this problem is allowing farmers in certain rural areas who’ve had a daughter to also have a second child. Who knows? Maybe Mother Nature will step in and start messing with gender biology to equal out the imbalance, like

For the ladies of 2020, finding a date for Saturday night in China will be like shooting fish in a barrel. marrying age will be finding themselves without spouses. The only good news in all this is that for the ladies of 2020, finding a date for Saturday night in China will be like shooting fish in a barrel. So, how is China reacting? Are they dropping their family-planning policies? Apparently, not yet. And with technology on their side, Chinese families still aren’t taking any chances with the gender of their one allotted offspring. Despite a 18 / BUST // APR/MAY

she does with orchids, shrimp, and certain types of frogs. Or maybe China will just end up with a country full of only boys.

CLINTON REPRESENTIN’ Hillary Inspires More Lady Diplomats Than Ever There are 182 accredited ambassadors posted in Washington. Of that number, 25 are women. Not that impressive, until you realize that in the late 1990s, the

record high was five. According to The Washington Post, this increase in female accredited ambassadors is a direct result of what some call “the Hillary effect.” As Amelia Matos Sumbana, ambassador from Mozambique, points out, “Hillary Clinton is so visible as Secretary of State, she makes it easier for presidents to pick women for Washington.” Between her past as a first lady, her highprofile campaign, and her foreign-policy presence, Clinton’s effect has helped persuade various countries—the Netherlands, Bahrain, Singapore, Columbia, and even Liechtenstein, a nation that gave women the vote only in 1984—that ladies are worthy emissaries. It’s nice to see that the days of girls dreaming of being married to someone glamorous like an ambassador are being replaced by days where girls dream of becoming the glamorous ambassador.

WIVES’ STRIDES More Women Beat Their Husbands—In a Good Way The Pew Research Center recently released a study called “The Rise of Wives,” detailing the significant gains made by today’s married ladies. The study compares the state of marriages in 2007 with marriages in 1970 and finds that a larger number of women today are better educated and better paid than their husbands. How much so? Well, in 1970, only 4 percent of wives made more money than their husbands, while 22 percent did in 2007. And in 1970, only 20 percent of wives were better educated than their husbands, but by 2007, that figure had risen to 28 percent. According to the study, “These unequal gains have been accompanied by gender role reversals in both the spousal characteristics and the economic benefits of marriage.” I’m taking that to mean that we ladies need to start smoking pipes while reading the paper, and our husbands can eat as many bonbons as they’d like, just as long as they keep an eye on their figures. ILLUSTRATED BY HANNAH K. LEE

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“[Kristian] Matsson is so natural a songwriter that these tracks feel predetermined, tumbling out of his mouth with an ease and grace that’s increasingly uncommon” —Pitchfork

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PHOTO: DANIELLE ST. LAURENT; HAIR: HOLLY IVEY

COMING SOON: FROG EYES PAUL’S TOMB: A TRIUMPH CD/2xLP

MODEL: KATY BEAL @ Q; MAKEUP: TANYA RAE FOR MAC @ THE PATRICK MELVILLE SALON; HAIR: PRISSY DAUGHERTY; STYLING: BUFFI JASHANMAL; DRESS: MARA HOFFMAN; BELT: URBAN OUTFITTERS; RED BRACELET: KAIGHT; BLUE BRACELET: STYLIST’S OWN; JEANS: ZARA

CRAFTS+COOKING+HOME+HEALTH

up in the air RIDE THE WIND WITH A DIY KITE

AFTER A COLD and dreary winter indoors, these sunny spring days probably have you itching to get outside. So what’s a girl to do? Wrangle up some materials from around the house (after you’ve done a bit of spring cleaning, of course) and create this easypeasy ﬂying machine. Then pack a picnic, head out the door, and go ﬂy that kite. MATERIALS Two 1⁄8"-diameter wood dowels (about 20"– 25" each); scissors; masking tape; a few toothpicks; about 40 feet of string; Popsicle stick; ruler; large, colorful plastic bag (or vinyl shower curtain); ribbons (optional). INSTRUCTIONS 1. To create your frame, place one dowel perpendicularly over the second dowel, a couple of inches higher than the midpoint. Secure by wrapping masking tape where the dowels cross. (Vertical dowel = spine; horizontal dowel = spar.) »

PHOTOGRAPHED BY GLYNIS SELINA ARBAN

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real life 2. If you’re using a plastic bag to create your diamond-shaped sail, cut down its sides so it lies ﬂat. 3. Place the frame on your bag, and cut from the ends of the spine to the ends of the spar. 4. Turn your sail front-side down and place your frame on top. Secure each point of the sail to the ends of the dowels using 2" pieces of masking tape: lay 1" on the front side of your sail, then wrap remaining 1" tape over tip of dowel and onto opposite side of the sail. 5. To create a bowstring mounting tab, cut one 4" piece of masking tape. Place a toothpick about 1" from the end on the sticky side. Wrap the 1" of tape over the toothpick to create a doubled tab (there should be 2" of sticky-sided tape remaining). Use another toothpick to poke a hole through the center of the doubled tape, right below the wrapped toothpick. Snap off uncovered toothpick ends. Stick the tab to the front of the sail at one end of the spar. Repeat to create a tab to stick at the spar’s other end.

6. To create the horizontal bowstring, cut a piece of string about 5" longer than your spar. Take one end of the string and pull it through the hole you poked through the tape tab. Secure around the tab with a double knot. Pull the string carefully across the sail to create a slight curve in your spar, then secure the other end of the string to the second tab. When bowed properly, the distance from the center of the string to the point where the dowels cross should be approximately 2"– 3". (If your dowels begin to crack as you bend them, wrap some masking tape around the area.) Cut any excess string.

7. Measure the midpoint between the top of the kite and where the dowels cross; then using a toothpick, poke two holes through the sail on either side of the spine. Poke two more holes through the sail on either side of the spine 3"– 4" from the bottom of your kite. 8. To create a vertical bridle string, cut a string about 5" longer than the spine. Push one end of the string through one hole at the top of the kite, from the front to the

back, then over the spine, and through the second hole. Secure the string at the front of the kite with a double knot. Secure the other end of the string through the bottom set of holes in the same way. Make sure you use the length of your string (it should not be taut against the spine). 9. Cut at least 30 feet of string for your fly line and wind it onto the Popsicle stick. Create a loop at the end by tying an overhand knot. To attach the fly line, create a bridle loop: Cut a piece of string about 8" long, then fold it in half and tie an overhand knot to create a loop. Place the loop under the middle of the bridle string and secure it by pulling the ends through the loop itself. Attach the fly line by securing its looped end through the bridle loop with an overhand knot.

10. To create a tail for your kite, get ribbons or cut strips from the remains of your plastic bag and tape them to the bottom point of your sail. [MELANIE YUGO] To see more of the author’s DIY creations, go to www.spinsandneedles.com/stuff

OLD SCHOOL

great-grandma ryan’s rolls MY NORWEGIAN GREAT-GRANDMA, Opal Adella Cecelia Johnson Ryan, was a sprightly mother of eight who, well into her elder years, could still bend down and touch the floor. In her younger days, while my great-grandpa worked the railroad, she managed a household of scrappy kids with laughter and forgiveness, and proved her body wasn’t the only thing she could stretch—back in Depression-era Minneapolis, a dollar had to go far to feed a family of 10. That’s why she created this go-to dough recipe that could meet all the family’s bread needs—dinner rolls, hot dog buns, or even a simple loaf. It’s really very flexible, too. Heat 1 cup milk and 1 cup water until lukewarm (don’t scald). Pour into a big mixing bowl. Stir in 1⁄3 cup sugar, 1 tsp. salt, 2 well-beaten eggs, and 2¼ tsp. yeast. Add 3 cups sifted flour and beat well. Add 6 Tbsp. oil (whatever you have on hand), beat, then add 3 more cups sifted flour. Knead well by hand or with a mixer until the dough is quite elastic. Cover bowl with a clean dishtowel and set in a warm place to rise until doubled, about 90 minutes. Punch down the dough until it’s back to the size it started at, then let it rise to double again, another 90 minutes or so. Punch down and divide into rolls (long shapes for buns or smaller, rounded ones for dinner rolls). Put rolls on a cookie sheet and let rise while you preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Bake for 10 minutes, brush rolls with a beaten mixture of 1 egg white and 1 Tbsp. water, and bake for 10 minutes more or until rolls are golden. [JENNY ROSE RYAN] 22 / BUST / APR/MAY

real life

Katie Loparto pulls up some weed

seaweed whacker THIS SEA VEGGIE HARVESTER’S BOAT HAS COME IN

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SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS MIGHT whip up a mean Krabby Patty, carefully sandwiched between two fluffy seaweed buns, but most of us landlubbers haven’t the faintest clue how to serve up seaweed, or even how the salty, tasty veggie makes its way from the water to our plates in the first place. Enter 25-yearold Kacie Loparto, a seaweed harvester extraordinaire who’s made it her mission to bring the sea veggie to the masses. Loparto lives in Maine, and from May through October, her life follows the ebb and flow of the ocean. “I feel a true connection to the water with this line of work,” says Loparto. At low tide, she zips up her wetsuit, loads her wooden rowboat with bushel baskets and knives, and heads out to the bay, where she spends the day cutting off large strands of dulse, nori, wakame, and kombu seaweed. When her boat is overflowing, it’s back to shore, where she’ll hang the long tentacles of sea vegetable to dry. While the work is physically demanding—rowing the boat, wielding heavy knives, lifting 50-pound bushels of seaweed— the process has little impact on the environment; the seaweed beds regenerate during the winter months. Loparto first developed an interest in plants while working at an herb garden in college. After graduation, she had only two job-search criteria: expand her

knowledge of botany and live by the sea. Loparto satisfied both of these by working as an apprentice at a seaweed harvesting company in Steuben, ME, where, three years later, she continues to hone her craft. As her love for the superhealthy sea veggie grew, she started to trade her unpaid apprentice hours for bundles of seaweed, which she sold at local farmers’ markets. “The health benefits of seaweed are so numerous, it’s hard not to be passionate about this sustainable food source,” she says. “It’s the only food that contains iodine which people traditionally lack in their diets; it’s good for your thyroid and metabolism; it contains a variety of hard-to-find minerals; and it increases blood oxygen, which reduces blood pressure.” Now known as “the seaweed lady” to health-food enthusiasts from Rhode Island to New York City, Loparto has come a long way in spreading her salty message. “People walk right by seaweed on the shelves of their natural-food stores simply because they have no idea how to use it,” she says. “By selling at farmers’ markets, I get to educate people on seaweed’s various health benefits and provide recipes, making cooking with seaweed much more accessible.” Grab Loparto's sea veggies at SheSellsSeaweed.com and serve them up with the recipe on the following page. [CHRISTINE CHITNIS]

sesame kelp brittle Here’s Loparto’s most popular recipe for a salty, crunchy, cracker-like treat—a perfect, healthy on-the-go snack. Ingredients ½ cup brown rice syrup ¼ cup olive oil Dash of shoyu (soy sauce) 1 cup sesame seeds ½ cup crushed almonds ¼ cup ﬁnely crushed kelp (roast kelp on low heat for 10 minutes until crisp, then grind in a food processor) 1 Tbsp. ﬁnely chopped fresh ginger root

Instructions 1. In a small saucepan, heat syrup, oil, and shoyu just until it foams. Add seeds, nuts, ginger, and kelp, and stir thoroughly. 2. Line a large baking sheet with parchment paper. Scoop mixture onto parchment and ﬂatten a bit with a spoon or spatula. Then cover with another piece of parchment paper, and roll out ﬂat with a rolling pin. 3. Bake at 350 degrees for 10 minutes or until golden. During the last few minutes, check every minute to make sure you don’t overbake. 4. Remove from oven and let cool for 5 – 10 minutes. Remove parchment paper, break into pieces, and enjoy.

MAKIN’ WHOOPIE Whoopie pies are totes the new cupcake. And this cookbook (Whoopie Pies, Chronicle Books, $16.95) dedicated to their deliciousness is a must for all sweet tooths. The recipes are organized by cakes (from classic chocolate and vanilla to pistachio-cardamom and graham cracker) and ﬁllings (like marshmallow, chocolate ganache, and salted caramel) so you can mix ’n’ match your way to confectionary rapture.

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EAT ME [BY CHEF ROSSI]

feelin’ hot, hot, hot! THESE LATIN AMERICAN DISHES WILL GIVE YOU ISLAND FEVER

ASK YOUR AVERAGE gringa what Latin food is and she’ll answer with the three Ts: tacos, tostadas, and Tabasco. Honeys, please—Latin cuisine is more than tortillas. It’s as vast and wondrous as the many countries it encompasses. Save the nachos for another day, and try these yummy recipes instead.

Ms. Rossi’s Puerto Rican–Style Sofrito For a traditional sofrito—a perfect topping or dip for everything, whether it’s ﬁsh, chicken, veggies, or tofu—cut up 3 tomatoes and 2 white onions, then de-seed and cut up 2 green bell peppers and 1 jalapeno. Throw it all in a food processor with a couple of garlic cloves and a handful each of cilantro and parsley. Add the juice of 1 lime, a few drizzles of olive oil, and a pinch of ground cumin, and puree away. Season with salt and pepper. To serve it as a dipping sauce for grilled shrimp (my fave!), peel and devein a couple dozen shrimp, season with salt, pepper, and a pinch each of ground coriander and paprika, and drop on a hot, lightly oiled skillet. Cook for a few minutes per side until your shrimp turn orange.

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Bacalaitos (Salt Codfish Fritters) You’ll find bacalaitos everywhere from Cuba to Jamaica, but the best I’ve ever tasted were made by Slovenian chef Miha Juric, who graciously shared his recipe with me. Start with 1 pound of bacalao, aka salt cod (codfish that’s been preserved like jerky—we’re talking salty!); this will land you about 30 balls. Soak your bacalao, changing the water two or three times throughout the day; continue soaking overnight. Drop the bacalao in a pot of water with a handful of garlic, and bring to a boil for about 30 minutes. When it’s cool, pick out any bones and shred finely with your fingers (wear rubber gloves for this or you’ll have fish fingers for a week). Throw your cod in a bowl with 2 or 3 eggs, a couple of handfuls of bread crumbs, the juice of 1 lime, 2 de-seeded jalapenos diced superfine (gloves come in handy for this, too), a handful each of finely sliced scallions, chopped cilantro, and finely chopped red bell pepper, half a red onion, finely diced, and a good plop of ground cumin. Mix well. Rest your concoction for about 10 minutes, then roll into balls, dredge them in medium-grain cornmeal, and fry them in deep, hot vegetable oil until golden and crispy. PHOTOGRAPHED BY SARAH ANNE WARD

PROP STYLING: STEPHANIE HANES; FOOD STYLING: LAUREN LAPENNA

real life

BUY OR DIY

chain smoking ISN’T SHE PRETTY IN DIY LINKS?

MODEL: KATY BEAL @ Q; MAKEUP: TANYA RAE FOR MAC @ THE PATRICK MELVILLE SALON; HAIR: PRISSY DAUGHERTY; STYLING: BUFFI JASHANMAL; DRESS: LARSEN GREY, FROM KAIGHT; SHOES: ME TOO SHOES

NO LONGER RELEGATED to necks and Britney Spears’ belly, chains are everywhere this spring: draped over torsos, arms, hands, backs, and legs. Chain jewelry is totally versatile—wear it as a bold statement piece or as a delicate, unexpected splash of sass. Get linked in with some gorgeous premade body bling, or bust out your pliers and create these custom chain cascades to set off your favorite neglected body parts. »

PHOTOGRAPHED BY GLYNIS SELINA ARBAN

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real life

BUY OR DIY

SHE’S GOT LEGS: Garter calf chain First make the garter. To do this, get a leather buckle (it will come in two pieces) at a trimming store. Create a band using black elastic the same width as your leather buckle. Fasten the buckle on the tightest hole and measure the length (ours was 4"). Measure around the top of your calf, subtract the length of the fastened buckle piece, add 2", and cut a strip of elastic to this length. Undo the buckle, ﬂip the two pieces over, and pin 1⁄2" of each end of the elastic strip to each leather piece. Use a sewing machine to secure with a box stitch. Try the garter on your calf; it should rest snugly. Keeping the band on, measure from the bottom of the garter to right above your ankle, then measure the circumference of your leg at this spot. Cut a length of chain (choose a style with links big enough to ﬁt a jump hoop) to the sum of these measurements plus 1". Remove the garter. Use an awl to punch a small hole near the buckle clasp where you want the chain to drop from. Slip a jump hoop through the hole, slip the last link of one end of your chain onto it, and close the hoop with pliers. Put the band back on your leg so the chain hangs down. Attach a lobster clasp to the link that falls right above your ankle. Wrap the excess chain around your leg and clasp (like an anklet). Cut 11⁄2 yards of chain; attach a spring-ring clasp to one end. Secure the clasp to the hanging chain 21⁄2" below the garter. Wrap the chain around the back of your leg, and slide it through the center of the spring-ring until it drapes slightly behind your calf. Repeat this step, creating a longer drape around the back of your leg, and hold it in place by securing the chain to the spring-ring clasp. Break the extra chain off, or wrap it around the garter.

chain gang THIS HANDMADE HARDWARE IS READY TO ROCK [BY CALLIE WATTS]

Thigh Master

Baby Got Back

Why not top off your gams with a slinky surprise? An adjustable elastic band holds it high on your thigh so your leg won’t be choked by the chain ($65, thechainsoﬂove.etsy.com).

With its Freddie Mercury–inspired print and chain-drop detail, this dress is a spine tingler. Screen-printed by hand, the knee-length frock comes in a wide array of colors ($82, leatheretteheart.etsy.com).

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Give ’Em the Finger

Don a Draper

Slap this on the back of your hand for some ﬁerce high-ﬁves ($50, www.bonadrag.com).

This piece will take center stage on any outﬁt. You can also turn the harness, made from upcycled chains, into a fringe necklace by wearing the waistband around your neck ($64, myownlittleuniverse.etsy.com).

PHOTOGRAPHED BY CHRISTINE BLACKBURNE

FOOTLOOSE: Chain spat Cut a 11⁄2" length of black elastic (this will sit under the arch of your pump and keep the chains in place). Cut four 4" pieces of chain (A) and two 4" pieces of a different style chain (B). (Choose chains with links big enough to fit a jump hoop.) Attach a lobster clasp and the end of two A chains and one B chain to a jump hoop (in this order: A, B, A); close it with pliers. Using a needle and black thread, tack the other end of the A chains to the corners of one end of the elastic; tack the other end of the B chain in between them. Repeat these two steps, tacking the chains to the other end of the elastic. Cut 51⁄2" of a flat-back chain (like Cuban link) and attach a jump hoop to each end. Attach a lobster clasp to one jump hoop. To make the anklet, cut a length of flat-back chain to the circumference of your ankle. Attach a jump hoop to each end and a large lobster clasp to one jump hoop. Put the anklet on. Take the second length of flat-back chain and attach its lobster clasp to a link in the front of your anklet. Place the elastic under the arch of your pump, pull the chains up, and attach both lobster clasps to the hanging jump hoop. [CALLIE WATTS]

brilliant colors THE NATURAL WAY TO DIY DYE YOUR FABRIC

BEETS, CARROTS, AND red cabbage might sound like the makings of a stew, but with a little boiling and some all-natural fibers, they can be the source of color for your next fabric or yarn project. These days, most dyes are synthetic, but ones made from fruits, veggies, spices, and flowers have qualities the chemical stuff doesn’t— the shades they create are soft, rich, and varied. They’re also fun and easy to experiment with: fresh blueberries will result in a different blue than frozen, and the tomato vine from your garden might produce a different shade of yellow than one from the supermarket. Here’s how to get started. TIPS: • Choose natural fabrics and fibers like silk, wool, or cotton for dyeing. • The more dyestuffs you use or the more time the textile is in the dye bath, the deeper the final color will be. • Use a big pot with plenty of room for the fabric or yarn to move freely; otherwise, it will dye unevenly. • Wash finished products by hand, and line-dry to prevent fading. 1. MORDANT: When using most natural dyes, fabric and yarn must be pretreated with a mordant (a substance that helps fix color to the fibers). For wools, silks, and other animal fibers, the best mordant is alum (available at most supermarkets). In some warm water, dissolve 3 oz. of alum per pound of fabric or yarn you’ll be dying, and 1 oz. cream of tartar. Pour into 4 gallons of hot water. Add your fabric or yarn, bring to a slow boil, and boil for 1 hour (do not allow wools to boil or they PHOTOGRAPHED BY AMANDA BRUNS

The author shows her true colors

may felt; very hot water will suffice). Let your materials cool in the bath. For cottons and other plant-based fibers, mordants like chrome, tin, or iron work best, but these powder chemicals can be hard to find (and are dangerous if inhaled), so try alum for these as well. (If you’re not happy with the results, try boiling 1 pound of fabric in 6 cups of water in an iron pot for several hours, letting the fabric cool in the bath.) After mordanting, you can dye your fabric immediately or dry and store for later coloring. 2. EXTRACT DYE: Choose a color and gather your dyestuffs. (Starred materials do not require mordanting.) BLACKS: ash bark, walnut hulls*, seaweed* BROWNS: acorns, coffee grounds*, tea*, onion skins, avocado skins* REDS: pokeberries, beets*, saffron* ORANGE: marigolds, carrots YELLOWS: tomato vine, daffodils, turmeric* GREENS: mistletoe leaves, rosemary, beet greens BLUES: bayberries, blueberries, blackberries* PURPLES: dandelion root, red cabbages

In a pot, cover your chosen dyestuffs (the more you use, the darker your color will be) with several inches of water. If using ﬂowers or spices, boil for 20 minutes, then strain to make the dye bath. If using fruits, veggies, or plants, chop roughly and boil for 45 – 60 minutes before straining. If using bark, nuts, roots, or wood, soak overnight, then boil for 30 minutes before straining, then repeatedly boil and strain the dyestuffs as long as color continues to extract. To increase depth of shade for reds and blues (or to make greens more yellow), add 1 tsp. of salt per cup of water to your dye bath. 3. DYE FABRIC: Add enough water to your dye solution so the material you’re coloring will be able to move freely. When your dye bath is room temperature, add the fabric or yarn and heat to a low boil for 1 hour or until the color has reached your desired depth—remember, it will be two shades lighter when it dries. Finish with a thorough rinse and admire your beautiful colors! [KIMBERLY ELLEN HALL, WWW.NOTTENE.NET] // BUST / 29

real life MOTHER SUPERIOR [BY AYUN HALLIDAY]

what’s up, doc? MILO’S MEDICAL MYSTERY TAKES MOM TO THE ER

30 / BUST // APR/MAY

“Where is the appendix, exactly?” my husband, Greg, asked me. “What does it do?” “I don’t think it does anything. It’s just this little guy who sticks out of your liver… or…stomach.” Interesting how my recall of massage-school anatomy lessons received long ago tends to fade in non-hypothetical situations involving one of my own. Maybe

Whenever we thought he was faking, it suddenly seemed like he wasn’t. we were overreacting. Maybe it was gas. Or maybe we were wasting precious minutes. Greg called our friend the infectiousdisease specialist, who said the same thing the pediatrician on call did when he finally responded to the message we’d left with the emergency service four hours earlier: if it hurts when Milo hops on his left leg, he should probably go to the emergency room. Ooh, it did. Wait a sec. Do you remember which leg it’s supposed to be? We finally ended up in the emergency room of a good hospital, one I’d briefly

“C’mon, chug! Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” Several adult patients peered in, one elderly woman shaking her head as if to say, “That poor child. Take me first, Lord.” Three hours later, it was “Take me first, CT Scan Man.” We got ours eventually, and shortly thereafter, a pizza in a joint across the street from the hospital. Ten-thirty on a school night! Exciting! But not as much as learning that we all have boring little nodes in our intestines that sometimes flare up during a virus, hurting so bad, your folks would almost swear you’ve got appendicitis.

ILLUSTRATED BY AYUN HALLIDAY

WE’D NEVER HAD a pediatric emergency before, unless, of course, you count giving birth. No crazy respiratory episodes. No broken bones. One thing I’ll say for a fracture: at least the course of action is clear. You go to the emergency room. But what if your kid has appendicitis? Not the acute kind that strikes when you’re backpacking alone in the Australian outback, but one in which there are brief respites that allow you to revel in multiple episodes of Dino Squad, calling out for more and better snacks in between. We monitored Milo’s temperature, which was normal. His sister did her part by observing, rather hotly, that he’d certainly been getting away with more than the usual amount of TV. “Only because it distracts me,” he wailed, doubling over. Whenever we thought he was faking, it suddenly seemed like he wasn’t. One doesn’t read much about appendicitis these days. There’s no shortage of playground MDs who, having digested a handful of blog posts and an article in the Sunday Times, are prepared to both diagnose and cure everything from wheat allergies to autism, but appendicitis?

passed through on my way up to maternity, back in 1997. Funny, I don’t remember it being so crowded with passed-out crackheads and hostile altered seniors then. As the lone child to appear during the day shift, Milo was given a place of honor in the private gyn-exam room. A nice gesture, though the conspicuously labeled rape kits stacked in a glass cabinet didn’t make me feel any better about helping to physically restrain him while a technician for whom I also felt sorry fought to administer an IV. I can see why the staff would leave us alone for a while after that, though with incoming gurneys blocking the aisles to the point where patients had to bucket brigade clipboards between nurses and the resident trapped near the reception desk, I questioned how swiftly help would arrive in the event Milo’s appendix decided to blow. With nothing to do but have Milo drink a giant jug of increasingly less appealing liquid in preparation for a high-contrast CT scan, we eavesdropped on the neighbors. The man next to us seemed ﬁne, conducting business on his cell phone and brushing off his colleagues’ concern. Five minutes after the doctor saw him, he was bundled off to an emergency craniectomy. “How ya doing there, Milo?” I asked. “Still hurts,” he winced. “Are you sure your cell phone doesn’t have any games on it?” I shook my head regretfully, waving his jug. He probed the examining table’s stirrups with his stocking feet and looked stricken. “We’ve got no choice,” I reminded him.

FASHION+BOOTY

isabelle hayes FASHION DESIGN STUDENT/SEAMSTRESS

Tell me about this outfit. The jacket and blouse are from the Village des Valeurs thrift store here in Montreal. The jacket is wool, probably from the late ’70s–early ’80s, and the inside has this incredible peacock-blue silk lining. The blouse is polyester, from the ’80s; it cost $6.99. The skirt is also wool. It buttons up the back, and I think it might be handmade. I found the skirt and these German orthopedic shoes—both $5.99—at Friperie Renaissance, another thrift in Montreal. The mini beret is by hatmaker Eugenia Kim; I bought it on clearance at Urban Outfitters for $5. The tights are from Forever 21. No jewelry? I don’t wear a lot of jewelry; it tends to get in the way when I’m sewing. I try to focus more on the outfit instead. How would you describe your style? I’m very open and accepting; I love mixing pieces and influences from different eras. I can never stick to one particular “style.” It might be a Gemini thing! [laughs] I usually think about color first and build my outfit from there. I would say 95 percent of my wardrobe is thrifted—I only buy new things when I find them on sale or if I’m looking for basics. Tell me about your inspirations. I am very inspired by history. I also love movies and television shows. Lately, I’ve been watching That Girl, I Dream of Jeannie, and old James Bond films, the ones with Sean Connery and Roger Moore. I can also really relate to the French yé-yé singers from the 1960s, who were young girls trying to do something different—they were out there, full of life, and they had a certain naive innocence. I like their attitude. Any style advice for BUST readers? I think what’s most important about personal style is to keep it individual. Don’t be afraid to show the world who you really are! [TRICIA ROYAL]

PHOTOGRAPHED BY VINCENT DILIO

// BUST / 31

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FASHIONISTA

Christian Siriano being his most fabulous self

absolutely fabulous CHRISTIAN SIRIANO PUTS THE FUN IN FASHION

32 / BUST // APR/MAY

WHEN I MEET Christian Siriano in his design studio in N.Y.C.’s Garment District, it’s just two days after the Golden Globe Awards where Christina Hendricks, Mad Men’s Joan, walked the red carpet rocking one of his designs. The peach mermaid-tail gown hugged Hendricks’ gorgeous curves and inspired a vocal contingent of lovers and haters. But the 24-year-old Siriano doesn’t seem fazed. “You can tell me honestly, what did you think?” he asks. I barely have a chance to say I liked it before he exclaims, “Isn’t it fabulous?!” It’s this spirited self-assuredness, along with the adorableness of his high-maintenance ’do and pint-sized frame, that made Siriano one of Project Runway’s most memorable (and lovable) contestants. It doesn’t hurt that he’s a crazy-talented designer, either. Siriano won the fashion-contest reality show two years ago by whipping up stunning couture pieces and creating clothes that continuously blew the judges away; his final, almost entirely black collection featured his signature dramatic details like immensely ruffled collars, severe silhouettes, and a gown nearly covered in feathers. He did all of this while inadvertently coining “Christianisms” like “ferosh,” and “hot tranny mess,” even inspiring Amy Poehler to satirize his sass on SNL. Despite Siriano’s over-the-top show of confidence, however, he’s not as thick-skinned as he

seems. “I deﬁnitely really care what everyone says about my work, because I have to live up to something,” he says. “Like with Christina, she’s on the red carpet and she’s in this dress [I made], and now I’m being compared to the biggest brands in the world. And they’re so hard on me. I’m like, ‘Look, I’ve been in business for two years, and Valentino’s been in business for, like, 100.’ How can you compare that?” But he’s certainly made the most of his newly launched career. In addition to designing high-end pieces for his eponymous label, he’s also done a totally affordable shoe line for Payless and even wrote a book: Fierce Style: How to Be Your Most Fabulous Self. Because while he’s a “fashion prodigy,” as Project Runway mentor Tim Gunn has repeatedly referred to him, Siriano is also a shrewd businessman. “I didn’t want to alienate the young girls who were fans. So with Payless and even with the book, it’s stuff they can afford. The other fan base I have is for my gowns and cocktail dresses and things that cost over $5,000. In six years, I’ll only be 30 and my career will still be young. Why wouldn’t I want to make stuff for that girl who’s 15? In 10 years, she’s going to be where my customer is now. So, I have a game going, don’t you worry,” he says, with a knowing ﬂip of his hand. “You gotta work it!” [LISA BUTTERWORTH] PHOTOGRAPHED BY M. SHARKEY

// BUST / 33

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KEEP ’EM COVERED

PRECIOUS METALS Don’t be a bore, paint your nails with hues of ore. These new matte polishes in Iron Butterﬂy and Solid Gold will make your nails rock ($7.50 each, www.orlybeauty.com). [CALLIE WATTS]

SOCK IT TO ME With prints like steak, corn on the cob, and notebook paper, these silly sets will knock you off your feet ($11.99 each, shop.ashidashi.com). [CALLIE WATTS]

test kitchen [ THEIR PRODUCTS, OUR INTERNS ]

Garnier Fructis Haircare Instant Melting Conditioner, Moisture Works, $4.29, www.drugstore.com

Yum in the Tub Coffee and Sugar Body Scrub, $12, castallare.etsy.com

Burt’s Bees Rosewater & Glycerin Toner, $12, www.burtsbees.com

STEPHANIE

34 / BUST // APR/MAY

LEALA

SHEILA

I am a skin care maven: moisturizers, creams, toners, you name it. After giving this product a whirl, I was thrilled. The toner’s mild rose scent was sweet, and it made my skin super-duper soft—it didn’t dry out my face at all.

This toner was great. As someone with sensitive skin, I have to be careful about what I use, and this made my face feel supremely soothed. The smell alone made me want to use it daily.

Toners tend to dry out my skin, but this one was money, honey. It was gentle and cool— like massaging rose petals on my cheeks. In addition to lifting the dirt and oil from my face, the light ﬂoral scent de-stressed my mind, too!

I was afraid of giving off the aroma of a giant latte, but this scrub’s smell wasn’t overpowering, and it made my skin feel ridiculously smooth. Be prepared for a bit of a mess though—the exfoliant was grainy and cumbersome to apply.

After rubbing this scrub all over my body, I felt kind of silly standing covered in coffee grounds. Once I washed it off, though, my skin was supersoft, and surprisingly, I didn’t smell like a barista. The only downside was cleaning out the tub.

This smelled like a morning cup of crazy-delicious java. The scrub needed a little more oil—I felt like I was rubbing ground coffee beans all over myself and they wouldn’t stick—but it totally gave me babysoft skin.

Conditioners tend to leave my hair ﬂat and oily. After using this product on my freshly washed locks, however, my hair not only looked shiny and full of bounce, but it also felt unbelievably silky. I've been converted!

I use Garnier’s leave-in conditioner all the time, so I was excited to try this. While it made my curls look kind of rock ’n’ roll, it did nothing for the frizz, and I think my hair looked even more fried.

I applied a massive glob, willing this conditioner to work its voodoo, but the promise of smooth and shiny locks was an empty one, and instead, my hair turned out feeling plastic-y. On the plus side, it detangled my strands like a pro.

PHOTOGRAPHED BY CHRISTINE BLACKBURNE

Got a key ring bigger than Dwayne Schneider’s? Stop living one key at a time and slip these cute little critters over the important ones ($5.95 for a set of two, www. bust.com). [CALLIE WATTS]

looks

charmed, i’m sure IN A WORLD adorned with saccharine heart pendants and innocent flower charms, jewelry designer Ed Janssen’s bear traps, skulls, and brass knuckles, all cast in recycled silver, stick out like an old pocketknife (another object of the 31-year-old’s fascination). “I’m interested in the idea of decay and things that are worn over time,” says the N.Y.C.-based Australian of the inspiration for his unisex, Victorian-esque line of jewelry, aptly named This Charming Man. To create an antiqued appearance, Janssen oxidizes his offbeat, slightly macabre designs, many of which come complete with moving parts (like the bear trap’s working jaw) and built-in puns (like the “Knuckle Sandwich” necklace: two bread-slice charms on either side of a knuckleduster). A self-described thrift-store junkie, Janssen values craftsmanship and things that are built to last—a sentiment that informs his line. “Everyone is guilty of buying something from Ikea and throwing it out after a year,” he says. “But as much as I can, I try to buy—and make—good-quality stuff that doesn’t support the disposable economy.” He also likes to employ techniques and symbols from eras past. For his “Entangled” ring, which looks like branches circling the finger, Janssen uses the dried bones of cuttlefish for an old-school method of casting. And ever since his grandmother gave him a wax seal when he was six years old, he’s been obsessed with them, even creating a ring that doubles as one. “I love the idea of being able to leave your mark,” he says. To make a lasting impression of your own, grab one of his pieces at www.thischarmingman. com.au. [AMELIA GLYNN]

PHOTOGRAPHED BY MEGHAN PETERSON

ED JANSSEN’S JEWELRY LINE IS A LOOK THAT WILL LAST

FOODIE BLOOM

HIT THE DECK Lynn Weiler, the crafter behind the recycledskateboard jewelry company Seven Ply, focuses on “turning thrash’n into fashion,” and her handmade wares will make your heart do a kickﬂip. Buy a board and support the sport (rings, $18 each; earrings, $28; www. sevenplydesigns.com). [CALLIE WATTS] 36 / BUST // APR/MAY

PHOTOGRAPHED BY CHRISTINE BLACKBURNE

This serving set is always in season, and its four pretty petal nesting bowls are the perfect way to make your spread’s style blossom ($32, www.thespoonsisters.com). [CALLIE WATTS]

PAGE O’ SHIT

10. 9.

boy meets girl GET A LADYLIKE LOOK WITH THESE TWISTS ON TRADITIONAL MALE ATTIRE [BY STEPHANIE J] 1. PETAL BLAZER BY MODSTROM, $129, WWW.PIXIEMARKET.COM. 2. THE “BOYFRIEND” BLAZER BY NECESSARY OBJECTS, $64, WWW.FREDFLARE.COM. 3. “SHE READS BOOKS” BEADED HAIR BAND BY OLD SOUL, NEW HEART, $32, WWW.OLDSOULNEWHEART.COM. 4. “BRAWNY” REWORKED VINTAGE WATCH NECKLACE BY CORVUS NOIR, $88, WWW.CORVUSNOIR.COM. 5. BLACK HAT WITH PINK FEATHER BY NOD NOD, £40, WWW.BENGTFASHION.COM. 6. BLACK LOW-TOP SNEAKERS BY MARAIS USA, $45, WWW.MARAISUSA.COM. 7. TUXEDO BLAZER BY PAUL & ALICE, $231, WWW.PIXIEMARKET.COM. 8. 14" BLACK SATCHEL BY THE CAMBRIDGE SATCHEL COMPANY, $104, WWW. CAMBRIDGESATCHEL.CO.UK. 9. LEATHER STUD CUFF BY LEONIE SALIBA, £12.50, WWW.PRETAPORTOBELLO.COM. 10. SONNET UMBRELLA BY PARE UMBRELLA, $65, WWW.PAREUMBRELLA.COM. // BUST / 37

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AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 GIRLS [#43]

It's not always sunny in Philadelphia

Gonna ﬂy now

Get divey at Tattooed Mom

philadelphia, pennsylvania THE SPOTS YOU’LL ADORE IN THE CITY THAT LOVES YOU BACK [BY KARI MOLVAR]

38 / BUST // APR/MAY

PHILADELPHIA MIGHT BE famous for cheesesteaks and an old cracked bell, but it’s so much more than that. From cheap eats to roving dance parties to under-the-radar bars, this East Coast city, founded centuries ago, is actually pretty cuttingedge—a killer combo of old-school history and quirky, cool culture. Maybe that’s why The New York Times dubbed it the “next borough” (it’s just 100 miles south of N.Y.C.). But us locals don’t care much about labels, and we’ve always known that the City of Brotherly Love has plenty of sisterly affection. Start the day in Old City; the heart of Philadelphia’s historic section is lined with quaint brick sidewalks, antique row houses, and often packed with high school kids on ﬁeld trips. Yeah, it’s hard to avoid tourists around here, but it’s worth ﬁghting the crowd for a visit to The Betsy Ross House (239 Arch St.), former home to America’s ultimate crafter. Glimpse the seamstress’ busy (and cramped) quarters, where she lived and ran her upholstery business way back when. Check out the costumed actors demonstrating colonial DIY skills like lace making and wool spinning. If that inspires you to shop for modern threads, head to Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction (116 N. 3rd St.), a unique art/craft/design store that sells lady-run labels like Lauren Moffatt and Dear Creatures, and a rotating inventory from local designers. Next, hit

Topstitch (54 N. 3rd St.), a boutique run by three women artists/designers who have an affinity for “leathers, feathers, chains, and hot glue.” Look for vintage and local handmade clothing in wild prints and weirdly beautiful jewelry, like their signature line of “Fleather” earrings—swinging strands of hand-dyed leather (which sell like crazy on their Etsy shop). Across the street, there’s Moko (55 N. 3rd St.), a sunny organic salon and spa that’s great for a little all-natural pampering. And be sure to hit Smak Parlour (219 Market St.), a rosy boudoirstyled boutique known for sassy lingerie and retro girly apparel that’s snipped and sewn in Philly. For a midday nosh, go to Northern Liberties (east of Broad St., just north of Old City), the industrial section of Philly with an urban gritty atmosphere. Here you’ll find the best brunch in town at Honey’s Sit-N-Eat (800 N. 4th St.), a down-home eatery folks flock to for comfort food like chickenfried steak, fresh biscuits, and giant crispy latkes. If cycling’s your thing, nearby Trophy Bikes (1040 N. American St.) is an excellent shop for new and restored custom bikes. If you splurged at Trophy, on a fixie or came to town with your own two wheels, take a spin along the banks of the Schuylkill River for some killer views of the city. After all that exploring, relax at PYT (1050 N. Hancock St.), a Cali-style burger palace that doubles as a night club. SpeakPHOTOGRAPHED BY IRINA ZHOROV

See dem bones at the Mütter Museum

Knit on at Loop

Bindi does curry

Sit 'n' sip at Brew Ha Ha

Topstitch is tops

ing of tunes, Philadelphians love to get their groove on, and the city is big on roving dance parties hosted every month at venues throughout the city. The best is Madonna Michael Prince with DJ Deejay (www.myspace.com/madonnamichaelprince), which, just like it sounds, features the most bootyshaking tunes of Madonna, M.J., and Prince, so see where it’ll be when you’re in town. Or head to Silk City Diner (435 Spring Garden St.): retro resto by day, epic dance party by night. Don’t miss the sparkly, bejewled Elvis portrait hanging above the door. Get some beauty rest, then make your way to the totally sick (in a good way) Mütter Museum (19 S. 22nd St.). It’s home to a curious collection of obsolete medical instruments, artifacts, and specimens of physiological oddities—let’s just say there are bones galore (including the skeletons of conjoined twins), organs and limbs pickled in formaldehyde, and gems like Madame Curie’s ﬁrst electrometer. Then shake off the heebie-jeebies at Philly’s other awesomely eccentric institution, the Mummers Museum (1100 S. 2nd St.). It’s the ofﬁcial time capsule for all things Mummers, a group of 15,000 folks who participate in the annual

New Year’s Day Mummers Parade, which is kind of like the Rose Parade on acid, minus the flowers but featuring colorful, elaborate costumes and performances. Once you’ve had your fill of kitsch, hop a cab to Jim’s Steaks (400 South St.) for the city’s best cheesesteak. Order yours “wit” like the locals do—it’ll come slathered in Cheese Whiz and onions. Herbivores can get in on the action with a vegan cheesesteak at Horizons Cafe (611 S. 7th St.). Then wet your whistle at the laid-back Tattooed Mom (530 South St.), a dive bar that serves cheap and tasty beers and has surprisingly good jukebox tunes and 50-cent pierogie specials. Audiophiles should check out nearby Repo Records (538 South St.) for a decent selection of vinyl, and new and used CDs. A few blocks over is Loop (1914 South St.), a cheery knitting shop where you can pick up yarns from all corners of the world. Afterward, walk north to Washington Square West (between Lombard and Walnut and 11th St. and 13th St.), a treefilled, sun-dappled area where you can sip a frothy drink at the cozy, friendly coffeehouse Brew Ha Ha (212 S. 12th St.) and shop the cool boutiques like Sailor Jerry

(116-118 S. 13th St.) with its line of T-shirts and hoodies decorated with old-school Americana tattoo art. By now you’ve probably worked up an appetite, so grab a table at one of the neighborhood’s amazing BYOB restaurants. Bindi (105 S. 13th St.), co-owned by Marcie Turney and Valerie Safran, serves savory Indian food like mahi-mahi in ginger coconut curry. The duo also owns Lolita (106 S. 13th St.), a modern Mexican BYOT (Bring Your Own Tequila, to mix into the house margaritas—genius!). Or check out Varga Bar (941 Spruce St.), named for Alberto Vargas, the Peruvian-born painter whose va-va-voom pinup girls inspire the decor. The juicy beef sliders melt in your mouth, and the onion rings are to die for. Finish the night with a French ooh-lala cabaret show at L’Etage (624 S. 6th St.), then make like a true Philadelphian and hit up Center City Soft Pretzel Factory (816 Washington Ave.) for a midnight pretzel run. You can nab hot, steamy twists straight off the conveyor belt at three for a buck. By trip’s end, two things are certain: you won’t leave Philly hungry, and you’ll have a whole new appreciation for the Cradle of Liberty! // BUST / 39

PHOTOGRAPHED BY

RAMONA ROSALES GROOMING BY

TRACY MOYER AT CELESTINE STYLING BY

DJUNA BEL 40 / BUST // FEB/MAR

SUIT: PERRY ELLIS; LAVENDER TUXEDO SHIRT: MEOW

A rare mix of cuddly, cutting edge, and controversial, Tracy Morgan is an actor whose performances get funnier the more they mirror his own life. Here, we talk to our favorite “Werewolf Bar Mitzvah” boy about his journey from ghetto superstar to Hollywood transgressor BY

PRIYA JAIN // BUST / 41

R RACY MORGAN IS the exception to pretty much eevery rule. He is the Bronx kid who made it out, the black stand-up who found crossover appeal, the b ccrassly sexual comic whose best-known lines are written by TV’s most powerful female writer. If w yyou weren’t watching Saturday Night Live between 1996 and 2003—when Morgan lit up the show playing such characters as Safari Planet host Brian Fellow and Astronaut Jones, and impersonating Maya Angelou, Star Jones, and Harry Belafonte, to name a few—then you surely know his work on 30 Rock. Indeed, his character, Tracy Jordan, has become so iconic that audiences often get the man and the role confused. But as Morgan is quick to point out in interviews—as well as in his new memoir, I Am the New Black—he is not Tracy Jordan. On the Tina Fey–created sitcom, he is a lovably deranged parody of himself who keeps a snake in his car, spends too much time in strip clubs, and makes movies with titles like President Homeboy and Who Dat Ninja? Tracy Morgan himself is a little more complicated. He’s a father to three sons and has a career that he’s built block by block, first in comedy clubs, then on the Fox sitcom Martin, then on SNL, and beyond. But he is also a thriving stand-up comedian with material that leans heavily on sex in a way that can make audiences uncomfortable. “When you do anal sex in real life, that shit is a struggle,” he explains in one joke. “You be struggling for 45 minutes to get your dick in that little hole. She gets bored—starts doing her income taxes while Roberta Flack and Donny Hathaway are on the clock radio. That’s what happens behind closed doors.” All of which might make it hard to understand how Morgan ended up here, in BUST. He’s not our typical cover guy, to be sure; the 41-year-old actor comes from a place and time that’s hard for many of us to comprehend. As he recounts in his memoir, Morgan grew up in the projects, in the Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood of Brooklyn. His mother kicked out his heroinaddicted father when Morgan was a kid, and Morgan lived with her until, feeling neglected as one of five kids that his mom was raising alone, he went to live with his father in the Bronx. By this time, Morgan’s father had contracted AIDS from sharing dirty needles, and Morgan spent his teenage years caring for his dying dad. “In the ghetto we use sex as a sedative,” Morgan says in his memoir, and both the complications and pleasures that

I thought your memoir showed another side of you, one that seemed to be heavily influenced by women when you were growing up. You talk a lot about being raised by a single mother. Was she a big influence on you? Yes. You know, having a broken home is a main cause of poverty and frustrations and everything. But in my mother’s defense, it was all she knew. She had my brother when she was 16, and she had me 42 / BUST // APR/MAY

sex brings are evident in his history. There is the scene where his father shows him the spot, under a set of bleachers, where Morgan was conceived; there is the 14-year-old babysitter who forces a crying 8-year-old Morgan to have sex with her; there are the girls who Morgan talks casually about fingering; there is the ex who convinces Morgan, for several years, that he fathered her son—until a paternity test reveals the lie. What his story powerfully conveys is that in the ghetto, sex isn’t only a sedative; it’s also often the only form of power both men and women can access. Though it’s a riveting story, what makes Morgan remarkable isn’t his upbringing, but that by working on SNL and 30 Rock, and by attracting audiences who wouldn’t have found him at the Apollo or on Def Comedy Jam, he’s creating a unique dialogue about inner-city culture and male-female interaction. And of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s doing it while being hysterically funny— often playing the joke on us. He’s the proverbial mirror held up to his society, and the punch line is in how those around him react. Just check out his morning-show antics on YouTube; he makes everyone else in the room look so, well, white. Promoting a local gig in El Paso, TX, in 2007, Morgan took his shirt off, tucked his leg underneath him, and—while the interviewer tried desperately to bombard him with softball questions—exclaimed, apropos of nothing, “I got this leg blown off in Vi-ET-nam!” On WGN in Chicago that same year, he lay down on the anchor’s desk, lifted his shirt, spread his legs, and inflated his belly, saying, “This is my impression of a pregnant woman giving birth.” What makes these antics particularly funny is how his craziness shows up the cue-card stiffness of the anchors, who tend to giggle uncomfortably and widen their eyes as if to say, “Who is this guy? Is he an idiot? A crazy person? Or is he the smartest guy in the room, playing the rest of us for chumps?” (Some of the best episodes of 30 Rock have mined this uncertainty, as in the season-one episode in which Tracy Jordan lets Fey’s character, Liz Lemon, believe he can’t read, only to point out later that her gullibility underscored her own prejudices.) What could I expect then, when I interviewed Morgan myself ? Over the phone from his home in Manhattan, he was subdued, even thoughtful, and very willing to talk about his relationships with women, from his mother to Tina Fey. If his shirt was off, he never let me know.

when she was 18. She didn’t know much. She was a kid herself! In the audio book version of I Am the New Black, you choked up when talking about how your grandmother was the one stabilizing force in your life. Yeah, you know, there was a cycle. She had my mother when she was young, but she was great as a grandmother because she had experience at that time. She might not have been the greatest mother, but she

was a great grandmother. She was my girl. That was my baby, my grandmother. She gave me all the love and affection and attention that my mother couldn’t give me. What I didn’t understand as a child [that] my grandmother helped me understand, was that my mother did love me. I was born in between my brother being crippled—my oldest brother, her firstborn— and my sister who was the only girl. So I thought there was no love for me.

SWEATER: K SWISS; DRESS SHIRT: PERRY ELLIS; PANTS: PERRY ELLIS

You also talk in the book about losing your virginity to your 14-year-old babysitter when you were 8, and then there was the ex-girlfriend who tried to make you believe you were the father of her child. How did those experiences influence your views on women? Well, as an adult it makes you realize there are some people out there who need help. I mean, as a child, my mother and my grandmother and my aunts were my backbone. I didn’t understand as a child what was going on. All little boys think women are icky when they’re little, you know? With those things that happened to me, I don’t think it got too crazy—I’m not a rapist or a serial killer. It never affected me to that point. I mean, I didn’t turn out to be Ted Bundy [laughs]. I’m a comedian! All those women who did those things to me when I was younger, I guess it helped me take a better stance towards women now. Yeah? How so? I just see them differently. I understand now. I understand the cycle of life. I understand how sometimes the abused

could become the abuser. Things happen to people growing up, so you have to pay attention to details when you have children. I am a parent now, so I understand. You talk about good relationships with women too, like your ex-wife, Sabina, whom you speak of very fondly. You gotta understand, it’s real awkward for me to talk about the book, because I’m not living that life anymore. I’m not that person, and I’m a grown man now, so it was hard for me to go back and relive some of those things. It was like reopening a wound. So you gotta forgive me sometimes when it’s hard to express how I feel about some of those things. It was just so long ago. What were you saying about my ex-wife? You speak of her very fondly in the book. And you talked about how, when you were developing your stand-up, she helped you appeal to female audiences. Yeah, I was able to relate to my female audiences because I had pillow talk with her at night. She was very honest with me about how the female species feels

on certain things, so I was able to be accurate with my material as far as women are concerned. I understood early on in my career that women are a big part of my audience—if you get the ladies on your side and they’re laughing at your jokes, you’ve pretty much made it. That’s how Will Smith became big. That’s how Denzel became big. What do you do in your act to try to appeal to female audiences? Well, it’s not just the female audience I am trying to appeal to. I’m trying to appeal to humanity! When I’m out there on stage, I talk about our flaws and our imperfections and our differences, and I just try to celebrate that. I don’t bash. I celebrate the differences between men and women. Women look differently than men on certain things, and men feel differently than women on certain things, and I let them know. Yes, I have my chauvinistic side. I think there are things that women should do and things women shouldn’t do, but I am not going to be a pig about it. I’m not going to force that on anybody. More than // BUST / 43

anything, I want to inject my sense of humor into it to let them know, man, it’s just comedy. I know how sensitive the ladies can be about certain things. When you come into this comedy club, remember, it’s just jokes. It’s just comedy, so don’t take it too personally. Do you have an example? Sure, I make domestic violence funny— there’s comedy in that. I’m not making fun of domestic violence, but I’m making fun of certain situations. Because if you don’t laugh about it, you’ll cry—it’s a serious, serious situation. That’s part of being a comedian. Can you tell me a little bit about your relationship with Tina Fey? It’s purely professional. We see each other at work. I don’t ring her bell, she don’t ring

collaborate nicely and I think it worked out perfectly, and I adore her for that. What’s it like having a female boss? I don’t mind. She’s the coolest. I don’t mind at all. It’s interesting that on SNL, some of your best-known impressions were of women. You did Maya Angelou, you did Star Jones. Have you ever met either of them? I never met Maya Angelou, but I knew Star Jones, and she didn’t mind me doing it. I tried not to make it too condescending, but that was hard. As long as it was funny, I guess it was OK. Going back to your book, you talked about your drinking and partying and how it threatened to ruin your career. [Morgan was arrested in 2005 and in

ASTRONAUT SUIT: WARNER BROS. COSTUME HOUSE, SHOES: TRACY'S OWN ADIDAS

“I THINK THINGS WILL BE DIFFERENT ONCE I HAVE A DAUGHTER. YOU NEED THAT FEMININE ENERGY IN YOUR LIFE.” my bell. We have our own friends, you know, and we keep it professional. Tina is a white woman, she’s a mother, she’s a wife—what would she be doing hanging out with me? I simply meant your professional relationship with Tina. I understand what you mean, but I’m being funny with it! See, you’re taking it to another level, but I’m just being funny with it. You have to picture me and Tina Fey hanging out together. It could happen. Well, when we’re at work we’re like brother and sister in the sandbox. And then when we leave the sandbox, she goes to her house and I goes to my house and that’s how it is. We play nicely in the sandbox. So what’s it like having her write for you? I think it fits me perfectly. I think Tracy Jordan is a fun character to play, and the role is brilliantly written by Tina and her staff. I think the role they write for Tracy Jordan is awesome, but I bring the character. So we

2006 on DUI charges.] And then you sobered up, and you gave a lot of credit for that to your new girlfriend. How did she help you? You know, at the time those things were happening, I was making this metamorphosis into being who I am now, and she was there, so I have to give her some credit. It had to be partly because of her that I made that change. Right at that point, I was going through my separation with my ex-wife and she came along, and I guess she had a soothing effect on me. She changed me, and I decided to change for the better and to take a better stand as a man. I gotta say that [my girlfriend] Tanisha Hall had something to do with it. And it’s still going on. I mean, I’m not perfect and I have my moments, but I gotta say, when I look at my life, I like it now. You’ve gotta ask yourself, “Did you like it then? Or do you like it now?” That’s what Samuel L. Jackson asked me recently at the Golden Globes. He was around when I was going wild, and when he hosted SNL I had a seri-

ous heart-to-heart talk with Mr. Jackson. I love him. I love him so much and I know he loves me, because when he walked past me at the Golden Globes, he looked at me and he winked and asked, ‘“Did you like it then, or do you like it now?” And I looked at him sorta with a tear in my eye and I said, “I like it now. I like it now,” and he smiled and walked away. That’s great. Yeah. On 30 Rock this season, your character, who has only boys, has been yearning to have a daughter. Is there anything autobiographical in that? Yes! I have three sons and I feel my cycle as Tracy Morgan won’t be complete until I have a daughter. That’s the only way I’m going to be able to really, really feel differently toward women. And this goes back to the questions you asked me about what my outlook toward women has been since what happened to me as a little boy. I think things will be different once I have a daughter. How so? You need that feminine energy in your life. As a man, to really respect and honor women, you have to have a daughter. Because you can see your mother has to do things if your daddy’s not there—she may have to do things just to survive, and that may give you an outlook toward women you’ll never forget until you have a daughter, until you hold her little hand in your hand. Do you think if or when you have a daughter that it would change your act at all? [laughs] I don’t know about that! I think my act is pretty much working, but if it did change, it would change it for the better. I would have an insight into what it is to have a daughter. I think it would add to my act. What do you think about being on the cover of BUST’s “Men We Love” issue? You know what? This is my first cover! I’m looking forward to it. It’s an honor. It’s a milestone, and it’s just a blessing. I’ve been in show business for 18 years, and this is my first cover. It may be my last—I don’t know, but I am going to enjoy it. I am going to frame it, and I’m going to hang it in my room over my bed. For me, it’s big. It’s really big. I know bigger comedians than me who probably never got to this point, so I am really honored to be a part of it. B // BUST / 45

ILLUSTRATION BY

JESSICA HISCHE EMILY SHUR

WILL ARNETT PHOTOGRAPHED BY 46 / BUST // APR/MAY

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Will ARNETT

WHEN ACTOR WILL Arnett ﬁrst burst into the public consciousness, it was in a puff of smoke as failed magician George Oscar “GOB” Bluth II, on the brilliant-but-canceled TV series Arrested Development. But GOB’s departure from the small screen was not to be a permanent disappearing act. The show’s intense cult following has resulted in plans for an Arrested Development movie, slated to premiere in 2011, and female fans of this lovable loser character couldn’t be happier. “I think women probably think that GOB is troubled, which a lot of women seem to like, because maybe they think that they can ﬁx him,” Arnett says of his status as an unlikely sex symbol. “Maybe they’re the kind of women who are in love with, like, awful Third World leaders.” Luckily, the real man is nothing like the character. Instead, he’s a loving 39-year-old husband and father whose idea of a great date is ordering in Chinese and watching Celebrity Rehab. “I’ve never been the guy who wants to go to a club and meet models. I think that it’s much more important to start looking from the inside out,” he says of his dating style before he settled down. “I just so happen to also have a wife who’s gorgeous, so that worked out really well in my case.” His gorgeous wife is, of course, Saturday Night Live alum and BUST cover girl Amy Poehler, who is so cool, we can’t even be hatefully jealous that she gets to share a presumably very funny bed with the crushworthy comedian. And not surprisingly, no matter how deeply one may envy their union, Arnett says she’s not about to share him. “I guess maybe if we were, like, stuck in some emirate and the only way we were going to get out of there 48 / BUST // APR/MAY

alive was if she pimped me out,” he jokes. “But just in our day-today lives in New York and Los Angeles, I can’t imagine that she would be into it.” The pair had a child, Archibald, in October 2008, which Arnett says has changed his life only in “every possible way.” “It seems trite to say, but it really does all kind of finally make sense,” he says of life as a dad. “As a human being, you just kinda go, ‘OK, that’s why I’m here. I’m not here to just look after myself and be on a TV show and make money and enjoy myself.’” Since Arrested ended, Arnett has made multiple memorable appearances on NBC, both on 30 Rock and as a potential suitor opposite Poehler on Parks and Recreation. And he’s gracing the broader entertainment landscape again with roles in three new films, Despicable Me, Jonah Hex, and the Kristen Bell romantic comedy When in Rome, in which he plays an Italian suitor with a gloriously bizarre head of long, thick hair. “I kept the hair,” he says. “Sometimes after we wrapped, I’d wear it home, and I’d constantly be flipping it up behind me and then I’d do a lot of smoldering looks. We got some nice disgusting photos of me wearing a white suit while I’m in the wig.” Although the role was a welcome departure from what he calls his usual “jackass” characters, don’t expect to see him playing the typical leading man any time soon. “I always like characters who have something really wrong with them, ’cause it’s much more interesting,” he says. “I don’t think that I’d be good at playing a guy who is kind of charming and sweet and ends up getting the girl.”

BY EMILY MCCOMBS PHOTOGRAPHED BY EMILY SHUR

GROOMING: KAYLEEN MCADAMS @ THE WALL GROUP

A-1 Adorable Actor

GROOMING: LAUREN KAYE COHEN @ TRACEY MATTINGLY

Aziz ANSARI

TV’s Foxy Comic Foil

AZIZ ANSARI GOT his role as the lovably obnoxious Tom Haverford on the NBC sitcom Parks and Recreation the old-fashioned way: bribery. The 27-year-old acknowledges that the show’s producers might’ve recognized him from his years on the standup circuit, his parts in shows like Scrubs or Flight of the Conchords, or his role as actor and co-creator of the MTV sketch-comedy show Human Giant. But still, when asked how he scored his latest prime-time part, he explains, “They pretty much knew me from Human Giant, but I also bought them a couple of Jet Skis, so I think that’s how I sealed the deal. You’ve gotta see [series creator] Greg Daniels on a Jet Ski. He’s really, really good.” Ansari shares a sarcastic cockiness with his on-screen alter ego Tom, a governmental cog in a ﬁctional Pawnee, IN, ofﬁce headed by Amy Poehler’s Leslie Knope. The mockumentary-style Parks and Recreation is a comedy oasis in a desert of crappy prime-time programs and has launched Ansari further into the public eye. He still puts his pants on one leg at a time, but then he wears those pants to tape one of the funniest sitcoms airing today. He gave this interview careening in his

car to another day of shooting in L.A., all the while dropping some science on his love for brawny ladies and letting me in on some of his Intimate Moments. Whether it’s a sign of good taste or good luck, Ansari’s first role on a major sitcom is a winner, and he’s been getting recognized more and more. He’s not sweating the extra attention, though. “It’s not too problematic,” he says of getting stopped by fans. “What’s cool about Parks and Recreation, and shows like The Office and 30 Rock, is that it’s smart comedy that comedy snobs, like myself, like—but it’s on a network. So it’s smart stuff that’s reaching a big audience.” When asked if he’s been getting more love from the ladies since the role, he dryly replies, “Yes. Mostly from, like, female bodybuilders—they love the show. The really big ones. I mean, they give really firm handshakes and really good hugs. I appreciate the support.” Real or imagined, those muscular ladies must be in seventh heaven since his oneman stand-up special Intimate Moments for a Sensual Evening premiered on Comedy Central in January, giving fans a big dose of his observational humor stylings. A

hilarious cruise through an American landscape littered with cultural weirdness, the special travels between Ansari’s horror at the song-and-dance routine his tip-jar donation incited at Cold Stone Creamery and his assertions that 700-thread-count sheets are “like sleeping in lotion,” all delivered with an impossibly straight face. Ansari’s also just inked a development deal with Judd Apatow to work on three upcoming ﬁlms. One centers on Ansari’s character Randy, the crass stand-up comedian who made a cameo in Apatow’s 2009 ﬂick Funny People; the second is about motivational speakers (tentatively titled Let’s Do This); and in the third, a pair of disgraced astronauts go to space to clear their names. “After that, we’re gonna remake Terminator 2,” he deadpans. With all these projects in the works, the South Carolina native should be on top of the world, but is the old chestnut true? Are all comedians secretly miserable underneath their amiable smiles? “I’m pretty happy right now, I think,” he says, then can’t help but ruin the sentiment by adding, “‘Editor’s note: immediately after this interview, Aziz Ansari drove his car off a bridge.’”

BY MOLLY SIMMS PHOTOGRAPHED BY EMILY SHUR

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Justin KIRK Weeds’ Smokin’ Hot Heartthrob

AT THE END of our interview, Justin Kirk focuses his thought-derailing gaze on me and says, “You know, I’m at your beck and call,” which is really where any self-respecting girl would want him. For five seasons, the 40-year-old actor has played Andy Botwin, the snarky, juvenile yet lovably vulnerable brother-in-law of Mary-Louise Parker’s drug-dealing suburban mom on Showtime’s Weeds. Though he first gained notoriety for his portrayal of a gay man dying of AIDS, in HBO’s 2003 miniseries Angels in America, it’s his role as the pot-smoking, unassuming Botwin that’s garnered him a whole new legion of fans. Judging from Kirk’s irresistible charm and sardonic wisecracks, it seems the part isn’t much of a stretch, though he’s clearly in awe of the ladies he’s had the pleasure of sharing an onscreen bed with. “You name me an actor on any TV show who has had a season like mine,” he challenges, incredulously. “Jennifer Jason Leigh, Mary-Louise Parker, Alanis Morissette— the female star power crammed into season five that I got to canoodle with, it was epic.” But when I ask if there’s anyone he hopes to hook up with in season six, which begins filming in April, his gentlemanly side emerges. “Whenever there’d be a new [romantic storyline], I’d be like, ‘What about…?’” he says, laughing. “But I’m not gonna name her. I’m not gonna say. I want to be diplomatic.” His way with the ladies extends to real life as well. As we chat in a booth at the Westway Diner in N.Y.C., not far from the theater where Kirk is wrapping up his role as a hilariously disgruntled actor in The Understudy Off-Broadway, he’s continuously approached by women: a Broadway actress says hello, a drama teacher praises his recent performance, a writer wants to catch up. “I did a play of hers 10 years ago. We had some crazy times,”

he says wistfully. “Now she’s married with kids. It happens. Not me! I’m still the same asshole, living like a college student.” Theater is where Kirk got his start, and though his film and television career is now on a roll, the transition wasn’t easy. “The first couple of times I was on set were really horrifying,” he says. “I did an episode of Touched by an Angel, and I got fired after a whole day of shooting. I remember thinking, ‘They’re spending tens of thousands of dollars just to make sure I’m not on the show.’ Upsetting.” Nowadays, his confidence is effusive, but the music lover does reveal one weakness—rock chicks. Like Joan Jett: “She was a big hero of mine as a kid,” he says. “I also super lusted after her. When I was 18, I went to a show she played with the Blackhearts. I dressed all in black, and I had visions of somehow running into her backstage and she would fall for me. At the time, I wasn’t aware that I probably wasn’t her cup of tea.” Another shot at rock-goddess romance didn’t pan out either. “I went on a date with Liz Phair many years ago,” he confides. “I was so nervous. I thought it was awesome, but I was so intimidated, I didn’t have the proper alpha-male moves. I tried to get another date out of her, and she was not having it. I’ve had some questionable behavior in front of the Donnas as well,” he says with a laugh. “’Cause I get all fan-ny.” But questionable behavior steeped in Kirk’s charisma is downright endearing. When we leave the restaurant, the air is brisk, the sky is blue, and the sun is shining. Pulling his beanie on, he says, “I’ve got a joke for days like this. Tell me it’s nice out.” I oblige. “Well then,” he says, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, “I’ll leave it out.”

BY LISA BUTTERWORTH PHOTOGRAPHED BY MICHAEL LAVINE

SHOT AT BEAUTY BAR BUSHWICK

CHROMEO

Funk-Tastic Music Masters

THE FIRST THING you need to know about Chromeo is that they make the best, most upbeat electro-dance music ever to hit your ears. The next thing you need to know is that the two guys who make up the group— Dave-1 [left] (aka David Macklovitch, 31) and P-Thugg (aka Patrick Gemayel, 32)—are both incredibly cute and smart. All of this means that they have achieved the crushworthy-boy trifecta of being cute, smart, and in a band. Actually, make that a quadfecta: they’re both pretty funny, too. Masters of “yacht rock”—smooth-sounding electrofunk along the lines of Steely Dan, but far more danceable—the duo claims their musical union represents “the only successful Arab/Jew partnership since the dawn of human culture.” Splitting their time between New York (where Dave lives across the street from his younger brother, A-Trak—Kanye West’s DJ and co-founder of Fools Gold Records) and Montreal, where P just built a studio to house his vintage synthesizer collection, the pair is recording their ﬁrst new album since 2007’s surprise hit Fancy Footwork. “We toured for two years for Fancy Footwork because it took so long to blow up,” Dave explains. “When we started, we were like Flight of the Conchords, playing a lot of shows for six people.” A far cry from those humble beginnings, the two are now festival kings. But despite

Chromeo’s success, Dave remains modest. “We’re midgets on the shoulders of giants,” he says. “That’s how Renaissance poets described themselves in relation to antiquity. They knew that they were just a fraction of what Virgil was, and that’s how we feel toward Rick James or Jermaine Stewart.” The erudite allusion is a natural coming from this pair. P, a former accountant (who handles Chromeo’s money), speaks ﬁve languages, and Dave teaches French at Barnard and is working toward his Ph.D. in French literature from Columbia University. “We both strive to cultivate a new humanism through broad areas of interest as much as possible,” says Dave. One of those areas of interest, apparently, is broads. “Our stuff is all about girls,” admits Dave, “from a very—I don’t want to say it—but from a vulnerable male perspective. We’re very girl-friendly; there’s never a song that’s disrespectful in any way.” This notion is borne out in songs like “Night by Night,” which is about working through a relationship, but less so in “Needy Girls,” which is about—you guessed it—needy girls. Surprisingly, it’s that last one that turns out to be a fan-girl favorite. “So many girls over the years have come up to us to say ‘We’re such needy girls,’” explains Dave. Sincerity may be woven through their lyrics, but they also sincerely love ’80s music.

In fact, the guys say one of the highlights of their career was performing with Daryl Hall, from Hall and Oates, on Hall’s Internet show, Live From Daryl’s House. They mention that John Oates is the only other person they would want to collaborate with. And why wouldn’t he be? Fans have come to expect the unexpected from these two. P, for instance, used to make and sell didgeridoos, and aside from the keyboards he usually plays on stage, he’s also been known to bust out a jaw harp and an instrument called a talk box, which P describes as “taking the synthesizer sound and forcing it into your mouth through a tube, where you shape the sound and spit it back in the microphone, giving you that great computer voice.” Chromeo’s instruments aren’t just unusual because of the sounds they create, however. Light-up pillars in the shape of women’s legs support two keyboards they use at live shows, a visual quirk that has gotten the band in trouble in the past. “Beth Ditto hated those,” Dave recalls. “We were meant to play a show with [the Gossip] and she canceled after she saw the legs. It made me sad. I read Our Bodies, Ourselves when I was 11. I’m well versed in [feminism], and it’s something that’s close to home. We never wanted to offend anyone.” It’s sentiments like these that make Chromeo such an irresistible duo. They can play my legs anytime.

BY CALLIE WATTS PHOTOGRAPHED BY ALIYA NAUMOFF

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Rufus WAINWRIGHT Boyish Balladeer Turned Opera Auteur

WAY BACK IN 2002, when BUST was putting together our issue devoted to motherhood, we interviewed pop singer/songwriter Rufus Wainwright and his mother, folk singer Kate McGarrigle. I remember she talked warmly about family and raising creative children. So it was with sadness that I reconnected with Wainwright for this story, shortly after his mother’s death from cancer in January. The day of our interview, the 36-year-old Canadian crooner was doing press for his new record of hauntingly beautiful ballads, All Days Are Nights: Songs for Lulu. It’s an intimate collection of tracks featuring just his voice and a piano, all of which he’s dedicated to his sister Martha. “[I dedicated it to her] mainly because, throughout this whole process, with the death of my mother and the birth of her son, Arcangelo [who was born prematurely], I’ve just seen her struggle triumphantly through some of the hardest situations,” he explains. “She was stuck in London while our mother was ailing. In hindsight, it was a bit of a miracle, because my mother actually got to meet her grandson before she died. I’m just humble and grateful for her humanity. She’s really what kept me going through all of this.” While making time to support his mom during her prolonged illness, Wainwright managed to spend the last couple of years not only recording the new album but also, amazingly, composing an entire classical opera—orchestration, libretto, writing the whole story from scratch—as well. That’s quite a feat for someone without classical music training. Titled Prima

Donna, the show premiered last year in Manchester, U.K., is set to open in London in April, and will continue touring from there. Clearly, having a dream of this magnitude finally realized is a thrill for the lifetime opera buff. “Opera has been my main squeeze for many years,” says Wainwright. “I consider it both a vocation and a religion. The opera house is my cathedral, and I’ve often gone there at the darkest moments of my life, including after my mother died. It’s always given me solace and encouragement, so writing this was a way of thanking opera for saving my life multiple times.” Of course, there are already some critics coming out of the woodwork to say that someone from the rock/pop world does not belong in opera’s hallowed halls. But Wainwright isn’t afraid to reply candidly to these detractors. “Unfortunately for them, they don’t realize or understand—and I think this has been the case for hundreds of years—that, essentially, music is from the streets,” he says. “What comes from the heart goes to the heart. And to be a true theatrical composer, you have to have the life experience to deliver it. I’ve got that experience, and it is worth a thousand fugues.” Asked if he plans to continue on in the opera world despite any resistance he may be facing, Wainwright is quick to reply. “Oh, I think once you dip your little toe in there, you’re pretty much done for,” he says, laughing. “There’s no half measures in that territory.”

BY LAURIE HENZEL PHOTOGRAPHED BY ELLIS PARRINDER

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Will FORTE

WILL FORTE MIGHT be a veteran of live television, but he’s not immune to a case of nerves. After apologizing for being late for our call (he was out jogging, natch), he confesses, “I’m nervous about everything. This is my eighth year on Saturday Night Live, and I just started getting to a point where I’m not shit-my-pants nervous onstage. When I first got to the show, I could barely breathe.” This cute 39-year-old worrywart is even embarrassed to brag about being a do-gooder. After relating an anecdote about helping to stop a drunk guy from pushing a woman around late one night on the streets of N.Y.C., where he lives, Forte says, “I feel kind of like a turd for telling that story, ’cause it makes it seem like I’m patting myself on the back.” And although his earnest vibe is universally popular with women, Forte won’t cop to having more girl friends than guys: “I like nice people, so if you’re a nice man or woman, I’ll be friends with you,” he says. “But if you’re a dick man or a dick woman, then you have no place in my life.” It’s hard to believe this is the same guy who plays the overconfident SNL character MacGruber—the mulleted son of ’80s TV action hero MacGyver who can never manage to disarm a bomb in time. This recurring bit has proved to be so popular with audiences that it’s been spun into a full-length feature film due out in April. But Forte is pretty much the opposite of his alter ego, whose dating advice he says would probably amount to “pouring a bunch of Drakkar Noir over your balls just in case.” For example: although Forte is usually in front of the camera, a very special event earlier this year afforded him the chance to

go behind it, when his sister asked him to videotape the birth of her child. Some of his friends thought it was a little freaky, but “It was really the best night of my life,” Forte says. “You know, this is the most important person in the world to me, and she’s going through the best night of her life. It strikes me as weird that other people wouldn’t be in that situation. I feel bad that they don’t have that kind of relationship with their sisters.” Between being Brother of the Year and working constantly on SNL and ﬁlm projects, Forte insists he doesn’t have time for comedy groupies, or as the New York Post recently dubbed them “chucklefuckers.” “I’ve never heard that [term] before,” he says before jumping right in to give it a spin. “At the show, we have a bunch of security guards so they don’t let up chucklefuckers, which kinda bums me out. I like the idea of chucklefuckers, but none of them are let through to me, I guess. It’s sad, either way. Either there are chucklefuckers coming after me that I haven’t found yet, or there are no chucklefuckers coming after me, which is also sad. Either way, I’m not seeing them, and I feel that’s just not right,” he jokes. On the other hand, he does get some action on the show, although it’s usually with guys, like James Franco and Fred Armisen. “I’ve kissed way more dudes in this business than women,” he muses. “For some reason, writers don’t feel that it would be superrealistic for a beautiful woman to kiss me. I don’t know what that’s all about. Whenever there’s a sketch in which I’m kissing a really beautiful woman, it is always me writing it.” Awwww.

BY JENNI MILLER PHOTOGRAPHED BY JACQUELINE DI MILIA

STYLING: TURNER; GROOMING: ALBERT VASQUEZ FOR BUMBLE & BUMBLE; SPECIAL THANKS TO THE JANE HOTEL

Saturday Night Live’s Secret Weapon

RATATAT

Electronic Music Makers Extraordinaire

FROM THEIR MUSIC, it’s hard to gain any deep insight into the personalities of Mike Stroud [left], 30, and Evan Mast, 31, who make up the Brooklyn-based electronica duo Ratatat. For starters, their songs have no lyrics. They also rarely appear in their music videos, and photos of them are often obscured by bright bars of color or mops of hair. But as affected as their mysterious personas may seem, the guys actually keep a low proﬁle for humbler reasons. “I wouldn’t say I prefer having no lyrics, I just prefer good music,” explains Mast. “If we were going to sing on our records, it would be bad music.” “We also hate getting our picture taken,” adds Stroud. “We used to talk more onstage, and then we’d see a video on YouTube and we’d go, ‘Ugh! We’re never talking again.’” Apparently, the guys would rather play up their strengths. So if you experience them in concert, you won’t hear any witty backand-forth between songs. But banter isn’t why kids go to see a Ratatat show. If you’ve never had the pleasure, just envision two epic silhouettes projected over distorted, kaleidoscopic videos of ﬂames, birds, and ABBA. Stroud’s shadow stands arch-backed, delivering guitar riffs with rock-god intensity, while Mast’s hovers over his keyboard. The building of momentum, the swagger of the

beat, the layers of hypnotic synth interwoven with sweeping guitar jams—it’s this sound that entrances hordes of fans, causing them to dance frenetically and sometimes even act out in dangerous ways. “People were pushing all of our equipment forward, our space was getting smaller and smaller, amps and monitors were unplugged, girls were grinding against us,” Stroud says of a crowd they once whipped into a frenzy at Alfred State College, in western New York. “We had to stop the show.” So who are these men who can incite such madness in their fans, and where did they come from? Were they forged by the hammer of Thor? Did they spring from the beard of Zeus? Not exactly. Mast is from Ohio, and Stroud hails from Connecticut. “[Growing up], there was really nothing to do, so I just played guitar all the time,” Stroud says of his introduction to music. After meeting at Skidmore College in Saratoga Springs, NY, the pair moved to Brooklyn, where they created their selftitled debut in 2004 on Stroud’s laptop. The release got great reviews, and they’ve spent the years since releasing three more albums and several remixes and singles showcasing their collaborations with artists like Björk, Animal Collective, and Kanye West. When I catch up with the guys on New

York’s Lower East Side, they’re in the midst of a much-deserved break. They’ve just ﬁnished their Asian tour as well as their fourth album, unsurprisingly named LP4 (a follow-up to their 2008 release, LP3), due this spring. “The new album has a lot of similarities to LP3, but it’s a lot weirder,” Stroud boasts with a mischievous laugh. “We’re not thinking too hard. We just react to what we hear. We try to get all the ideas for a song out as fast as possible, and then we polish it. A lot of the time we think a song is done, but two weeks later we realize it is far from done.” “It’s very intuitive,” Mast agrees. This free-form technique was a challenge for the pair when collaborating with Kid Cudi on their 2009 tracks “Pursuit of Happiness” (also featuring MGMT) and “Alive.” “[Working with Kid Cudi] was fun but also really different for us, because we are very private when we record, and he has his own entourage,” says Stroud. “I guess it’s a hip-hop thing. It took some getting used to. [Cudi] was like, ‘Make a beat for us,’ and there would be all these people around.” I conclude our conversation by asking if there are any surprises we can expect from the band in the future, and their response is simply, “I hope so.” In that case, I have just two words for them: Ratatat opera.

BY ERIN WENGROVIUS PHOTOGRAPHED BY GABRIELLE REVERE

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The boys of Player's Club Dios 56 / BUST // FEB/MAR

Club New Ai is open for business

WHERE THE BOYS ARE In a fascinating twist on the centuries-old geisha tradition, Japanese women are shelling out big bucks for a night’s worth of attention from beautiful “host boys”

MOLLY SIMMS MIKA NAKANISHI

PHOTOGRAPHED BY

A sign of the times in Kabukicho

ACH NIGHT, THEY sit in front of the mirror before they head out—piling on thick eyeliner and pancake makeup, teasing and ﬂatironing their hair, and draping themselves in heavy silver jewelry. They walk the streets of Kabukicho, Tokyo’s redlight district, looking for customers to drag back to a dark club with mirrored ceilings, pulsating music, and constantly popping bottles of champagne. There, they sell their bodies and their sanity for large sums of cash, only to wake up hungover the next day and start the cycle again. These are Japanese host boys, men whose sole job it is to make women feel good. Instead of a quick-and-dirty lay in the backseat of a car, customers pay these hosts to entertain, ﬂatter, amuse, and titillate them, sometimes without as much as a kiss. In exchange, hosts receive gifts, vacations, and even cars, not to mention annual pay that can drift near $500,000 for top earners. These working-class guys are the ultimate salesmen—ones who offer fantasy and fake romance for thousands of yen an hour. To understand the booming hostclub business, you have to look at its pre-

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cursor, the hostess industry. A modernday version of geishas, hostesses cater to deep-pocketed businessmen who attend kyabakura, a Japanglish term that’s a blend of “cabaret” and “club.” There are approximately 13,000 of these establishments in Tokyo alone, where men pay through the nose for top-shelf booze and the company of women who pour them drinks, listen to their corny jokes, and offer hot hand towels as they leave the restroom. Modern hostesses can, and often must, boost their salaries with dohan, paid dinner dates that occur outside the club. Though officially hostesses are required only to sip whiskey and sing some atonal karaoke with their dates, it’s common for them to receive lavish gifts (including diamonds, luxury handbags, and parcels of land) for sleeping with customers during off hours. Host clubs are a comparatively more recent phenomenon. The ﬁrst was reportedly opened in Tokyo in 1966 and since then, the industry has ballooned to hundreds of spots in Japan’s capital alone. The host clubs—places with names like Player’s Club Dios, Eternity Rose, Lady’s Club New Ai (“love”), Fantasis-

ta—scout for fresh recruits via their Web sites. Newbies have to pay their dues before raking in the big bucks, by doing gruntwork around the club—scrubbing toilets, washing dishes, taking out the trash—and “catching” new customers on the street. Once a woman’s inside, she’s handed a menu and asked to pick a boy from the laminated glossies that include each one’s vital statistics (age, likes/dislikes, blood type). Customers choose a host based not only on appearance but also personality—does she want a goofy, funny guy? A strong, silent type? A doe-eyed, naïve one? After she’s chosen a host, a woman’s obligated to keep him for as long as she’s a customer—if she wants to switch, the tricky process requires getting formal approval from the club. Much like drug dealers who give potential customers the initial hit for free, ﬁrst-timers can expect to pay only about $35 for a night of drinks and ﬂirty banter. Once she’s hooked on the doting, however, to come back in the door she’ll pony up around $300 for a night of male attention and a couple of rounds of drinks, and that’s without any of the extras like private time or bottles

Keigo, one of Player's Club Dios' ﬁnest

of champagne, which can easily push her bill to four or ﬁve digits. The hosts style themselves to resemble their clients’ ultimate male fantasy: underfed, with elaborate anime-looking hairstyles, they look half like Criss Angel and half like James Spader’s slick California jerkwad in Pretty in Pink. The hosts also train themselves in the art of seduction. The boys learn how to emotionally connect with customers by remembering all their personal details, and are required to get trashed alongside their clients. Drinking such mass quantities of booze necessitates that they force themselves to vomit, sometimes a few times a night, so they can stay upright until closing. But relationships between hosts and customers frequently move past hard partying and into something deeper. Forty-year-old Takashi “Reiji” Totsuka, the owner of one of Tokyo’s top clubs, Player’s Club Dios, where enormous crystal chandeliers hang over sleek leather banquettes, knows this is a key part of a host club’s allure. The tables at Dios heave with four-foot-high ﬂoral arrangements, while dozens of boys in tight suits scurry to and fro. On the bathroom

counter sit all the amenities: perfume, hand cream, blotting papers, Q-tips, and single-use containers of mouthwash. Inside each stall, next to a hi-tech Japanese toilet, is a video screen welcoming customers. Reiji’s hair is styled in an artful swoop, and as he leans back into a leather armchair, a massive, diamond-studded watch peeks out from under the cuff of his pressed shirt. He’s spent 23 years learning what women desire from a host, since he held the job himself for more than a decade before opening his own club. “The ideal host knows the little things a customer wants,” he says. “The most important thing is to be able to understand very quickly and accurately what kind of person his customer is. He has to understand how she’s not being satisfied in her daily life and find a way to satisfy her. He has to fill in the blank.” But the host-client interaction isn’t all about lighting a lady’s cigarette and praising her taste in clothes. Reiji says, “Women are usually very strong, and a host has to make sure she isn’t always in a higher position than him, with him trying to please and flatter her. That’s a part of his job, but if he’s only praising her, he won’t be successful.

Sometimes he has to be strict and give her serious advice to improve her life.” In other words, even though their financial arrangement suggests otherwise, women who come to host clubs still want to feel like the man is in charge. In the definitive chronicle of the host-club experience, the 2006 documentary The Great Happiness Space: Tale of an Osaka Love Thief, one female client confirms this idea, explaining of her host, “When I need to be scolded, he scolds me. He tells me exactly what I need to be told. So it’s like he’s really looking out for me, and I feel like I can depend on him.” Once a customer has moved to this emotional level with a host, she often feels obligated to financially dote on him. After all, his ranking in the club depends on his monthly sales figure. She’ll be hooked into “champagne calls,” where she or the hosts chug entire bottles of bubbly, which can cost upwards of $5,000 a pop. The girl who’s dropping the cash becomes the center of attention, with hosts circling her, chanting her name on microphones as music pounds, and holding a damp towel under her chin while she downs alcohol. Hosts make a 50 per// BUST / 59

The love lights shine at Club New Ai

“It’s kind of a dream for every guy to be a host at least once in a lifetime. You get paid to drink and have fun with women.” cent commission on whatever their customers pay for in the club, so it’s in their best interest to keep the booze ﬂowing and the ladies spending. And there are all sorts of extras to buy, including a pri-

Ai host Kagetora Date

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vate table where she and her host can hide from prying eyes. In the host-club environment, the customers are competing for the boys’ time and affection, with their wallets as ammo. The result of all this one-upping is fat paychecks for the hosts, and sometimes even nationwide fame. In recent decades, the host-club industry has leapt out of Kabukicho, the red-light district, to become a cultural phenomenon. Admirers can read magazines and manga devoted to hosts; watch the TV drama Yaoh (“Kings of the Night”), about a host who struggles to stay number one at his club; or spend hours on Web sites like Host-tv.com, viewing proﬁles, voting for their favorite boys, and watching videos of club exploits. But beyond fortune and fame, one of the main allures to being a host boy is very simple. R.A. (who declined to use his full name) is a 29-year-old former host. He explains, “It’s kind of a dream for every guy to be a host at least once in a lifetime. You get paid to drink and have fun with women.” Fight Club, where he ﬁrst

trained, had about 30 hosts on the floor per night—one of whom got a Mercedes as a gift from a client. R.A. stayed there for about three months, all while tolerating the drunken antics of his senpai, his host superiors. “One time, one got so mad at me that he almost hit me in the head with a bottle of Jack Daniels. It was for some very minor reason—I don’t even remember. Sometimes when rookies got punished, the senpai would make them parade around in the kitchen completely naked except for a bowtie around their necks.” He recalls that rookies can sit only at the end of the table and must make sure that customers’ drinks are never less than two-thirds full, or face punishment by the senpai. He remembers, “I was too nervous to even speak to the customers the first few times I actually sat at the tables.” R.A. never told his family that he worked as a host, “but they could tell, because I would leave home late at night in a suit a couple of days a week. My family didn’t say anything, even though they probably knew.” He quit Fight Club and started a gig at a club called Wiz—a cozier joint with between two and ten hosts working each night. Though Wiz was more laidback, R.A. still had to deal with customers’ “turbulent mood swings. If a customer’s upset, she’ll break a glass, run around barefoot, throw lighters. Totally crazy drunk.” Outside his official working hours, he went out on dates with customers, “like a normal couple. The whole concept of this business is to make the customers feel as if you are their boyfriends. A lot of times, even on the outside dates, the women would pay for everything.” R.A. “dated” about three women simultaneously, but once he left the business, he severed ties with the host world. He now works in fashion. “I got so tired of lying to the customers. Even if the customers were wearing unflattering clothes or had a really ugly bag, I still needed to praise them for their taste and flatter them. Everything is based on lies.” So why would a woman pay to be lied to, especially with such a high price tag involved? Kyle Cleveland, an associate

Reiji, Player's Club Dios’ “King of Hosts”

professor of sociology at Temple University Japan, where he has studied the phenomenon, explains, “What’s being bought is a form of companionship. People are buying a kind of surrogate partner with no strings attached. It’s not necessarily sexualized in any way.” In fact, hosts often avoid having sex with customers. Once some customers sleep with their hosts, the men say, the mystery is gone and the women lose interest, having completed their conquest. In the early hours of a club, the women who pay to have their drinks poured and their problems listened to are likely girls’-night-out groups, well-off businesswomen, and housewives whose husbands creep home around midnight with whiskey-and-beer breath. But by most estimates, a huge portion of a host club’s clientele are hostesses and sex workers themselves. In The Great Happiness Space, which focuses on the goings-on at Club Rakkyo, one sex-worker customer comments, “Anybody with a normal job couldn’t afford to go two or three times a week. And even though my job isn’t something I can tell people about, 70 to 80 percent of a host’s earnings come from prostitute clients, so when we talk about work, we can tell each other everything. And they don’t look down on what we do.” Another explains, “Honestly, deep in my heart, I want to quit. But I have to work for my living. And if I quit, I

can’t come to Rakkyo. Because I want to see everyone’s smile at Rakkyo, I work as a prostitute.” Regardless of where the money comes from, the hosts are living large, but their bodies are paying the price. The number of hosts who stay in the business more than a year is about 1 in 100, and the reason for the high turnover is most likely the booze. Jake Clennell, who directed The Great Happiness Space and immersed himself in the goings-on at Club

network with customers during their off hours and weekends, meaning they might get only a few hours’ sleep a night. Relative newcomer Kagetora Date is a host at Lady’s Club New Ai, the oldest and best-known club in Tokyo. It’s almost midnight, and the space is ﬁlled with the sounds of salsa music and ice cubes clinking in highball glasses. The 24-year-old wants to be a novelist after he quits the business; he’s hoping to become the number one host at Club Ai— that way, he can use his increased visibility to promote his books. Date has worked in the delightfully gaudy, Christmas-light-adorned club for nine months and still holds an idealistic opinion of the scene. “I think Japanese people are shy with each other, especially between men and women,” he explains. “There’s no chance to meet each other in daily life, and they don’t talk to strangers. But this club is a place for them to meet each other. It’s really useful.” He’s so babyfaced that it’s hard to imagine he’s even legal to drink. Still, he says it’s his responsibility to entertain any woman who walks through the door looking for some attention, noting, “The customers range in age from 20 to about 70 years old.” Not only do the clubs appeal to a wide

“What’s being bought is a form of companionship. People are buying a kind of surrogate partner with no strings attached.” Rakkyo, remarks, “It’s like S&M in a way. The women are forcing the guys to do so much drinking. You haven’t really had a good night out with a host unless you’ve left him half-dead in an alcoholic coma.” He returned to Osaka to visit his documentary subjects a year after he shot the ﬁlm, and “you could see from the looks on the guys’ faces—how much bloating and how ill they looked—that they were having issues with their internal organs.” Even worse might be the working hours. Some clubs stay open until late morning, and hosts are expected to date and

range of women, but the host concept has also expanded outside of Japan—there are reportedly clubs in Korea, China, Taiwan, and Thailand. And despite a recent crackdown by Tokyo’s governor, it’s safe to say host clubs aren’t going anywhere. On a recent night in Kabukicho, a group of college-aged hosts in tight black suits stand outside a club with ﬂiers in hand. They smoke and shiver, cracking jokes, peering up and down the street. When a girl in a thigh-length skirt totters unsteadily around the corner, the hosts walk toward her with a smile. B // BUST / 61

In a time when fighting for women’s rights can be an uphill battle, here are some guys who are working hard for all the ladies of the world BY

ERIN DEJESUS

AT BUST WE love giving props to the male musicians, actors, designers, and artists we dig in popular culture. But our list of admirable dudes extends far beyond the crushworthy guys who grace the stage and screen: from politicians and lawyers to academics and advocates, men have been some of our greatest allies in the fight for women’s rights. Though there are numerous fellas fighting the good fight on behalf of feminism, we’ve selected five men from three continents who have dedicated themselves to improving the lives of women worldwide. As a journalist, a scientist, a human-rights advocate, a doctor, and an economist, these men have jobs that, on paper, couldn’t be more different—but their effort to call attention to injustices toward women and promote female empowerment is inspiringly the same. Among them, they hold two Nobel Prizes, two Pulitzers, one Presidential Medal of Freedom, and two jobs that are becoming increasingly dangerous in the face of opposition. And each one is worthy of some serious love.

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ILLUSTRATIONS BY

SAM WIEHL

NICHOLAS D. KRISTOF: Shining a spotlight on women’s causes in The New York Times

ince joining The New York Times in 1984, journalist Nicholas Kristof, now 50, has covered various issues, including economics, presidential politics, and China’s 1989 Tiananmen Square protests (for which he, along with his wife, Sheryl WuDunn, won his ﬁrst Pulitzer). But the couple’s time in China

led to an even more disturbing discovery: that nearly 40,000 baby girls were being murdered there annually, simply because of their gender. “Four hundred people being killed on Tiananmen Square had been worthy of tens of thousands of column inches, and meanwhile tens of thousands of baby girls being killed didn’t merit one,” Kristof says. “It made us wonder about the merits of what constituted news. And the more that we looked at gender, the more it was clear that this was really the dominant human-rights issue of the time, more so than what governments were doing to dissidents.” It was then that Kristof shifted his journalistic focus to illuminate women’s issues, and since 2001 his Times Op-Ed column has become one of the media’s premier voices furthering female causes, combining startling statistics with ﬁrsthand reportage from Cambodian and Indian brothels, Ethiopian hospitals, and refugee camps in Darfur. Occasionally, Kristof ’s role in his reports extends beyond journalistic documentation: For a 2004 series, Kristof visited Cambodia, where he saw “young teenage girls who were tortured, imprisoned, kidnapped, and sold” in the country’s sex trade. While there, he personally bought the freedom of two teenagers, hopefully saving them from conditions where most young women die of AIDS by the age of 20. As a journalist, Kristof cites a responsibility to “shine a spotlight” on hidden stories, and because women’s issues are often ignored in the media, he aims to put our rights on readers’ radars. “Traditionally, the news business has been very good at covering what happened yesterday, and we’ve been weakest at covering what happens every day. And the kinds of things that happen to women are those that happen every day,” Kristof says. “Things like maternal mortality or human trafficking or domestic violence or female genital cutting are issues that are never announced at a news conference.” Kristof's optimism, however, is growing. In late 2009, he and WuDunn published their book Half the Sky: From Oppression to Opportunity for Women Worldwide. In it, the couple argues that women’s empowerment is not just a human rights issue but a practical and economic necessity for many repressive countries—that the best way to ﬁght poverty and extremism is to educate and encourage women and girls. “Where [ journalists] really can have an impact is to not so much persuade people as to call their attention to an issue and put it on the agenda,” Kristof says. “And that really is a powerful tool that we carry.” For more information about Half the Sky, visit www.halftheskymovement.org. Catch up with Kristof’s blog, On the Ground, at kristof.blogs.nytimes.com.

LEROY CARHART: A doctor takes up a new cause in the ﬁght for reproductive rights

ebraska doctor LeRoy Carhart, 69, has long been an advocate for abortion rights in the United States, twice filing suit in Supreme Court cases arguing for the legality of what critics term “partial-birth abortion.” But when Dr. George Tiller—one of the few doctors in the U.S. who performed late-term abortions—was killed last May by an anti-choice activist, Dr. Carhart put himself even deeper into the fray. Since the murder of his colleague, Carhart has amended his practice to perform late-term abortions, commonly defined as pregnancies terminated past the earliest point that a fetus can survive outside the womb. (That point is one of contention among legal experts and even doctors—the most common opinion defines it as 23 – 26 weeks.) A recent estimate counts fewer than a dozen doctors performing the procedure in the United States (many refuse to speak publicly about their services), and prior to Tiller’s death, Carhart himself had never performed an abortion past 22 weeks. Though late-term abortion finds critics even among pro-choice advocates, it’s a procedure, according to Carhart, that has an unfortunate need: most women who seek late-term abortions are carrying a wanted fetus that simply isn’t viable outside of the womb due to genetic defects or health complications. (In a 2009 CNN.com article, Carhart said that every single one of the 400 procedures he’s performed after 24 weeks was done for medical reasons.) Often, the mother’s well-being or life may be at risk. In many respects, Carhart faces similar dangers. Since he’s begun performing late-term abortions, the anti-choice movement has shifted its focus to his Bellevue, NE, clinic. In addition to the requisite protests, he’s had threats on his life (a few days after Tiller’s murder, Carhart’s daughter received an anonymous call saying both her parents had been killed). Entrance to the clinic requires passing through a metal detector, and Carhart now employs a full-time security presence. But he remains determined. Since his early days as an abortion advocate, Carhart has used the short-but-telling slogan, “Trust women”—and he shows no sign of abandoning us now. For more information about Carhart’s Abortion and Contraception Clinic of Nebraska, or to show your support, visit www.abortionclinics.org. // BUST / 63

often graphically describing the brutality of attacks. He then asks the soldiers to imagine if their own wives, daughters, and sisters had been the victim. “I stress the consequences of sexual acts of violence on the victim, as well as the community,” Bisimwa says. “I say to them that they, too, have women, sisters, and mothers with rights to respect and dignity.” Though his work can be dangerous, Bisimwa claims that most soldiers eventually get past their resentment and contempt and become receptive to his presence. Which is good, because Bisimwa isn’t going anywhere. “Since 1999, the situation has become increasingly critical,” he says. “I’ve had only one concern: to help women rediscover their value in my society.” If you’d like to support the Olame Center, call +243 998755223 (they speak French and Swahili). For more information about the situation in the Congo, visit the Human Rights Watch site at www.hrw.org.

HONORÉ BISIMWA: Stopping rape in the Congo by targeting its source

he Democratic Republic of Congo is no stranger to crisis. Since 1998, an estimated 5.4 million people have died due to conflict-related causes ranging from malnutrition to combat—and the situation, particularly for the country’s women and girls, is only getting worse. Despite, or perhaps because of, the government’s involvement, sexual violence toward women is increasing in the Congo, a region where rape is not considered a byproduct of war, but rather a viable weapon. According to the United Nations, more than 200,000 women and girls have been victims of sexual violence since 1998, and the International Rescue Committee estimates that 80 percent of rapes are committed by members of armed militias, including both rebel and government forces. To add insult to injury, victims almost never find justice: Fewer than a dozen soldiers were convicted of rape in 2009, according to The Washington Post. Honoré Bisimwa, 32, hopes to remedy the problem by targeting its source. As a worker for the Olame Center, a nonprofit human-rights group and women’s crisis center in South Kivu, Congo, Bisimwa visits the front lines, talking to soldiers and delivering an appeal for them not to commit sex crimes. “I pose the same question to soldiers of different groups in my province: Why do you rape the women?” Bisimwa says, adding that the response often varies. Some soldiers claim a sexual need because they’ve been separated from their wives; some do it in the spirit of vengeance or to claim victory; and some soldiers actually say it’s to voluntarily transmit STDs—particularly, HIV and AIDS—“to exterminate a category of people and to weaken loyal army supporters,” Bisimwa says. In his talks, Bisimwa doesn’t shy away from details, 64 / BUST // APR/MAY

PAUL GREENGARD: A Nobel Prize winner uses his award to support female scientists

hen 84-year-old neuroscientist Paul Greengard was awarded the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine in 2000, he joined an esteemed list of chemists, physicists, and doctors who have been recognized by Nobel since 1901. Notably absent from Nobel’s ranks? Women. At the time Greengard accepted his award, only six women had collected prizes in chemistry, medicine, and physics. Unfortunately, the lack of female representation is common in science and mathematics. According to 2007 workforce data from the National Science Foundation, women made up 41 percent of biological and life scientists, 26 percent of math and computer scientists, and 11 percent of engineers. In academic circles, the numbers were worse: Women accounted for 40 percent

MUHAMMAD YUNUS: Improving the socioeconomic status of women worldwide, one small loan at a time

of science doctoral degrees awarded in 2006, but less than 20 percent of full-time science professors were women. Though Greengard, a professor and researcher at New York City’s Rockefeller University, believed his own institution was welcoming of women, he had witnessed discrimination in the past. “I’ve seen instances of bias, big and small, at other institutions,” he told The New York Times in 2006. “I’ve seen women kept from academic committees, for instance, because they were female.” To help combat the bias against women, Greengard used his third of Nobel’s cash prize—roughly $400,000 (he shares the Nobel with two other scientists)—to found the Pearl Meister Greengard Prize, an annual $50,000 award recognizing the achievements of women in biomedical science. Greengard dedicated the award to his mother, who passed away giving birth to him; though she wasn’t a scientist herself, the prize gave Greengard the chance to honor the mother he never knew—while providing a muchneeded opportunity for women in a male-dominated field. “I hoped to bring more attention to the work of brilliant women scientists,” Greengard said in the Times. “Perhaps this will bring them further recognition and even a Nobel.” In 2009, the award facilitated Greengard’s ultimate goal when molecular biologist Carol Greider, the 2008 recipient of the Pearl Meister Prize, took home her own Nobel in Medicine, which she shared with another woman, Elizabeth Blackburn. It proved to be a banner year for Greengard’s cause: a record-breaking five women became Nobel laureates, including Elinor Ostrom, the first-ever female winner in Economics. “After we announced the first [Pearl Meister] award, many female scientists wrote and said, ‘I’ve suffered discrimination. This means so much to me,’” Greengard said in 2006. “Well, it meant a lot to me, too.”

ore than 35 years ago, Muhammad Yunus, then an economics professor at Bangladesh’s Chittagong University, visited a poor Bangladeshi village with a group of his students. “I was shocked to discover a woman in the village borrowing less than a dollar from the money lender, on the condition that he would have the exclusive right to buy all she produces at the price he decides,” Yunus said in his 2006 Nobel address. “This, to me, was a way of recruiting slave labor.” On that trip, Yunus loaned the equivalent of $27 to a group of 42 female basket weavers, in an effort to give them better loan terms. That small act of kindness made him a pioneer of the “microlending” movement, in which individuals loan small amounts of money to an aspiring entrepreneur in a poor region who then uses the loan to grow a business. The system also provides a strategy for female empowerment: in theory, as impoverished women (many of whom live in socially oppressive countries) become business owners and generate income, traditional gender roles can change. “[In the beginning,] the more we lent money to women, the more we were shouted at and condemned,” Yunus said in a 2009 lecture. “We had male opposition, and it was translated into religious opposition. People said we were destroying their culture; that women needed to be kept at home because they weren’t supposed to have or handle money. I said, ‘You keep your culture; I am creating a counterculture.’” Although Yunus’ initial efforts to start a bank for the poor were met with resistance, the concept of microlending is now widespread, and the statistics are encouraging: his Grameen Bank, established in Bangladesh in 1983, serves more than 2 million people in 37,000 poor villages. Ninety-four percent of its borrowers are women, and 98 percent of Grameen’s loans are repaid in full. The model has been so successful that there are replicas operating in 100 countries worldwide. Yunus received the 2006 Nobel Peace Prize and a 2009 United States Presidential Medal of Freedom for his efforts. According to Yunus, giving impoverished women the opportunity to empower themselves beneﬁts whole communities. “We focused on women because we found giving loans to women always brought more beneﬁts to the family,” Yunus said in his Nobel address. “We keep looking at the children of our borrowers to see what has been the impact of our work on their lives. The women who are our borrowers always gave topmost priority to the children.” As a result, a new generation of youth in Bangladesh—whose mothers have succeeded in putting them through school—will hopefully break the cycle of poverty. B

For more information about the Pearl Meister Greengard Prize, visit www.rockefeller.edu/pmgreengardprize.

For more information about Yunus, visit www.muhammadyunus.org; to make a microﬁnance loan, visit www.grameenfoundation.org. // BUST / 65

Big Freedia

Sissy Act

Unabashedly gay, unbelievably catchy, and unstoppably headed toward your stereo, New Orleans’ “sissy bounce” rap is making hip-hop history

Vockah Redu rocks the mic with his crew

RESSED IN A T-shirt and a pair of jeans held up by an outlandish belt, the flamboyant man on stage is delivering rapid-fire instructions to his sweaty audience. “Ass all ova! Bend ova!” he shouts. “Bend ova, like I told ya!” I’m feverishly shaking in every direction he commands. And checking out the crowd, I realize it’s mostly other women, and they’re all wiggling their asses in the air, too. No, I wasn’t sweating to the oldies with Richard Simmons. I was at my first “sissy bounce” show, and the genre’s de facto ambassador, Big Freedia, was showing New York how it’s done. Sissy bounce is a style of hip-hop from the projects of New Orleans that’s made by unapologetically gay or bi guys. Some are transsexuals, some are just flamboyant, but all have reputations for getting their female fans to go crazy. I saw Big Freedia and her DJ, Rusty Lazer, three out of the seven times they played in N.Y.C. and Philly last September, and I was amazed. Openly gay rappers are a rarity, yet coming out of the most dangerous projects in the U.S., these “sissies” rhyme about being dick eaters and still get heavy rotation on local radio and tons of play in clubs. And what was happening on the dance floor? Why were the few dudes in attendance hugging the wall while the ladies in the house were all thrusting their butts toward the sky and shaking harder than Tracy Turnblad doing “the bug”? Originating with the MC T Tucker and DJ Irv song “Where Dey At?” in 1991 and gaining national exposure with DJ Jimi’s track of the same name in ’92, bounce music is a style of rap performed by both gay and straight men and women in New Orleans. Bounce beats are always built around the same two

CALLIE WATTS

samples: “the Triggerman,” lifted from the Showboys song “Drag Rap,” and “the Brown Beat,” which most agree is either from Derek B’s “Rock the Beat” or from Paul Cameron’s “Brown Beats.” The lyrical style bounce rappers execute over those two samples is based on the call-and-response chants of New Orleans’ Mardi Gras Indians—African-Americans who dress up for local parades in ceremonial Native American costumes— making it regionally specific in a way that those outside Louisiana have a hard time matching. “I get tracks from people in other countries who want to produce bounce music, but I haven’t heard anyone do it the way people do it in New Orleans,” Lazer tells me, sometime after his and Freedia’s string of shows up north. “It’s put together right, but the personality’s not there.” Within the bounce community, sissy bounce refers only to the music made by openly gay male rappers. But as Lazer explains it, these rappers often transcend pronouns. “Big Freedia is a ‘she’ to me. But her best friend calls her ‘him.’ It’s about the person, not the gender,” he says, going on to explain that most sissy bounce artists don’t necessarily even embrace that classification. “They specify us as ‘sissy bounce rappers’ just because of our sexual preferences,” says Freedia. “But we’re just basically bounce rappers. Bounce has artists from all walks of life. We have female artists, male artists, and then we have our gay artists as well. And among the gay artists, we each have our own style. I may have my hair fixed like a girl, with boy clothes on, and carry a purse. I’m just totally different, totally odd, something you usually don’t see.” Bounce birthed a legend in 1998 when a transsexual named Katey Red (then 19) grabbed the mic at a birthday party in her

PHOTOGRAPHED BY

BRADY FONTENOT

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housing project, the Melpomene. Somebody from Take Fo’ Records, an independent label from New Orleans specializing in bounce, was there that night and signed her on the spot. The rap she did that evening, “Punk Under Pressure” (punk being slang for gay) went into heavy rotation on local radio almost immediately, with the hook “I’m a punk under pressure/When you finish, leave your money on the dresser,” soon becoming an anthem for the city’s gay prostitutes. But when I speak to Red over the phone from New Orleans, she says the song that made her a local star isn’t about turning tricks at all but just about boys. “All they wanna do is fuck, all day, every day,” she says. “They will fuck all these people, but they won’t help nobody with bills, clothing, or food. I’m a punk under pressure. I’m not walking away empty-handed.” Red, who also teaches baton twirling to 14-to-18-year-olds and organizes drag shows, came out as transgender at 15. She was growing her hair out within a year and is currently taking hormones. “When I came out, my rhymes were so good, I was on fire, so people supported me and they didn’t dog me,” Red says of the acceptance her music afforded her during her transition. But she does say Take Fo’ tried to tone down her look. “I was getting ready for a big show, and there was a discussion behind my back,” she recalls. “I heard that they were gonna put a jersey on me. One of my hos [backup dancers] heard it too, and said, ‘A jersey? Katey ain’t no fucking boy!’ Now, I’m not the prettiest transsexual, but I’m not ugly, either. When I see a tranny in boy clothing, I see all the man features even with makeup.” She ended up cutting the jersey to make it tighter and paired it with a skirt. And ultimately, no one cared—the crowd just wanted to shake their asses. “I opened the doors for all [the sissy rappers],” she says proudly, adding that people often tell her the frankness of her lyrics made it easier for them to come out. “I’ve always been bold,” she explains. “I grew up in the projects. I’ve had to fight all my life. I’ve always been doing this under pressure.” Brooklyn-based DJ Dre Skull, founder of Mixpak Records and frequent collaborator with another gay bounce superstar, Sissy Nobby, agrees that Red’s influence on the scene was a game changer. “Everything that exists today is because of Katey breaking down doors,” he tells me over coffee in New York. “Honestly, part of it stems from her brashness and charm. She was raised in the projects, and that’s not an easy place to be growing up gay and into cross-dressing.” Red may have been the first gay bounce artist to release an album, but Vockah Redu was rapping first. “Sissy Nobby, Big Freedia, Katey Red, and Vockah Redu all started rapping 10 to 12 years ago,” Lazer explains, defining the major players in the sissy bounce scene. “But they took different roads. Katey happened to have a hit single right out of the gate. That made her a legend, but she doesn’t really work that much now. It seems like she’s been around longer, but they were all doing it at that time.” Redu (born JaVocca Rene Davis), 26, grew up in New Orleans’ Magnolia projects and started rapping in ninth grade. In high school, he was involved in theater, sang in the choir un68 / BUST // APR/MAY

der the direction of Freedia, and started rapping on the way to games as a member of the school’s dance team. “I didn’t get into homosexuality until 11th grade,” he says, “because I had this respectful religious family. But everybody still respected me after I came out because I kept myself in a decent manner.” When I talked to Redu over the phone from Houston, where he relocated after Hurricane Katrina, he was gearing up for his ﬁrst trip to N.Y.C., to play at the opening of “Where They At,” a huge multimedia exhibit dedicated to bounce music that ran at the Abrons Arts Center in February and March. And New Yorkers were in for a treat that night, because Redu’s live show involves choreographed dancers, props, and face paint. “If Katey Red is the Little Richard of bounce, then Vockah Redu is the Screamin’ Jay Hawkins,” says Lazer of Redu’s theatrics. “He has this song where he sings, ‘You need a fucking perm!’ and he’s singing to one of those doll heads from the wig store. That’s the Screamin’ Jay Hawkins part: crazy, like a witch doctor.” Redu says his performance style thrives off of his holistic

“I grew up in the projects. I’ve had to fight all my life. I’ve always been doing this under pressure.” - Katey Red outlook and Rasta influences, especially when he’s creating imaginative environments for his live appearances. Even his houseplant gets in on the act. “I bring my plant. Girl, I bring so much stuff,” he says. “I have incense burning. I blow bubbles. My bubbles represent the fact that you can feel free and light, and when it’s all said and done, you pop. It takes you into my world. I’m bringing you into me.” Redu’s first album, Vockduism, came out in 1997, but he took time off to pursue a medical degree at Grambling State University before returning to rap with Vockah Redu and the Crew World War Three: The Recession, due out this spring. During those years, he also began modeling, and says he kept a low profile because of his daughter, now six. “If I rap somewhere, you wouldn’t even think I’m gay, you would just think I’m weird,” Redu says. “I’m not hiding the fact that I’m bisexual. I have a daughter and I’m going to have to explain that to her later, but she’s a child now.” While Red and Redu have both taken substantial time off during their careers, Freedia and Nobby have been steadier presences on the scene. And Lazer feels this helped them get to the top. “The gay rappers are the biggest rappers in New Orleans because all the straight rappers [in town] quit a few years ago,” he explains, adding that many felt bounce was holding them back because it wasn’t popular outside their city un-

Girls shake it at one of Big Freedia's weekly shows

Big Freedia at Club Ceasar's in Gretna, LA

Vockah Redu

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Katey Red

til recently, and they wanted to do more complex raps. “That left an opening for the gay rappers who’ve already been around to step in. They got all the shows, and now they’re the biggest thing in town.” Skull agrees: “They play live shows, like, six or seven nights a week. On a weekend night, Nobby and Freedia will play three shows. They’ll do 30 minutes at one club, drive 20 minutes across town to do 30, and drive somewhere else. They’ll cover the whole city. That’s a lot of demand.” It also makes them very experienced stage performers. Big Freedia, hailing from the Josephine projects, came out at 12 and eventually elongated her moniker to “Big Freedia, The Queen Diva, The Dick Eater, The Late-Night Creeper.” Freedia was 15 when she met her mentor Red through Red’s “gay momma.” Red explains the term this way: “Biological parents don’t know how to raise a gay child. So we become gay mothers and gay daddies with gay families. I have 15 gay children. I have a lot

“The women at my shows are so comfortable with the music, and they have so much confidence in themselves, that when it’s time to party, they just let loose.” - Big Freedia of children because I’m Katey Red. I give them advice. My children come stay with me in my house when they momma throw them out. I don’t put them out. They run away, they come by me. I call their biological mommas to let them know where they is.” In turn, Freedia now considers herself Sissy Nobby’s gay momma, and they often bill themselves together, setting up to become the biggest mother/daughter musical duo since the Judds. Freedia performed backup for Red for more than a year before her single “Gin N My System” rocked the charts in New Orleans so hard that even Lil Wayne copped the song’s line, “I got that gin in my system/Somebody gonna be my victim,” in his track “Time for Us to Fuck.” Now her song “AZZ Everywhere” is in heavy rotation in the clubs and on local radio, and it’s spreading to dance ﬂoors around the country thanks to DJs like Lazer and Skull. She’s also hard at work on a new album, The Queen Diva Returns. A full-time professional decorator by day, Freedia still manages to play live almost every night, earning her the self-proclaimed title of Hardest Working Girl in Bounce. “Sometimes decorating can run until 10 p.m., and then I come home, transform, and get ready for the club,” Freedia says. “I did Mardi Gras, a Christmas event, and I’m the mayor’s official decorator for whatever ribbon cuttings they have.” Since all these rappers grew up gay in their community, their lyrics didn’t come as a shock when they started rapping. Still, they received some negative attention at ﬁrst. “It wasn’t a big deal, but we had some problems where guys weren’t responding

too well,” Freedia says. “We done got into it with a few people, or somebody may have tried to throw something at us. That happened in the beginning. But now we’re well respected. When we walk into the club, they’re meeting and greeting us, shaking our hands, there’s a whole lot of love now.” Another aspect of the sissy bounce phenomenon is New Orleans’ unique culture. “Flamboyance is everywhere. It’s so deep through the whole community, there’s no denying it,” Lazer observes. “It’s a permissive city. Plus, there’s a history in New Orleans of gay cross-dressing performers. Bobby Marchan was a 1950s New Orleans soul-and-R&B icon and was a man passing as a woman. Mardi Gras Indians are really flamboyant, too. I always tell people you’re safer in New Orleans walking around in a costume than not.” Lazer also credits the economy for getting bounce out of its incubator and spreading it to a wider audience. Already, the sound has had a few forays in the national spotlight, in songs such as Juvenile’s “Back That Ass Up” and Beyoncé’s “Get Me Bodied” (both of which borrowed heavily from local bounce artist DJ Jubilee). “It makes sense that bounce would become popular during a recession, when everybody’s worried,” says Lazer. “What do you want more when you’re stressing than to go out and forget everything? Bounce helps people do that. That’s why it was helpful after Hurricane Katrina, and that’s why it’s helpful to people outside of New Orleans right now. It’s the music of people who feel put-upon.” Perhaps this is why women, in particular, seem to respond so strongly to sissy bounce. One of the most fascinating aspects of a live show is the female-to-male ratio on the dance floor, and the overtly sexual ass shaking that goes on there. “The women are the superfans, and the men are fans of the women,” says Skull. “A man might run up on them while they’re dancing, but they’ll just shoo ’em away. There’s a certain understood respect. They’re clearly enjoying the sexual energy, but that doesn’t mean it’s strictly a show for men. There’s a lot of competition and playfulness between the women.” Freedia has a clear view of her fans’ antics from her position on stage, and she agrees with Skull’s analysis. “[The women at my shows] are so comfortable with the music, and they have so much confidence in themselves, that when it’s time to party, they just let loose. They don’t hold back. They see this gay guy up there, doing his thing and shaking his ass, and they think, ‘Hey, why not let me get up here and do what I do?’” At its core, sissy bounce is dance music, but, as Lazer explains, it’s so much more than that. “It’s transformative,” he says. “I’ve seen it change people’s sense of who they are and who they think they can be, like punk did for me when I was 12. It overflows with the possibility that there’s something out there you haven’t experienced before. The sissy rappers embody their identities in the most visceral way. They’ve already struggled through it, and they’ve come out with their sense of joy in one piece. When you’re around people like that, there’s just no room for feeling jaded or ironic.” B Wanna give these guys a listen? Then check out Rusty Lazer’s Sissy Bounce mix at www.bust.com. // BUST / 71

My Night with Elvis Elvis Presley was the stuff girls’ wet dreams were made of. But was the King truly a hunka hunka burnin’ love? Kitty Stuart tells the surprising tale of her romp with rock ’n’ roll’s first sex symbol ILLUSTRATED BY

WESLEY ALLSBROOK

T WAS ACTUALLY my husband, Dick, who sent me to Elvis—sort of. I had been with Dick since I was 15 and he was 37. He was an A-class grifter and I was his bait, though I was too young and inexperienced to see it at the time. All I knew was that I wanted to be an actress more than anything, and I trusted Dick’s judgment to help me with my career. It wasn’t a happy or healthy marriage to say the least, so I left him several times. But I kept going back. Eventually, in 1973, when I was 21 years old, I left him for good and moved to Hollywood. Penniless and homeless, I stayed wherever I could, often sleeping in my car. I still mingled with the city’s famous folks at the Hollywood club du jour, the Candy Store, though I was careful to cover my homeless tracks. No one wanted you when you were down and out; in L.A., it was like having leprosy. One night at the Candy Store, a slimy-looking guy with cheap clothes, fake blond hair, and an affected smile came up to me. “I’m inviting a few friends to go over to Elvis’ tonight. Would you like to go?”

“You’re inviting me to Elvis Presley’s house?” I asked suspiciously. “That’s what I said,” he insisted coolly. “How do you know him?” I asked. “I’m friends with some of his people,” he answered, now a little impatient. “Do you wanna go or not?” Realizing it might be a bad idea, I said I’d go, but in my own car. “Great,” he said, handing me a slip of paper. “Here’s the address. Be there in an hour.” Elvis. The mere mention of his name brought millions of women to the brink of orgasm and, for that matter, many men too. The gorgeous face, the sexy smile, the rhinestone jumpsuits: he had a one-of-a-kind beauty that was beyond explanation—or control. As I drove up the long driveway to Elvis’ Beverly Hills estate, I felt like I was entering a real-life movie set where I would be the co-star. I pressed a gold-plated button at the gates, and they opened before me. At the front door, I was escorted through the house by an extremely attractive Elvis clone. Every room was // BUST / 73

decorated in a different garish color. The furniture was big, too big, and the shag carpet was orange. He led me to a massive den, and it didn’t take long to notice the guests at this party were mostly hot men and a few beautiful girls. I realized that the select women here were invited for no one but Elvis. We were the guppies brought to swim around until the shark had chosen his prey for the night. But I was never a groupie, and I didn’t allow myself to be treated like one. My motto was, “If you want to meet me, then you’d better court me, baby.” Maybe that’s why I made Elvis’ ultimate cut later that night. The party got off to a weird start because Elvis wasn’t even there. Talking to the partygoers, I began to understand the life he led through his “Memphis Maﬁa,” a group of guys, mostly people he knew from childhood, who Elvis “employed.” But he was generous to a fault. He supported them, bought them cars and houses, and allowed them to sleep with his cast-offs, the hordes of women who would settle for two degrees of separation from the King. The evening had a surreal sadness to it with a fucked-up edge. And the more I talked to these guys, who obviously cared very little for Elvis “the person,” the more I wanted to leave. But just as I was getting ready to make a graceful exit, a buzz made its way around the room that the “Big E” was about to appear. He swaggered in sporting dyed blueblack hair and wearing all black. He still had that perfect nose and sexy smile, but he was beginning to show his age; he had the start of a second chin to go along with his gut. Still, he was stunning to look at. He was also very shy and polite. As the evening progressed, we kept making eye contact, but unlike the other girls who fawned over him, I pretty much ignored him. And it worked. Toward the end of the evening, Elvis came over to meet me, 74 / BUST // APR/MAY

guy and the star he had become. The golden handcuffs of fame held him prisoner, and I could feel his frustration, his lack of passion in just about everything he did outside of his music—even his lovemaking. That’s right, I made love to the King that night. But it was nothing like I thought it was going to be. After a few hours of small talk, Elvis suddenly took my hand and said, “Let’s go somewhere we can talk a little more privately.” He led me up the stairs to his bedroom where the color scheme was black—black walls, black drapes, a black bedspread, and more shag carpet. He left the room and returned wearing a pair of elegant black silk pajamas with an armful of snacks. We lay on the bed, talking and eating ice cream. “This is just like a slumber party,” I said to him, and he responded with a slow, sexy laugh. Then he disappeared into his bathroom and when he finally emerged, he was completely out of it. “Elvis, are you OK?” I asked as he began to slur his words and stumble to the bed. “Yeah, baby, I’m just tired. I can’t sleep. It makes me crazy.” I wanted my evening with Elvis to be like the love scenes I’d seen him do on the silver screen. But that’s not how it was. He retreated to the bathroom throughout the night. Right in the middle of a deep and meaningful conversation, he’d jump out of bed abruptly and mumble something about getting a drink. The author circa 1973 After each vanishing, he’d make a big deal out of returning with out a book and began to show me how a fresh strawberry soda, telling me how numerology works. “Most girls don’t like much he loved it and how he never drank this sort of thing,” he said with an almost hard liquor. Whenever he reappeared, childlike glee. Christ! I would’ve been he seemed to be dazed. His pupils were interested if he had read me the back of dilated, and he had a hard time with his a cereal box. I could tell that he wasn’t a balance. The more strawberry soda he Hollywood bullshitter or full of himself. drank, the more freely he spoke. At first He seemed like a sweet southern gentle- we played. I tickled him wildly, and he man who, in a different life, would have pinned me down in retaliation. I hit him gotten married, driven a truck, and been with a pillow and tickled him some more. happy with the simplest things. Elvis “Please, Kitty,” he squealed, “you’re killin’ was clearly torn between this everyday me. I give up, stop!” Then suddenly, he flashing his dreamy grin. I looked him square in the eye and said, “I’m Kitty, and who are you?” We moved to a quiet place in the room and began to talk, a conversation he filled with a whole lot of “Yes, ma’am, that’s right,” just like a good little southern boy. He told me he was interested in numerology. “Would you like me to do your numbers for you sometime, Kitty?” he offered. “Everyone should have their numbers read.” The King then pulled

spun me around, grabbed me, and kissed me. But just as suddenly, he stopped. We collapsed on the bed; he pulled me close and for a while, we held each other in silence. I could hear the beating of his heart as I lay on his chest. As the night wore on, Elvis became very nostalgic. We talked about his family and how much he loved his mother and little Lisa Marie. The simple and honest way he explained his feelings was very idyllic and childlike. He had deep beliefs in the importance of goodness and helping others. I couldn’t stop staring at him, even when he wasn’t saying a thing. I noticed how each feature on his chiseled face was perfectly placed. But it was his eyes that really got to me. They

He reached over and kissed me. I felt shivers go down my spine. It was a sweet kiss that started out slow and built to a crescendo. I heard him moan and ﬁgured that was an invitation to move closer. I pressed myself up against him as hard as I could. But he pulled away, and we just lay in each other’s arms for a bit. After what seemed like hours, he worked up the nerve to touch my breasts. He made each move so smoothly and gently. As we kissed, he began to slowly undress me. Finally! I was hot and ready to screw his brains out. He had me stripped down to my bra and panties when I reached over to lift his shirt, but he stopped me with his hands. Next, I tried to take his bottoms off, and he froze.

going on in the bathroom that he could hardly keep it up. He slid in and out of me too slowly, and I could barely feel him. It was humiliating to think that I might be the only woman on the planet who could get a chance to fuck the King and waste it by not coming. But the more I wanted to, the farther I drifted from making it happen. I was psyching myself out, and the less excited I got, the more awkward he got. I had to do something, so I pushed my pelvis up against him and he groaned. Maybe this would do the trick, maybe he would get harder and I would come. Then all of a sudden, I felt very wet—too wet. I realized he had ejaculated. He was pumping away for dear life saying, “Come baby, come on, come

Then, staring at the ceiling, holding me quietly, he whispered, almost to himself, “You can’t imagine how it feels to never know if a woman is sleeping with me because of me, or because of the idol they think that I am.” could dance with sexy kindness or, in an instant, fade away with a cloudy, far-off stare, but all of it was intoxicating. He smelled sweet like a baby, which only enhanced his innocent sex appeal. I ran my hand across the fullness of his crotch. The touch of the silk against his cock sent me through the roof. I could feel the soft outline of his balls and his pubic hair. He wore no underwear. Then, staring at the ceiling, holding me quietly, he whispered, almost to himself, “You can’t imagine how it feels to never know if a woman is sleeping with me because of me, or because of the idol they think that I am.” This stopped me cold. I thought about how terrible it would be to never know if someone loved you for who you were. “Elvis, you and I are kindred spirits. I think you know which Elvis I care for,” I assured him.

He said he liked to make love with his clothes on. “But Elvis, you get to see me undressed,” I reasoned with the King. “I want to see you the same way.” “No, baby,” he replied. “You look much better naked than I do.” He pulled me closer and I rolled on top of him. I gyrated into his crotch as he caressed my nipples. When I was about to explode I reached down and pulled his cock out of his ﬂy. He was hard but not at all huge. Elvis’ dick was nice but smallish, deﬁnitely not what I had expected. Finally, after more foreplay than I’ve gotten from any man, Elvis made love to me. As he entered me, I thought, “My God, what woman wouldn’t want to trade places with you? You are on top of the world—on top of Elvis!” But unfortunately for me, he was so out of it by this time from the effects of whatever was

honey.” So I took a deep breath and faked an orgasm worthy of the King. Yes, it was charity work. But he was a good man, and I wanted to make him happy. Now I knew Elvis wasn’t a sex god. He was just a middle-aged, overweight, pill-popping guy with a bad dye job. He had a big heart and a sweet personality but the sad truth was, Elvis was a bad lay. My night with the King changed the way I looked at my own life, in many ways. I had always thought being rich and famous was the most wonderful thing you could be, but Elvis knew otherwise. He shared with me the dark side of adoration. Here was a man who had every material thing he could dream of but who was still starving for real love and affection. He was truly an extraordinary person. But not for the reasons many people would think. B // BUST / 75

TANNAZ HAZEMI, WRITER SHIRT BY TOPMAN, WWW.TOPMAN. COM; NECKLACE BY FLAVIA CARDOSO, WWW.FLAVIACARDOSO.COM.

76 / BUST // APR/MAY

ON TANNAZ: WHITE V-NECK T-SHIRT BY ALTERNATIVE APPAREL, WWW.ALTERNATIVEAPPAREL.COM; BLACK SUIT JACKET BY TOPMAN; BLUE PINSTRIPE PANTS BY H&M, WWW.HM.COM; GRUNGE BOOTS BY STEVE MADDEN, WWW.STEVEMADDEN.COM; TANNAZ’S OWN HAT; SUNGLASSES BY RAYBAN, WWW.RAY-BAN.COM; WATCH BY ROLEX, WWW. ROLEX.COM; NECKLACE BY FLAVIA CARDOSO.

boy crazy we've got a thing for menswear

PHOTOGRAPHED BY

DANIELLE ST. LAURENT CAST AND STYLED BY

GALADRIEL MASTERSON HAIR AND MAKEUP BY

CRAIG HONEYCUTT @ FORD

// BUST / 77

ROSALINA MERRIHUE, HAIR STYLIST KEITH HARING T-SHIRT BY MUSTACHE BRIGADE, WWW.URBANOUTFITTERS.COM; TIE-DYE BUTTON-UP BY STEVEN ALAN, WWW.STEVENALAN.COM; ARMY JACKET BY ECOTE, WWW.URBANOUTFITTERS.COM; HAREM PANTS BY MONROW, WWW.RONHERMAN.COM; GRUNGE BOOTS BY STEVE MADDEN; EARRINGS BY ZOE CHICCO, WWW.ZOECHICCO.COM; EYEGLASSES BY WARBY PARKER, WWW.WARBYPARKER. COM; BRACELETS BY GARA DANIELLE, WWW.GARADANIELLE.COM.

78 / BUST // APR/MAY

LUCIE BEATRIX, MODEL @ FORD MODELS GRAY LONG-SLEEVE JERSEY TSHIRT BY RILLER AND FOUNT, WWW.REVOLVECLOTHING.COM; PLAID BUTTON-UP BY BDG, WWW. URBANOUTFITTERS.COM; JEANS BY JBRAND, WWW.JBRANDJEANS. COM; SNEAKERS BY CONVERSE, WWW.CONVERSE.COM; HAT BY BDG; EYEGLASSES BY URBAN OUTFITTERS; NECKLACE BY ZOE CHICCO.

// BUST / 79

TWIZ RIMER, ARTIST WHITE POLO SHIRT BY UNIQLO, WWW.UNIQLO. COM; FLORAL BUTTONUP AND CARDIGAN BY STEVEN ALAN; JEANS BY LEVI’S RED TAG, WWW. URBANOUTFITTERS.COM; BLACK BEAD NECKLACE BY TOPMAN; BRACELETS BY URBAN OUTFITTERS.

NECKLACE BY ORNAMENTAL THINGS; ROBE BY HIPS & CURVES; BRA AND PANTIES BY CHANTELLE, WWW.BARENECESSITIES.COM; NECKLACE WORN AS BRACELET BY THEA GRANT.

80 / BUST // APR/MAY

DJ TIKKA BLACK V-NECK T-SHIRT BY ALTERNATIVE APPAREL; BLACK HOODIE BY BDG; WHITE JEAN JACKET BY LEVI’S, WWW.LEVIS.COM; PINK BUTTON-UP SHIRT (TIED AT WAIST) BY BDG; BOYFRIEND JEANS BY H&M; ORIGINAL DESERT BOOTS BY CLARKS, WWW. CLARKS.COM; NECKLACES BY FLAVIA CARDOSO; SUNGLASSES BY URBAN OUTFITTERS.

// BUST / 81

ON TANNAZ: BLACK TANK TOP BY ALTERNATIVE APPAREL; ¾-SLEEVE BUTTON-UP BY MONROW; BOXERS BY STEVEN ALAN; BOYFRIEND JEANS BY LEVI’S, WWW.LEVIS.COM; NAVY PATENT-LEATHER DRESS SHOES BY DIEPPA RESTREPO (DISTRESSED BY STYLIST), WWW.DIEPPARESTREPO.COM; NECKLACES BY FLAVIA CARDOSO; EYEGLASSES BY NECKLACE BY ORNAMENTAL THINGS; BRA WARBY PARKER; BY ROLEX. AND PANTIES BY WATCH DIRTY DOLLS LINGERIE; AMELIABRACELET CAMISOLE BY BY THEA FREMONT; GRANT. “IN THE CHIPS” NECKLACE BY THEA GRANT.

82 / BUST // APR/MAY

SPECIAL THANKS TO MILK STUDIOS, N.Y.C.

ON LUCIE: WHITE T-SHIRT BY ENZA COSTA, WWW.RONHERMAN.COM; BLACK SUIT BY ZAC POSEN FOR TARGET, WWW.TARGET.COM; STUDDED JEAN JACKET BY ANLO, WWW. SHOPBOP.COM; EARRINGS BY FLAVIA CARDOSO.

// BUST / 83

the bust guide

MUSIC

THE BESNARD LAKES The Besnard Lakes Are the Roaring Night (Jagjaguwar) The Besnard Lakes Are the Roaring Night, the third full-length from this Canadian-based husband-and-wife duo, is a beautifully composed conceptual rock album that relates a story of war and espionage. From the onset, the mixture of haunting guitar and sinister subject matter emanates a heavy blanket of sound that wraps around you and keeps you captivated throughout the album. In “Albatross,” one of the most moving songs on the record, Olga Goreas takes the lead vocals in a style somewhat reminiscent of Mazzy Star. Midway through it she sings, “And I have to admit/Things got weird for a bit” over a mellow backdrop of guitar; there is a slight pause before the music roars back in full force, armed with crashing cymbals, guitars, and horns. The track reveals a certain genius that isn’t quite as evident anywhere else, but the album is something that ﬁts together as a whole and deserves to be listened to from beginning to end with complete attention paid to every exquisite detail. [AURORA MONTGOMERY]

PHOTOGRAPHED BY ANNABEL MEHRAN

THE BIRD AND THE BEE Interpreting the Masters Volume I: A Tribute to Daryl Hall and John Oates (Blue Note) Hall & Oates isn’t a guilty pleasure. Even hip-hop’s ﬁnest, from De La Soul to Wu-Tang Clan, have been sampling their catchy hooks for years. On Interpreting the Masters Volume I, L.A.based duo the Bird and the Bee pay homage to the “rock and soul” icons with their third album, which features eight covers plus an original song. Inara George and Greg Kurstin’s collection is retro renewal perfected, holding on to Hall & Oates’ smooth ’70s vibe while keeping their brand of quirky California pop intact. Absent is “You Make My Dreams,” made newly famous by the impromptu (500) Days of Summer dance sequence, but golden tunes like “I Can’t Go for That (No Can Do)” are given new life with George’s voice adding a sweet and airy texture to their

joanna newsom HAVE ONE ON ME (DRAG CITY) JOANNA NEWSOM HAS never seemed to care much about mainstream appeal. While her fellow freak folkers Devendra Banhart and Animal Collective have racked up acclaim for their more radio-friendly efforts, Newsom has released a triple album, with some songs clocking in at nine minutes long. But despite its flagrant disregard for short attention spans, Have One on Me might actually be Newsom’s most listenable release yet— and it’s definitely a candidate for most beautiful. Her childlike singing style seems to have matured, and she’s replaced some of the lush orchestral arrangements from her previous records with simpler violin and harp combos. Newsom’s voice often channels kindred spirit Kate Bush here, especially on the gorgeous opener “Easy.” Sparse, slow ballads “Baby Birch” and “Jackrabbits” recall crooners like Patty Griffin, and upbeat stomper “Good Intentions Paving Company” sounds more alt-country than it does freaky. But fans of weird Joanna, don’t fret: the 11-minute title track is (at least sometimes) about daddy longlegs and tarantulas. Throughout the album, the combination of Newsom’s dreamy vocals and lilting harp playing will almost certainly give you a heartache—the good kind that comes only from listening to such captivating, well-crafted songs. [ELIZA THOMPSON] // BUST / 85

the guide MUSIC catalog. Daryl and John’s songs didn’t need an update, but the Bird and the Bee make them their own, which is how a cover album should always be done. [SHEILA DICHOSO]

BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB Beat the Devil’s Tattoo (Abstract Dragon) What’s in a name? Nothing and everything. Black Rebel Motorcycle Club now goes by the acronym BRMC, which is a move in the right direction, as their full title sounds like the worst kind of throwaway, late-night, drugged jam session. The music on Beat the Devil’s Tattoo, their ﬁfth studio release, expresses more permanence. There’s the usual rock ‘n’ roll pretense to the lyrics, which are often sound masquerading as signiﬁcance, but that sound pulls itself up from the shorthand of hip to rest on a plateau of groove strong enough to carry a listener over the bumps and rough patches. Certain songs, like “Bad Blood,” transcend the gullibility of genre to imbue notes and chords with an emotional resonance that bedrocks the album. A third of the way in, the band turns up the volume on a lush soundscape that speaks louder than words. [PETER LANDAU]

DUM DUM GIRLS I Will Be (Sub Pop) On Dum Dum Girls’ debut, the band channels ’60s girl groups with innocent lyrics about hand-holding and ﬁrst kisses. Pretty tunes and melodramatic lyrics like these would normally require a suspension of disbelief when delivered by a group of badass-looking vamps in tight black dresses, but lead singer Dee Dee, aka Kristin Gundred of now-defunct Grand Ole Party, imparts the teenybopper lines with spot-on deadpan. Several of the waltzy tracks on I Will Be could even—coincidentally— pass as contemporary versions of “The Dum Dum Ditty” by the Shangri-Las. So it’s no surprise that the album was produced by Richard Gottehrer, the guy behind “My Boyfriend’s Back” and albums from Blondie and the Go-Go’s. But the most unifying element of Dum 86 / BUST // APR/MAY

Dum Girls’ image and sound is the band’s ardently fuzzy lo-ﬁ production. With simple melodies and steady, unadorned drums, the band oscillates between ethereal Beach Boys–like harmonies and the snotty attitude of the Slits—quite a winning combo. [ERIN GRIFFITH]

EARL GREYHOUND Suspicious Package (Hawk Race) If you stand too close to an amp, you feel like you’re in hell; stand too close to your headphones while Earl Greyhound is playing, and your skin might melt right off. The sound of this bluestinged New York trio may feel ripped from the late ’60s but we’re not talking about some flower-child love fest. Suspicious Package, the band’s sophomore full-length, is like Zep meets Floyd meets Fleetwood Mac. It’s a hot and heavy roller coaster filled with soft nuance that makes the hard jams seem even harder. Kamara Thomas’ bonechilling howl and throbbing bass explode on “The Eyes of Cassandra (Part 2)” and are immediately countered by her sweet interplay with singer/guitarist Matt Whyte on the boozy “Sea of Japan.” Ricc Sheridan’s Keith Moon drums are especially massive against the subtle synths of “Holy Immortality.” Turn on, tune in, and drop out, man— Earl Greyhound is about to pummel you something fierce. [MOLLIE WELLS]

GOLDEN TRIANGLE Double Jointer (Hardly Art) Golden Triangle’s ﬁrst full-length, Double Jointer, holds true to a raucous, stripped-down garage-rock aesthetic similar to kindred spirits the Vivian Girls, while kicking it up a notch with a ’60s girl-group vibe. Where their sound could devolve into lo-ﬁ rock cliché, the six-piece Brooklyn band is inventive instead, and as a result delivers something always fun and highly addictive. “Cinco de Mayo” kicks things off with the song’s title chanted like a battle cry over noisy, messy rhythms; “Blood and Arrow” features swirling guitars reminiscent of Television’s “Marquee Moon” with a little Twilight Zone mixed in. The album crashes along

through nine more tracks of furiousness, ﬁnally cascading into a psychedout array of screeching guitars with “Arson Wells”—the perfect ﬁnale to an exhilarating, sometimes battering, experience. Golden Triangle is a band that obviously loves rock for all it is and delivers it here in its purest form. [MELYNDA FULLER]

GOLDFRAPP Head First (Mute) When we last heard from Alison Goldfrapp, she was indulging her inner hippie—hugging trees and providing ambient down-tempo textures on 2008’s Seventh Tree, an album that served as a rustic counterpoint to the glittery electro-glam of 2005’s Supernature. On Head First, it sounds as if Goldfrapp has spent the past couple of years hanging out in Miami, listening to copious amounts of ’80s pop and watching Scarface on DVD repeatedly. If Supernature was Goldfrapp’s take on disco-era excess, Head First is its coked-up companion piece. The album’s ﬁzzy ﬁrst single, “Rocket,” is good, but the hooks are even better elsewhere, like on the darkly breezy “Dreaming.” And despite the abundance of synths, the title track somehow manages to not sound cheesy. Even “Alive,” with a melody copped from Billy Joel’s “It’s Still Rock and Roll to Me,” works. The space-psychedelia of “Voicething,” built solely around Goldfrapp’s looped coos, closes the trip. [DYLAN STABLEFORD]

HOLLY GOLIGHTLY AND THE BROKEOFFS Medicine County (Transdreamer) Holly Golightly is a U.K. native who lives on a farm in Georgia where she spends her leisure time raising horses and chickens. After listening to her latest release, Medicine County, you would naturally assume as much. Golightly teamed up with her frequent sonic contributor Lawyer Dave (a oneman-band who goes by the name the Brokeoffs), and the two hick enthusiasts recorded this album in a recently foreclosed church near Golightly’s home. This duo is serious about country mu-

sic, and if you’re not, then Medicine County might not be for you. The progression of songs will have you thinking, “Wow, this is country” and then, “Oh my God, this is really country.” On the opening track, “Forget it,” Golightly warns, “And when you steal a heart that’s true/Be sure you know just what you do,” and as you hear it, if you close your eyes real tight, you can almost envision the singer standing with her hand on her hip as some tumbleweeds roll by. [KELLY MCCLURE]

ADAM GREEN Minor Love (Fat Possum) Though his career began as half of a duo that recorded a song called “Who’s Got the Crack,” former Moldy Peach Adam Green’s current incarnation is decidedly grown-up. Minor Love, his sixth solo album, exists in the same universe as Leonard Cohen: austere and isolated, the sound of a lone man making noise. In truth, Green hosts some guest musicians as well, but the feel is unmistakably solitary. That’s not to say it’s a somber affair, as deadpan tracks like “Oh Shucks” put Green’s baritone to work, singing lyrics like, “She’s a bull dyke and she makes me come to life each time.” The chorus of folky shuffle “Castles and Tassels” rhymes the title with “flatulent assholes,” and the vaguely flamenco-accented “Goblin” bounces along like a lower-key Jonathan Richman, telling a tale of a cartoonishly difficult woman. Minor Love fits its title: the album’s willfully slight but entirely likable. [TOM FORGET]

HOT CHIP One Life Stand (Astralwerks) Perpetually heads and shoulders above the rest of the disco-nouveau/ electro pack, London’s Hot Chip boldly ﬂies the imperiled analogue-lover’s ﬂag on their sophisticated new release, One Life Stand. Highlighting their underground roots and fanatical devotion to Detroit techno, the beat, or at least the full rhythm section, doesn’t drop till well after the one-minute mark on most of these tracks, creating a slow-burn arrangement style. The acid-house bounce of “We Have

Love” denotes a marked departure from the Arthur Baker–by-way-of-DFA punk-funk vibe of their earlier hits. Pulsing with a dirty bass line reminiscent of “White Horse”-era Laid Back, the title track also includes a dense layering of post-mashup-style synths that make it modern enough to transcend cliché. Though the expansive “I Feel Better” is a somewhat commercial offering, the majority of these thoughtful tracks are reined-in, personal, and still a remix away from being ﬂoor-burners. No complaints here. [DEVIN ESTLIN]

JJ jj n*3 (Secretly Canadian) The new trend among bands has turned from naming themselves after woodland creatures to naming themselves after repeated letters of the alphabet. First the xx came along with its pulsing R&B grooves, and now jj is back with their second full-length, n*3. The mysterious Swedish group pays homage to the seething French New Wave

ﬁlm Jules et Jim with their name and to the New Wave music movement of the ’80s with their bubbly synths and electric drums. Musically, they’re not quite as experimentally extreme as new labelmates Yeasayer, but they reach toward the same eclecticism with ethereal New Age sounds, traces of post-punk, Caribbean drums, and a mix of electric strings. If this sounds like a mess, you’re mistaken; it works quite nicely, but it still isn’t half as interesting as the verbal description. [MARY-LOUISE PRICE]

SHARON JONES AND THE DAP-KINGS I Learned the Hard Way (Daptone) It’s difficult to listen to the incomparable soul stylings of Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings and not think their energetic recordings came out of a vault somewhere. But even with all their gritty authenticity, Jones and company are no ’60s relics. As a vocalist, Jones possesses a rare combination of fiery fierceness and mournful expressive-

ness. And backing her up on irresistible musical narratives like “She Ain’t a Child No More” and “Mama Don’t Like My Man” are the Dap-Kings, who are incredible interpreters of that signature ’60s sound. With the blazing power of the horns, the pared-down brilliance of the rhythm section, and the pitch-perfect crooning of Jones’ backup singers, each arrangement sounds ﬂawless without coming off as overly polished or produced. A perfect choice for anyone who’d rather soothe her heartache with a dance party rather than a dirge, I Learned the Hard Way hits all the right notes. [EMILY REMS]

THE KNIFE in collaboration with MT. SIMS & PLANNINGTOROCK Tomorrow, in a Year

morrow in a Year is an avant-garde conceptual opera based on Darwin’s On the Origin of Species and promises to give fans a completely new listening experience. This album is headphone music at its oddest and would be perfect background noise for making art or lying on the ﬂoor in the dark, brooding about something. Though most of the sounds produced by Karin and Olof, teamed with their collaborators, are electronic, the slight bird noises and other minimal forest ambiances assure you that you’re not alone in this spooky headspace. The organic feel of the operatic vocals that rise and fall and sometimes scream within each song doesn’t lend much warmth to the album, but what’s warm about science anyway? [KELLY WEST]

SHELBY LYNNE Tears, Lies, and Alibis (Everso)

(Rabid) The very Swedish and very mysterious siblings Olof Dreijer and Karin Dreijer Andersson, who make up the Knife, are following up their 2006 sensation, Silent Shout, in an unconventional way. To-

On the heels of her excellent Dusty Springﬁeld covers album, Just A Little Lovin’, Shelby Lynne returns with a set of acoustic guitar–based songs that

EVERETT TRUE’S FIRST LADIES OF ROCK The best girl bands you’ve never heard of [BY EVERETT TRUE]

THE DACIOS Grunge ain’t dead, not ’round these parts (even if MTV did try and corporatize the piss out of it). Sydney’s Dacios play great throaty Australian rock cut from the same tattered cloth as the Drones, the Scientists, and—yes—Mia Zapata’s much-missed Gits. Or, as they put it, the quartet is “a high-octane, lysergic, nitrous-sucking rock ’n’ roll beast.” It burns, it slow-burns. It scares the shit out of me. Sweet.

THE HOT TODDIES This Oakland, CA, four-piece boasts some beautiful doo-wop harmonies and beach-party melodies. The band plays bubblegum pop like it’s the ’60s and K Records wrote it, but with a sharp tongue that tells of wet dreams and surf paradises—like the Pink Ladies from Grease reinvented for the Internet age. Every town should have one.

PLUG U.K.’s Plug is like SleaterKinney matched to a quirky early-’80s beat: minimal keyboards, some sucked-in aggression, and plenty of atmosphere (but not the boring, goth kind—this is playful and menacing). This lady duo sees no point in cluttering the fun or the message with unnecessary sound.

Think: Beaches, Rowland S. Howard, Thalia Zedek J Mascis factor: 9 Jay Leno factor: 1 www.myspace.com/thedacios

Think: the Fizzbombs, Olivia Newton-John, the Penguins Surf’s up!: 10 Time’s up: 0 www.myspace.com/thehottoddies

Think: the Need, Kleenex, early Mekons Olympia, WA, factor: 8 Olympia, Greece, factor: 1 www.myspace.com/plugddd

TINY MICROPHONE What’s your favorite band from Detroit? Quick, quick! Well, of course it’s the Dirtbombs. But then, surely, the all-female Slumber Party and their crushworthy reworking of Spector and French ’60s pop must come to mind? This Chicagoan lady’s similar sound makes me go equally weak in the knees, especially her feedbackdrenched cover of the Velvets’ “Candy Says”—and her own music is just as wistful, dreamy, and wonderful. Think: Opal, Shop Assistants, Jane Birkin Joey Ramone factor: 8 Phil Ramone factor: 2 www.myspace.com/tinymicrophone // BUST / 87

the guide MUSIC give off similar breakup-record vibes to that of Joni Mitchell’s Blue. “Why Didn’t You Call Me” has Springﬁeld’s blue-eyed soul sound, but the remainder of the songs have an Americana feel to them. “Like a Fool” has Lynne begging her lover not to go; on the slow groove of “Alibi,” she’s not so forgiving as she waits for his return home. Love and life’s disillusionment come through on “Loser Dreamer” and the bluesy “Old #7,” on which Lynne’s voice is smooth like butter. Whatever sound she may be playing with, the ever-eclectic Lynne is a nobullshit, shootin’-from-the-hip kind of chick who’ll always stand and deliver. Even if she’s slumming it just a little. [MICHAEL LEVINE]

SCOUT NIBLETT The Calcination of Scout Niblett (Drag City) English singer/songwriter Scout Niblett shares a minimalist sensibility and general vocal range with her more glamorous contemporary Cat Power, but there are less obvious comparisons to be made on her new album, The Calcination. Whether it’s because of the participation of famed producer Steve Albini or the fact that her record is out on Drag City, there’s a hint of minimalist Chicago post-rock that ﬂavors the skeletal compositions. Clear, ringing guitars put stringy, raw muscle on the arrangements as Niblett wails expressively. “Cherry Cheek Bomb” starts off with buzzing grunge-era guitars right off of Nirvana’s Bleach before Niblett hushes things up, but the tension implied in the track’s opening is always under the surface, with those guitars rolling hypnotically and threatening to poke through until the full-on assault at the end. All of Calcination thrives on a sweaty tension that rarely reaches full boil but never truly abates, either, even in the quietest moments. [TOM FORGET]

SEABEAR We Built a Fire (Morr) Iceland’s Seabear started out as singer 88 / BUST // APR/MAY

Sindri Már Sigfússon’s solo project but quickly morphed into a sevenstrong collective of multi-instrumentalists. Their music is an easy-on-theear mix of ethereal folk and country with touches of rock ’n’ roll, which has led Rolling Stone to dub Sigfússon the “Icelandic Beck.” Although Seabear isn’t on a par with Mr. Hansen just yet, their sophomore album is very lovely indeed. Full of theremins, ﬁddles, and shimmering, hushed vocals (almost too hushed— it’s often hard to make out the lyrics), the album marries the sky-reaching dreaminess of Arcade Fire to the melancholy of Elliott Smith. While some songs, like “Cold Summer,” drift by on a cloud of nothingness, others fare much better, like the romantic country-folk of “Leafmask” and the sweet, propulsive “In Winter’s Eyes,” which is eerily reminiscent of Bob Dylan’s “Lay Lady Lay.” Seabear might not break any new ground, but they might just break a few hearts. [LUIZA SAUMA]

SHE & HIM Volume Two (Merge) What began as a fun little collaboration between the L.A.-stationed actress Zooey Deschanel and Portland, OR– based songbird M. Ward has evolved into a lush and layered musical marriage of talents that is as subtle and classy as an old leather couch. She & Him’s Volume Two opens with the surefooted, rock-kicking “Thieves,” where Deschanel let’s the engine of her vocal range rev singing bittersweet lyrics like, “And I know/And you know too/That love like ours is terrible news.” The vintage country/folk feel of the album rolls from one song to the next, scraping out nuanced details from the corners of each verse before building to the staggeringly beautiful “Brand New Shoes” and “If You Can’t Sleep.” In the former, Deschanel’s vocals are layered in such a way that she punctuates her own sentences with background “mmms,” and sings, “It’s just like you told me it’d be/It’s nuthin’ nuthin’ nuthin’ at all.” Um, but it is something, Zooey. It’s super, super pretty. [KELLY MCCLURE]

SLOW CLUB Yeah, So (Moshi Moshi) I have to keep reminding myself that Charles and Rebecca, the only two members of the U.K.’s Slow Club, are in fact from the U.K. The songs featured on their debut album, Yeah, So, deliver the sort of creaky-ﬂoorboard “Momma, fetch the milk pail” folk-rock you would expect from a band who grew up shucking corn and listening to old Johnny Cash albums, which maybe they did. “It Doesn’t Have to Be Beautiful,” the ﬁrst song on the album that really grabs you by the belt loops, has a rockabilly feel to it with twangy guitar and Rebecca’s modest yet perfect drumming. In this song, the two join in on singing, “It was fun while it lasted/’Cause nothing ever does/Love has lost its meaning/ It was wasted on us.” The rest of the album falls in line with the bittersweet, simple songwriting illustrated here, and although it doesn’t shout, it whispers loud enough to be a memorable keeper. [KELLY MCCLURE]

SOLEX VS. CRISTINA MARTINEZ & JON SPENCER Amsterdam Showdown King Street Throwdown (Bronzerat) I’ve been waiting for a get-down-anddirty rock ’n’ roll album for a while—one that makes me want to dance, make out, and fight all at once. I should’ve known that it would come from Boss Hog’s Cristina Martinez and Jon Spencer, along with Dutch badass Solex (aka Elisabeth Esselink) as impetus, inspiration, and added awesome. Most of today’s music has left the swagger on the barroom floor, but these three picked it up, smacked it into shape, and pulled together a record with a little bit of everything you love best. It’s got that throbbing Blues Explosion groove, Spencer’s growl and wail, Martinez’s snarl, and Solex’s almost-sweet voice and pure sonic magic layered with cinematic samples for good measure. With tracks compiled in Esselink’s Amsterdam apartment/record store and passed back and forth across the Atlantic to New York for Martinez’s and Spencer’s tweaks and contributions, this just-plain-sexy mix wipes the floor

with the sensitively scruffy indie darlings of today. [SARAH JAFFE]

THE SPLINTERS Kick (Double Negative) The Splinters’ first full-length, Kick, sounds like the sort of music that would be featured on the soundtrack for a fictitious movie called High School Detention. The album is filled with shuffling guitars and snappy drums, held by the reins of the four girls’ vocal harmonies. You can almost hear them rolling their eyes at you, and the gum snapping is heavily implied. The lyrics throughout the album are conversational and often sweet, such as, “You wish my Dad would like you/Well my Dad doesn’t like you/And I’m sorry if that offends you,” featured on “Sorry,” and “I don’t like it when you worry/You break my heart in two,” on the herky-jerky ballad “Worry.” A band only since 2008, the Splinters have already performed at SXSW and played shows with well-known fellow punkers like the now-broken-up Mika Miko. It will be fun to see what they do next. [KELLY MCCLURE]

WETDOG Frauhaus! (Captured Tracks) Packed tight with eerie, dark, and discordant rock-pop, Wetdog’s Frauhaus! has the same appeal as ﬁnding yourself alone at a seedy carnival after the sun has set. The three-piece lady ensemble from the U.K. layers heavy bass, thick, syncopated percussion, and twisted surf guitar under singer Rivka Gillieron’s low register and Nico-esque wail. Bass and complex drums propel the straightforward rock ’n’ roll incantation “Lower Leg,” and deconstructed organ and tonal choir singing are assembled loosely for “New Year.” These tracks and the 12 in between compose Wet Dog’s half hour of galvanized dissonance that alternately threatens and gently charms, demonstrated in the song “Fist Face,” with lyrics like, “Stroking your hair while I smother your face.” Frauhaus! might necessitate several listens to warm to, but the album possesses a spooky allure for those willing to see how it all plays out. [KATIE BAIN]

the guide

MOVIES

Sarah Steele [left] and Catherine Keener share the love in Please Give

Dakota Fanning [left] and Kristen Stewart strike a pose in The Runaways

Amanda Seyfried is eerie as Chloe

PHOTOS COURTESY OF SONY PICTURES CLASSICS, APPARITION FILMS

CHLOE Directed by Atom Egoyan (Sony Pictures Classics) To the list of things that people who live in glass houses should not do, acclaimed Canadian director Atom Egoyan adds: get involved with highly manipulative young prostitutes. In Egoyan’s latest film, Chloe, boasting a screenplay by powerhouse dramatist Erin Cressida Wilson (Secretary), Julianne Moore and Liam Neeson play the inhabitants of a clean, cold, light-pierced house in snow-covered Toronto. But it’s outside the home where intense situations unfold—in hotel rooms, restaurants, and other commercialized domestic spaces— fitting for a movie in which the title character sells intimacy. Amanda Seyfried (of Jennifer’s Body and Mean Girls) plays Chloe, a practitioner of the age-old business of luxury hotel and high-end-bar sex solicitation. Moore’s character, successful gynecologist Catherine, meets Chloe in the bathroom of a fashionable restaurant where Catherine’s husband, David (Neeson), has just been flirting with their waitress. Chloe’s in-stall sniffles and pronouncement that “men are such assholes” are, like a lingering glance at a bar, an invitation to talk. And in no time, insecure Catherine has hired Chloe to test David’s fidelity. Neeson’s portrayal of David is charming enough. But he is soon marginalized when the film’s defining relationship is established between Catherine and Chloe, as what one woman

says about her trysts with the other’s husband awaken jealousies and desires in both. Chloe is not a great movie, but it is an interesting one. For the Oscarnominated Egoyan, it’s a marked departure, as it is the ﬁrst ﬁlm he has directed from someone else’s screenplay. And Catherine and Chloe’s relationship is an unusual challenge to Hollywood notions of female sexuality, female aging, and female power. Reason enough to give it a try. [PHOEBE MAGEE]

PLEASE GIVE Written and directed by Nicole Holofcener (Sony Pictures Classics) Nicole Holofcener’s fourth ﬁlm opens with a montage of breasts—big ones, little ones, crooked ones, old ones— getting ready to be smooshed in a mammography machine. It’s an apt metaphor for Please Give and also for womanhood: that death and life lurk in the same places, that what is pleasurable can also be threatening—it just depends on how you look at it. The mammography machine is run by Rebecca (Rebecca Hall), a sweet and shy young woman who spends her free time looking after her 91-year-old grandmother, Andra (Ann Morgan Guilbert). Next door to Andra live Kate (Catherine Keener) and her husband, Alex (Oliver Platt), who run a successful retail business in estate furniture, which they buy from the children of the recently deceased. In an attempt to expand their

home, they’ve also bought Andra’s apartment and are waiting for her to die so they can knock the walls down. That so much of her life is about profiting from others’ losses bugs Kate, and her guilt drives her to compulsive acts of charity, which upset her teenage daughter (Sarah Steele). In an attempt to prove she’s not waiting for Andra to die, Kate throws an awkward birthday party for her, which brings Rebecca and her bitchy sister, Mary (Amanda Peet), into their lives. Though Alex is hardly a tangential figure, the film is about the women and the way their approaches to the world affect each other. If the term “chick flick” has become synonymous with shallow rom-coms, Please Give, as with all of Holofcener’s films, is a true woman flick: darkly funny and deeply aware that love and marriage isn’t the end of the story but the beginning. What comes later isn’t always fun, but there’s still room for a happy ending. [PRIYA JAIN]

THE RUNAWAYS Directed by Floria Sigismondi (Apparition Films) Flicks about girl bands often follow the same trajectory: rebellious young women wanna skip town on the high heels of their rock ‘n’ roll dreams, but men tell them it’s impossible because “girls can’t rock.” Through a series of montages, the band ultimately gets good enough to prove they deserve a chance. And once given that big break, they launch headlong into all the pitfalls of fame. Think Beyond

the Valley of the Dolls, think Ladies and Gentlemen the Fabulous Stains, and yes, think of the bio-pic The Runaways as well. All follow along these same lines. But The Runaways also delivers much more. For one thing, the Runaways were a real band who really rocked. Before they debuted in 1975, no allgirl rock group had ever had a hit song, recorded a platinum album, or toured internationally. But it was a combination of guitarist Joan Jett’s killer hooks and lead singer Cherie Currie’s jailbait looks that took songs like “Cherry Bomb” and “Queens of Noise” to the top of the charts. Now director Floria Sigismondi has crafted a ﬁtting tribute to these teen trailblazers with New Moon alums Kristen Stewart and Dakota Fanning front and center as Jett and Currie respectively, and the results are surprisingly awesome. Both are impeccably styled in looks straight out of your Runaways scrapbook, but their transformations don’t end there. When the duo takes the stage, their performances are so raw and electric, it’ll be hard for audiences to stay in their seats. Off stage, Stewart’s stoic portrayal of Jett never wavers, and watching Fanning become so oversexualized at the same age Currie was when she was groomed for stardom (15!) is nothing short of heartbreaking. A full-throttle joyride through fame’s treacherous trenches, The Runaways is a ﬁlm for anyone who loves rock ‘n’ roll—so put another dime in the jukebox, baby! [EMILY REMS] // BUST / 89

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the guide

BOOKS

LITPICK

just kids BY PATTI SMITH [ECCO] PUNK-ROCK POET Patti Smith’s life story could probably fill a Proustian number of volumes. But in this slim, richly realized memoir, she focuses on 1967 to 1989—the years that spanned her friendship with photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, before his life was cut short by AIDS. Those familiar with the gay eroticism of Mapplethorpe’s most notorious work may be surprised to learn that, in the early days of their relationship, the pair were lovers. Both new to New York City, rich in artistic dreams, and desperately low on cash, Mapplethorpe and Smith met by chance in their early 20s and instantly recognized each other as kindred spirits. In exquisitely detailed vignettes, Smith describes the tiny apartments they shared in Brooklyn, the heavy influence each had on the other’s creative ambitions, and the sacrifices they made just to survive. When the duo moves into Manhattan’s iconic Chelsea Hotel in 1969, the story takes on an Alice in Wonderland quality: in one scene, the wide-eyed young Smith trails writer William Burroughs as if down a rabbit hole into the Chelsea’s adjacent bar; in another, Allen Ginsberg leers at her at the nearby automat like a Cheshire cat. And Warhol’s fading superstars were always in the midst of some kind of mad tea party whenever Smith and Mapplethorpe would venture into the back room of downtown hot spot Max’s Kansas City. Through it all—despite Mapplethorpe’s revelations about his sexuality, Smith’s wanderlust, and the attention from admirers as both made their mark—the pair remained soul mates to the end. And it is their ceaseless devotion to one another that shines brightest in this book, even amid a sea of famous faces. [EMILY REMS]

BETWEEN THE SHEETS: The Literary Liaisons of Nine 20th-Century Women Writers By Lesley McDowell (Overlook) Between the Sheets explores the messy intersection of art, lust, fame, and power. McDowell mines letters and diaries to grant us rare insight into the POV of the female halves of some very celebrated literary couples, from the uberfamous (Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes) to the less well known (Hilda Doolittle and Ezra Pound), and a few in between. McDowell seems genuinely fascinated and impassioned by her subject matter, especially by the sticky places where romantic relationships and careers collide. She focuses a great deal on how the members of each couple used one another for literary advancement, but she also highlights the ways that love helped these creative couples blossom and grow. Of Anaïs Nin and Henry Mill-

er, McDowell writes, controversially, “It is unlikely, as narcissistic as she was, as aspirational as she was, that she would have become the kind of writer she did without her relationship with Miller. He was necessary, after all.” McDowell excerpts the women’s letters and diary entries, which provide an extra dose of emotion. Suddenly, these feminist-lit ﬁgures seem more real and grand. We feel the love and the heartache that drove them to write. And like many great romances, especially of the artistic variety, what’s really inside them isn’t pretty (or it’s a blurry mishmash of pretty and heinous). As acclaimed author/war reporter Martha Gellhorn wrote to a friend about her long relationship with Ernest Hemingway: “I weep for the eight years I spent, almost eight (light dawned a little earlier) worshipping his image with him.” Sad, yes. But also a prescient reminder not to lose yourself in a relationship, no matter how much fame—or fame potential—the guy’s got. [LAURA BARCELLA]

GIRL IN TRANSLATION: A Novel By Jean Kwok (Riverhead) When 11-year-old Kimberly Chang and her mother move to New York City from Hong Kong, they are prepared for hard work and a difﬁcult adjustment to a new life. But they are not prepared for just how difﬁcult it proves to be. Their apartment, “generously” brokered for them by Kimberly’s aunt, is in a building that seems condemned—empty of other tenants, without heat, plagued by broken windows and vermin infestations of every sort. To afford this apartment and repay Kimberly’s aunt, who paid for their emigration expenses, they must both spend every spare moment working in a garment factory in Chinatown. Driven by the urgent need to liberate herself and her mother from these circumstances, Kimberly excels in school and doggedly pursues her goals, de-

spite the distractions of her factory job, the temptations of the privileged lifestyles of her classmates at the private school where she has a scholarship, and the siren song of ﬁrst love. Kimberly’s hardships are myriad and her drive admirable, but it is only a surface account, and the reader glides quickly and easily over it, without having much cause to pause or ponder. The most interesting aspect of the story—the aunt’s grudging help, designed to keep her sister and niece in her debt—is never fully explored. Ultimately, Kwok’s writing is readable and her tale engrossing, but neither the writing nor the characters manage to be truly memorable. [EMMA HAMILTON]

THE HAND THAT FIRST HELD MINE By Maggie O’Farrell (Houghton Mifﬂin Harcourt) The narrative of this wistful English love story jumps back and forth in time // BUST / 91

BOOKS {INTERVIEW}

HOW MANY HAVE peeked inside a palace and had sex with a prince? Jillian Lauren has, and she tells all in Some Girls: My Life in a Harem (Plume). Her memoir takes readers from the suburbs of New Jersey to the nation of Brunei where, at 18, the former stripper and escort joined the harem of Prince Jefri Bolkiah, the youngest brother of the country’s notorious sultan, in exchange for cash, jewelry, and designer clothes. Now 36 and living in L.A. with her adorable two-year-old son and her also-adorable husband, Weezer bassist Scott Shriner, Lauren talks here about honesty, authenticity, and self-acceptance. Some Girls is about sex work and tough choices. What part felt most important for you to write? I needed to integrate my story—sex work, family struggles, feelings about my body, relationships with friends and lovers. I wanted to weave these threads into a cohesive tapestry, to show them for what they are: part of a whole.

farewell my concubine JILLIAN LAUREN EXPOSES A FORBIDDEN WORLD IN SOME GIRLS

If you could give advice to your younger self, what would you say? I suggest that everyone get in front of a camera naked when they’re 19. I wouldn’t necessarily advise doing it quite as often as I did, but I encourage stepping outside our skewed self-perceptions. I look at pictures of myself from the harem days and wonder, Why did I hate myself so much? I was beautiful. I was hopeful. I was brave. But I couldn’t see it then. I don’t want to get to the end of my life and realize that I wasted so many years hating myself when I should have been shining. Most people reading Some Girls probably won’t have been international teenage escorts, but the emotions involved are surprisingly universal.

Throughout Some Girls, you poignantly invoke Patti Smith as your punk-rock guardian angel. Reﬂecting on your past choices, you write, “What would Patti Smith do? She would forgive me for losing myself.” Did you feel a sense of self-forgiveness through telling your story? I did. And forgiveness is what I’m after, both for myself and for others. Compassion is what it’s all about. [SHIRA TARRANT]

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PHOTOGRAPHED BY AUSTIN YOUNG

How does it feel to speak so honestly about living in the Prince of Brunei’s harem? It’s terrifying and it feels great. My life now is so different. I’m a full-time writer and a full-time mom. So I always have to take a breath when I go to a kid’s party at Gymboree and someone asks what my book is about. Or when I try to explain Some Girls to my 86-year-old neighbor. Now that I’ve told this story in public, my life requires a different level of honesty. Not that I was secretive before. I did burlesque until very recently, and my house is full of pictures with me dancing around in my panties, so no one thought I was a nun. But the level of vulnerability in the book is deeper. The thought of people reading it is scary but freeing. What could people say about me now that can hurt me? I’ve already said it all.

between the mid-20th century and the present day, alternating between the perspectives of the two main protagonists, Lexie and Elina. The novel opens in the mid-1950s when Lexie Sinclair, fed up with life on her parents’ farm, serendipitously meets handsome, urbane 34-year-old Innes Kent on a country lane. Lexie notices that Innes’ tie is the color of duck eggs, and this brightness suggests to her an enthralling universe of cosmopolitan possibilities. Lexie follows Innes back to London and falls in love, both with him and with London’s bohemian publishing world, to which Innes serves as her experienced guide. Half a century later, Elina Vilkuna, an artist and new mother in London, finds herself suffering from postpartum memory lapses. As she tries in a daze to piece together her traumatized recollections of her life-threatening C-section, her husband, Ted, is facing his own demons. Jarred by unfamiliar childhood flashbacks and overwhelmed by shell-shocked sensations, he feels increasingly vulnerable. Together, Elina and Ted unearth the harrowing, decades-old secret that lies at the heart of Ted’s distress, bridging their world with Lexie’s. O’Farrell is an excellent storyteller who expertly evokes the sharp thrill of first love and the sleepless, besotted blur of new-motherhood. Though one or two plot twists may challenge our suspension of disbelief, they are made up for by the human believability of her characters and the quirky clarity with which she portrays midcentury London’s modernist charms. [RENATE ROBERTSON]

HOTEL IRIS: A Novel By Yoko Ogawa (Picador) Hotel Iris is a haunting, unusual book exploring the complexities of desire through the lens of an unlikely relationship. The story begins on the coast of Japan, where Mari, a shy 17-year-old, spends all her time helping her mother run a ramshackle hotel. One night just before the summer season, Mari and her mother are forced to kick out a middle-aged man and a prostitute

for creating a scene with a loud argument. With a single phrase, the man orders the hysterical prostitute to shut up, and Mari is immediately captivated by his calm and imposing voice. When she runs into him again by chance, she learns that he is a Russian translator who lives alone on an island off the coast. The two begin meeting in secret, and the translator teaches Mari the art of love—by shedding his quiet exterior to become a harsh and punishing master. Despite her lack of prior experience or even desires, Mari revels in the translator’s cruelty, revealing, “Only when I was brutalized, reduced to a sack of ﬂesh, could I know pure pleasure.” Although these characters feel slightly underdeveloped, all in all, Hotel Iris is a striking achievement. Ogawa’s evocative, minimalist prose carries the story along at a luxurious pace and adds a quiet beauty to unsettling scenes. Dark and seductive, this book will stay with you long after the last page. [ANTONIA BLAIR]

HOW TO SEW A BUTTON: And Other Nifty Things Your Grandmother Knew By Erin Bried (Ballantine) How to Sew a Button offers instruction on things “that you may have forgotten (or never even learned in the ﬁrst place).” Important things, like how to make blueberry pancakes. Erin Bried, who serves as a senior staff writer for SELF magazine, interviewed a bevy of pre-Depression-born grandmothers to compile this invaluable book, which might sit best somewhere between your dictionary and your BUST archives. All the grandmothers’ step-by-step lessons are organized into 10 tidy subjects—like Cleaning, Dressing, and Loving—making the book easily navigable. There’s something for everyone in this must-have how-to: for the hunter, “How to Fillet a Fish”; for the cook, “How to Use Grease as Flavoring”; for the activist, “How to Speak Your Mind at a Town Hall Meeting”; for the outcast, “How to Make Friends”; and for the lush, “How to Brew Your Own Beer.” There are things in this book you never even // BUST / 93

the guide realized you wanted to know, such as, “How to Fold a Fitted Sheet” (which is the book’s money shot, if I may). How to Sew a Button is also sprinkled with seriously cute illustrations, and it’s funny to boot. Take, for instance, this quote from “How to Grocery Shop”: “Think of the grocery store the same way you’d think of a male model. Everything you should be putting in your mouth is on the outside, and there’s hardly anything of substance on the inside.” Well put! [WHITNEY DWIRE]

IMPERFECT BIRDS: A Novel By Anne Lamott (Riverhead) Elizabeth and her daughter, Rosie, stars of previous Anne Lamott books, are featured again in her latest novel, Imperfect Birds. Rosie, now 17, has grown into every parent’s dream: attractive and popular, a straight-A student, a natural athlete, and a model daughter. Elizabeth, previously widowed, is now contentedly married to the smart and amusing James, who eagerly and deftly coparents Rosie. The very beginning of the book carries all the sweet “nodding in agreement in spite of myself” moments of a Gilmore Girls episode, but Lamott soon reveals the chink in the facade of this family’s seemingly blessed existence. Finding herself in an existential stasis—torn between pleasing her parents and casting off the shroud of boredom that often suffocates those on the brink of adulthood— Rosie graduates from occasional weed smoking to using increasingly harder substances. In doing so, she transmogrifies into a young woman recognizable only to her equally broken peers. What ensues is one person’s journey into the ruin of addiction and her parents’ terrified fight to save her from herself. Lamott’s writing is evocative, as she skillfully navigates the emotional landscapes of the worlds of parents and teenagers. Imperfect Birds is a finely wrought story of parental love, the self-loathing and narcissism of youth, and the light at the end of the tunnel. [RACHEL BRAVMANN] 94 / BUST // APR/MAY

sex and the single (or married, or cohabitating) girl FROM MEMOIR TO FANTASY AND BEYOND BEST SEX WRITING 2010 Edited by Rachel Kramer Bussel (Cleis Press) The third annual edition of Best Sex Writing, edited by notable sex expert Rachel Kramer Bussel, bills itself as a “thinking person’s sex book.” And with essays covering ground from the personal to the historical to the medical (with hardly any writhing and bosom-heaving at all), it seems an apt description. In a book about the world’s oldest subject, a few ideas feel fresh, such as John DeVore’s groundbreakingly sexy willingness to admit that model-obsessed male culture has whitewashed the messiness of human desire, and Betty Dodson’s fear that all her feminist sex education has irradiated her erotic life of primal raunch. There’s just a dab here of the overly PC prose that often plagues sex-positive writing with a cringeworthy earnestness, but voices like that of hilariously blunt Diana Joseph, who writes about hearing her son refer to a female peer as a slut, make this collection worth the asking price. [EMILY MCCOMBS] BEST WOMEN’S EROTICA 2010 Edited by Violet Blue (Cleis Press) Violet Blue confides, in her book’s introduction, that her job as an erotica editor is like the work of a chocolate taster—and what a good one she is. While some erotica may offer the quick rush of a fun-sized candy bar from Halloween, her collection is reminiscent of a box of truffles: deep, rich, and meant to be savored. Each of these 18 stories is wrought by a deft female hand. One heroine furtively fornicates with a zucchini in her handsome neighbor’s garden. Another, a horny commuter, revels in the professional-yet-intimate hand of a shoeshine man as he tenderly caresses her boot. And cleverly, the prelude to one stripped-down fantasy takes place at the Apple Store Genius Bar. This collection runs the gamut of basic themes, including interracial lust, auditory voyeurism, and sub/dom play, all taken to a higher and creatively heady plane. [RACHEL BRAVMANN] MOREGASM: Babeland’s Guide to Mind-Blowing Sex By Claire Cavanah and Rachel Venning (Avery) Leave no orgasm unturned! The founders of Babeland, the nation’s most popular sextoy business, have compiled a fantastic book celebrating great, realistic sex, both with partner(s) and alone. What’s between these covers that wasn’t unveiled in your parents’ dusty copy of The Joy of Sex? To start, the inclusive and spirited Moregasm offers advice on anal sex as well as anal masturbation, fantasy role-playing, all manner of rarely voiced insecurities, dildos, birth control, positions that stretch beyond what’s often showcased in male-centric porn, and frank and accurate but still conversational answers to questions so varied, they effectively stamp out the notion that there’s such a thing as “normal” sex. Complete with beautiful color photos of people in various stages of undress and user-friendly how-to diagrams, this refreshing, visually appealing guide makes for the best sex expert a woman (or woman-loving man) could desire. [SARAH NORRIS] WHIP SMART: A Memoir By Melissa Febos (Thomas Dunne Books) One day, mulling over possible job options, college student Melissa Febos had a chat with her neighbor, a professional dominatrix. And so began a long journey of self-discovery. In Whip Smart, Febos chronicles her four years of working at a midtown N.Y.C. dungeon, from her clueless beginning to her seasoned, even somewhat wise, end. Sessions with clients are described in explicit, unshrinking detail, from required accoutrements, to clients’ specific kinks, and more. She also explains what made some sessions transcendent or simply great fun and others unbearable. Folded into the dominatrix narrative is another story about Febos’ longstanding drug addiction, which played a significant role in her domming work. Her self-assuredness sometimes ventures into annoying cockiness, and the book occasionally feels more like a journal than a polished final product. But overall, Whip Smart is an illuminating read, as Febos strives to take a bluntly honest look at both the world of commodified kink, and herself. [KIM HEDGES]

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the guide BOOKS IN THE LAND OF BELIEVERS: An Outsider’s Extraordinary Journey Into the Heart of the Evangelical Church By Gina Welch (Metropolitan Books) Gina Welch goes undercover into “the land of believers” in this honest and fair-minded chronicle of the two years she spent attending an evangelical megachurch in Virginia among Christian conservatives. Welch, a secular Jew raised in Berkeley, CA, and the daughter of a Communist, is basically as blue-state as you can get. She even has to chip the Kerry/Edwards bumper sticker off her car before her first Sunday visit. Nevertheless, she quickly gets the hang of churchgoing, and after spending some time with the godly folk of Thomas Road Baptist Church (run by none other than now-deceased Teletubby-hater Jerry Falwell), she’s soon belting out hymns—arms raised in praise—with the rest of the flock while secretly nurturing her own atheism. She even wins the prize for best evangelizer in her “100 Percent Effective Evangelism” course. Although she chafes at the church’s homophobia and pro-life politics, Welch discovers she appreciates the sense of community she finds in her singles group and bonds with one woman whose principles, if not beliefs, align with her own. But when she accompanies a group on a mission to Alaska (their goal: save 100 souls), she’s overcome with guilt for deceiving people she’s begun to call friends and quits the experiment. Welch may not have accepted Jesus into her heart, but she definitely opened herself up to evangelicals, and her empathic retelling of the experience smartly complicates stereotypes of the religious Right. [ERICA WETTER]

NEVER TELL OUR BUSINESS TO STRANGERS: A Memoir By Jennifer Mascia (Villard) When the FBI arrested ﬁve-year-old Jennifer Mascia’s fa96 / BUST // APR/MAY

ther in 1983, a family friend soothed her. “It’s not real,” he purred. “They’re making a movie.” But although it’s the stuff of Godfather films, Mascia’s thrilling story is entirely true: a tight-knit family of three on the lam, crisscrossing the country to escape a decade-old murder charge. Stints in California, Florida, and New York are populated by a cast of wild characters who, like her father, live on the periphery of mob life, as the Mascias alternate between high times fueled by drug dealing and stretches spent on food stamps. Unfortunately, an extraordinary life doesn’t always make an extraordinary book. What was fascinating in the tight confines of a 2007 New York Times “Modern Love” column has been inflated to book length by the insertion of a cacophony of names (every high-school friend and distant relative is cataloged) and often-mundane details about Mascia’s weight and love life. In expanding her narrative playing field, Mascia has leveled it, resulting in a world in which her father’s cancer diagnosis is presented on par with the breakdown of the elevator in their four-floor apartment building. Mascia, now a night assistant on the Times Metro desk and an otherwise strong writer, buries her story in long exchanges of dialogue, dulling the revelation of her family’s long-kept secrets. “It hadn’t exactly eaten me alive every day for the last six thousand days,” Mascia writes of her need to know the truth. And despite riveting raw material, readers may ultimately feel the same. [IRIS BLASI]

ORION YOU CAME AND YOU TOOK ALL MY MARBLES By Kira Henehan (Milkweed Editions) What if Nancy Drew grew up and lived in a bizarrely enigmatic ﬁlm-noir world? That question is answered in this novel, where we meet Finley: a discerning, meticulous investigator working at a nameless agency. Her latest case involves the cryptic Professor Uppal and his equally vexing puppets. The reasoning for the case is obscure, as Finley seems to in-

vestigate everything but the marionettes and their maker. Unfettered, she embarks upon making sense of the case with her colleagues, The Lamb and Murphy. Henehan’s packed, straightforward prose (Finley spares no detail or observation) stays transparent while the plot dives into surreal territory. Meanwhile, characters appear and disappear under strange circumstances, behave absurdly, and unveil complicated backstories of their own. As Finley uncovers the case of the puppets, the novel becomes a story about halves, about things that are unfinished, and it becomes clear that even Finley is not whole. She acts like an empty vessel juxtaposed against this noir detective landscape, deeply describing everyone she encounters but hardly describing herself. She watches, listens, and reports dutifully but does not remember much of her own past or even her real name. In this context, Henehan weaves a delicious plot of self-discovery as if in a dreamlike state. Each new development reveals a change in Finley’s own existence and resets the very world of the novel itself. [STEPHANIE VALENTE ]

OUR LADY OF IMMACULATE DECEPTION By Nancy Martin (Minotaur Books) Nancy Martin has taken a breather from her best-selling Blackbird Sisters series to pen a sidesplitting new mystery novel. In Our Lady of Immaculate Deception, Roxy Abruzzo is a sassy, steely single mom who just so happens to be the niece of a Pittsburgh mafia boss. She’s trying to stay a boulder’s throw from the family biz, but thieving runs in her blood, and when she “disappears” a Greek statue while doing rounds for her company, Bada Bling Architectural Salvage, she finds herself smack in the middle of a murder mystery that has more twists and turns than a box of Red Vines. Apart from Roxy’s sticky fingers, potty mouth, and appetite for trouble, her heart is in the right place; she strives to set a good

example for her teenage daughter as she navigates a mineﬁeld of big hair, bad attitudes, billionaires, and backstabbing family members. Seriously, Roxy and this motley crew of characters make Snooki and the Jersey Shore dudes look like humdrum mallrats. Martin’s voice is as witty and wicked-smart as ever, and the ride she takes the reader on is more fun and hairier than the squirrel cages at a state county fair. I smell a fresh series here and, dare I say, maybe even another bestseller. [MICHELLE KEHM]

THE TATTOOED LADY: A History By Amelia Klem Osterud (Speck Press) Today, tattoos on women are about as rare as birthmarks, but once upon a time, being inky was considered kinky. In this artful book, Osterud explores how, beginning in 1882, a few brave ladies bared (almost) all for their tattooists and then showed off their body art in sideshows. To not be treated as deviant or sick, these women had to literally stay under cover in their “real” lives, but on the road they made good moola ﬂaunting their elaborate tats. Interestingly, their show bios were just as elaborate—ﬁctional tales that involved being tattooed against their will by savages (“punctured purity” was how a news article described one tattooed lady). Despite their constraints, these working-class women were pioneers, according to Osterud, because they traveled and earned their own income during a time when most women led staid and dependent lives; plus, they paved the way for future female tattoo “freaks.” The Tattooed Lady doesn’t offer the most (sk)in-depth history of women and body art, but it does provide a fun peek into the lives of several early-sideshow gals and a few contemporary tatted-up performers. And though many of the photos come from the same source, what fantastic photos they are: beautiful vintage shots revealing intricate ink. Buy this book for your favorite body-art buff or for your own tattoo artist. [PAULA SEVENBERGEN]

sex ﬁles

like a virgin

ILLUSTRATED BY MASHANDA SCOTT

WOMEN TELL THEIR TALES OF BEING TOUCHED FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME IT’S AN ANECDOTE typically riddled with fumbling, blood, and backseats or basements, not to mention a plethora of underwhelming sensations. It’s the “how I lost my virginity” story, and nearly every woman has one. L.A.-based writer and editor Abby Kincaid, 35, is calling on those of us who’ve forfeited our V-cards to share our experiences with the world on her Web site, DefloweredMemoirs.com. Through word of mouth and Craigslist submission calls, Kincaid has rallied a bevy of sharp, brutally honest narratives for an ongoing project she hopes to one day publish. In the meantime, she updates the site regularly with her favorite stories of first-time fornication. Like the one written by a gal who lost it senior year of high school in her bedroom while her devout Catholic parents were in the house. Or the woman whose 9th-grade boyfriend readied a bowl of strawberries for them to smash on each other’s bodies, like her rock idols Jim Morrison and Grace Slick were rumored to have done during their one-night stand. Whatever the circumstances, Kincaid finds the event to be an important one. “Can we please get rid of the slut/prude continuum, the Madonna/whore complex?” asks Kincaid, who started Deflowered in 2007 to examine women’s experiences with virginity in a time

when it’s rarely saved for marriage but stigmatized if it’s lost beforehand. “I want all women to be able to make choices regarding their sexuality and its expression without worrying about its impact on their social reputation or their future relationships.” Initially, Kincaid’s intention was to publish only humorous and entertaining essays, but then she received a devastating submission from a woman who lost her virginity to a date rapist. At that point, she decided all types of deflowering tales deserved a place in the collection. “When I read the story,” she says, “I knew it was one that should be included as a reminder that, while many women, myself included, might choose to dispose of their virginity in a manner that seems fairly careless, some don’t get to choose at all.” In October 2009, Kincaid expanded the project to include live performance at a venue in L.A., enlisting actresses to bring the stories to life in Deflowered: Live and Rated R. “I believe that even people who would never want to discuss their own experiences in such a public forum can feel connected and understood and even quietly empowered when hearing the stories of others,” she says. Whether your first time was comic, tragic, or just pathetic, let Deflowered Memoirs pop your storytelling cherry. [ELIZABETH MCKENNA] // BUST / 97

sex ﬁles

real talk THE STAFFERS OF OUR FAVORITE FEMINIST-PORN MAG, CANDY RAIN, PUT THEIR BETWEEN-THE-SHEETS EXPERIENCE TO WORK, ANSWERING ALL YOUR SEX-RELATED QUESTIONS

My partner and I have decided to make condoms our contraceptive of choice. However, I hate the lubricants that come on most of them (I’m kind of a lube snob—I use only O’My). Can you recommend a lubricated condom that won’t ﬁll my vagina with icky chemical gunk (it really makes my vadge burn), or a good non-lubricated kind that will work with O’My? Slippery When Wet

Even if you are on birth control, we always advocate the use of condoms, but they’re sort of like bras—one size does not fit all. So grab a variety, and have a fuck fest till you find the one you like! Start with a non-latex sampler ($25.99, www.condomdepot.com). There is lube involved, but latex alternatives do a sensitive vadge good and can also be used with O’My, which is compatibly water-based. Another option is female condoms. They may look crazy, but they’re made from polyurethane, which is compatible with oil-, water-, and silicon-based lubes. If you want a non-synthetic condom, try one from Natural Lamb; it’ll protect against pregnancy but not STDs, so if you decide to go this route, make sure you and your partner get tested regularly, even if you are monogamous. If none of these float your baloney boat, go with Trustex or LifeStyles, two reliable brands with non-lubricated options.

Q. A.

I ﬁnd it hard to walk into a sex shop and buy an, ahem, vibrator. Are there health risks for stimulating my clit with other vibrating tools, like an electric toothbrush or a back massager? Ready to Rock

I recently met the man of my dreams. He’s brilliant, witty, sweet, can discuss feminism with me, and is a total fox. There’s only one problem: his penis is too big. I’m used to climaxing through vaginal intercourse, but even when I’m on top and controlling the penetration, my vagina just feels stuffed. I’m also concerned about stretching out my cooter because sometimes it hurts. Please tell me there’s something I can do about this. I need those vaginal orgasms! I also don’t know how to approach the issue with him. What am I going to say: “Your dick, son, is just too big”? No Room at the Inn

A friend of ours once cried the first time she saw a giant dick because she wasn’t up to the challenge (this cock was not only girthy but also bent like a U-lock). And the dude said she wasn’t the first lady to look at his peen and shed tears. Sad, yes, but the point is, a guy knows what he’s working with, so just be real and tell your bf when it hurts. This way, you two can comfortably experiment with positions. You can’t climb Kilimanjaro without a little training, and your vadge won’t be able to ascend your man’s equally daunting mountain dick, either, without some practice! So start by getting a lot of lube and playing with a dildo about the size of your man’s meat. This will help you figure out what works on your own, without the pressure of pleasing your partner. And don’t worry about your snatch stretching. Babies come out of there— babies with big heads, heads that are probably bigger then your dude’s package. Do some Kegels and you’ll tighten right back up. We definitely would not suggest breaking up with a dream guy over his dick size. What you have here is a prime opportunity to start communicating in the bedroom, which will benefit your relationship as a whole.

It’s natural to be nervous strolling into a sex shop for the first time. See if there are any women-friendly stores in your area; you may be able to find one that doesn’t freak you out. But there are plenty of alternatives. As for health risks, we wouldn’t suggest juicin’ all over something that will be difficult to keep clean, and as far as the toothbrush goes, use a little common sense: Don’t use the same one for your mouth that you use on your vagina, and don’t get those bristles involved. And guess what? Back massagers are vibrators! Like the Hitachi Magic Wand, which is famous for being an amazing clit stimulator, many are marketed as back massagers, so you can get them at Target, Wal-Mart, or maybe even your local drugstore, sans embarrassment. And don’t forget about the Web: one shy Candy Rain staffer got her first Rabbit vibe online. Why did humans invent the wheel? Progress. Why did we invent the Internet? Porn. Well, porn, and the ability to buy discreetly packaged sex toys without leaving the house so we don’t have to subject our clits to electronic household devices.

98 / BUST // APR/MAY

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sex ﬁles ONE-HANDED READ

roadie A BASS PLAYER ENJOYS ONE HELL OF AN OPENING ACT [BY LOUISE DEXTER]

THE BUS PULLED into the lot behind the stadium, late, as usual. We stumbled down the steps and staggered in the midday heat. I was exhausted. The band had been on the summer festival circuit for three weeks now in support of our new album. Regretting my decision to wear biker boots on such a sweltering day, I started to haul my bass and amp to the stage, but a pair of muscled, jean-clad legs stopped me in my path. Strong, tanned arms grabbed my gear as if it were featherweight. I trailed behind this mystery man as he took the stairs two at a time, and approached him as he was taking my bass out of its case. “A Lakland? Girl, this is a ﬁne piece,” he mused, turning to look up at me. Deep brown eyes twinkled beneath deliciously long lashes. His mess of thick black hair was scattered with a sexy helping of gray, and a scruffy half-beard framed the most gorgeous cheekbones I’d ever seen. Under his unbuttoned short-sleeve collared shirt, the ubiquitous black roadie T-shirt stretched tight across his pecs. I realized I was speechless and busied myself setting up my Ampeg. In the rush to sound check, I nearly forgot about the hot stranger. The stadium gates were opening, and we were ushered off the stage. I went in search of somewhere cool, settling for a patch of shade next to the stairs, where I curled up with my head on my arms. I woke with a start, sensing somebody close to me. Those stunning brown eyes were taking me in as the roadie stood over me, holding a couple of beers. “It’s cooler under there.” He gestured through a gap in the stage structure, then crouched down and indicated for me to follow. I crawled through the scaffolding, enjoying the sight of his cute ass leading the way. Sunlight spilled in from gaps through which I could see concertgo100 / BUST // APR/MAY

ers waiting in front of the stage, but it was dark and cool where we were. “Cheers,” he said, handing me a beer, resting his free hand on one of my boots as he took a swig. I opened my mouth to ask his name, but the band above us started up, making conversation impossible. I laughed, and he laughed with me, his hand moving up to my knee. I leaned back on my elbows and spread my legs a little, inviting him to continue his exploration. My skirt fell back revealing what I wasn’t wearing beneath— hot days and panties just don’t go together for me. He cocked an eyebrow at me, and I noticed an excited tightening in his groin. Thrilled, I reached for him but he shook his head. Placing himself between my knees, he brought his tongue to my clit. I gasped and my hips bucked, but his ﬁrm hands gripped my inner thighs, holding me down while he went to town, licking and tickling with delicious skill. While the band above played a soaring chorus over and over, he cupped his hands under my ass, his tongue keeping rhythm with the music. I reared and shuddered and called out until I came. Panting, I reached for him again, wanting to release the bulge in his jeans, but he held me off. Pushing me back, he ran his hands over my stomach and under my T-shirt until he had my breasts in his grasp. Pulling the cups of my bra down to release them, he smiled at the sight and went ﬁrst for one, then the other, sucking and kneading and pinching while I moaned with delight. He’d found my weak spot, and he knew it. Sliding his hand down my body, he kept sucking my nipples

while his fingers found my wet and swollen pussy and played with me until I came again. I sat up, breathless and flushed. He was on his knees, leaning back as he casually finished his beer. “Thanks,” I mouthed. He reached over and planted a salty, sultry kiss on my lips. “You’re welcome.” But I wasn’t done. I moved swiftly to unbutton his fly, my thighs clamped over his. He fell back in surprise as I released his thick, ready cock. After sucking him good and hard, I gripped the scaffolding above me, lowering myself onto him. A powerful drumbeat started up as I slid myself up and down his shaft, and by the time the guitar riff kicked in, we were locked into a deep rhythm. I looked down at him and recognized the beautiful, glazed expression of a man nearing release. “Come, baby, come!” I yelled above the music. He shook his head; he was waiting for me. Desperate to bring him sweet relief, I arched my back and thrust my pelvis into his groin so my clit rubbed against his skin, my knees grinding into the dirt on either side of him. The shudders and bucking began, and I was coming again, hard and fast. As the waves subsided, he pulled me off him, gripped his swollen cock, and finally let himself go, coming all over my stomach and breasts, growling in my ear and dipping his tongue into my mouth. At last, we were finished. So was the band above us. I panicked, knowing mine was the next act on stage. Taking off his shirt, he wiped me clean and helped tidy me up. Then he handed me my beer and slapped me on the ass as I crawled toward the stairs. “Go get ’em, girl.”

BUST (ISSN 1089-4713), No. 62, Apr/May, 2010. BUST is published bi-monthly in Feb/Mar, April/May, June/July, Aug/Sept, Oct/ Nov, and Dec/Jan by BUST, Inc., 78 5th Avenue #5, New York, NY, 10011-8000. Printed in the U.S.A. Periodicals postage paid at New York, NY, and additional mailing ofﬁces. Subscription prices, payable in U.S. funds, are $19.95 for one year (6 issues). Additional postage: In Canada add $10 per year, and in all other foreign countries add $20 per year. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to BUST, P.O. BOX 16775, NORTH HOLLYWOOD, CA, 91615.

102 / BUST // APR/MAY

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X GAMES [BY DEB AMLEN]

cop a feel 62. See 61-Across 63. Lose ground 64. Chops 65. Bit of gossip 66. Died down 67. Cap. of the Netherlands 68. “___ Got You” Patsy Cline hit

Down

Across 1. Hitachi’s is Magic 5. Popular Indian vegetarian dish made with spinach 9. You can see right through them 14. It may get a licking after dinner 15. Seed cover 16. “It’s ___, not a science” 17. The ___ Housewives of New Jersey 18. Feast

ANSWERS TO “BURLESQUE BREAKDOWN” FROM THE FEB/MAR ‘10 ISSUE. FOR ANSWERS TO THIS ISSUE’S PUZZLE, SEE NEXT ISSUE OF BUST.

19. The Raveonettes’ “Black ___” 20. Annual mammograms and regular self-exams can aid in ___ ___ of breast cancer (2 words) 23. Dixie pronoun 24. Hi-___ graphics 25. Give in to gravity 28. Mortars’ partners 31. Cries of pain 34. “Let ___ ___!” (“Go ahead!” 2 words) 36. Laid low 37. Julie Harris’ role in East of Eden 38. Well-known Web site that encourages breast self-exams, with “.com” 42. “Tsk” relatives 43. Bake sale grp. 44. “___ ___ directed” (words on an aspirin bottle, perhaps) 45. Place for sweaters 46. “A hard man is good to ﬁnd” speaker 49. What’s up? 50. Har ___ Superstar 51. Lady’s man 53. The goal of 38-Across (and don’t forget to get an annual mammogram if you’re over 40) 60. Coming-out, of a sort 61. With 62-Across, a balm for burns

1. Modeled, as clothing 2. Length x width, for a rectangle 3. Close by 4. Backwoods Barbie singer Parton 5. Seat for a cowgirl 6. Sharon and others 7. “If it ___ broke...” 8. FOX show about McKinley High music club 9. Afﬁxes in a scrapbook, say 10. Diarist Nin 11. Defense acronym 12. ___ Brockovich 13. RR stop 21. Like some small dogs 22. Words to live by 25. Separates, like ﬂour 26. Enjoyed immensely (2 words) 27. Reclusive actress Garbo 29. Lose on purpose 30. Women’s ___ 31. Off-Broadway awards 32. Unleash, as havoc 33. Defunct cult teen magazine founded in 1988 35. They, in Tours 37. Stomach muscles, for short 39. Like Bridget Riley’s paintings 40. Colorado native 41. Beyond the fringe 46. Shake alternative 47. Macaroni shapes 48. Most achy 50. “And then there’s ____” (words from a ’70s sitcom theme) 52. Former Black Panther Angela ___ 53. Wife of Zeus 54. Black, in poetry 55. “That‘s hysterical!” 56. Protomatter from which the universe was created 57. Buffy the Vampire Slayer actor Green 58. Branch headquarters 59. ___ Club 60. Morning moisture // BUST / 107

thelast the lastlaugh laugh {BY ESTHER PEARL WATSON}

108 / BUST // APR/MAY