LOCK UP YOUR DAUGHTERS KOREAN PRIDE TAXONOMY OF BEARS TOMMY GA KEN WAN RAE SPOON SHUNDA K HOMO HONG KONG GOOD VIBES AND HIGH FIVES Issue 5 - Winter 2010
£
ISSUE 5 Winter 2010
Editor: Sophie Holmes Copy editors: Jen Davies, Helen Wright Design: Emma Faulkner, Jen Davies Website/Events: Lucy Elliott Words: Stephanie Holmes, Alex Stirling-Reed, Petra Davis, Lady Munter, Soxy Music, Kirsty Logan, Maja Shand, Niall Connolly, Graeme Park, Helen Wright, Jack Dawes Pictures: Alex Stirling-Reed, Ralph Francis Fox (Salute!), Jon Pritchard, Michael James, Les Garcons de Glasgow, Erin McGrath, Tommy Ga Ken Wan, Julie Eisenstein, Jack Dawes, Devil Kitty Contact: info@lockupyourdaughtersmagazine.co.uk www.lockupyourdaughtersmagazine.co.uk Facebook: groups/LOCK UP YOUR DAUGHTERS MAGAZINE Twitter: twitter.com/LUYDMagazine Printed by Montgomery Litho Group, Glasgow
SANDI TOKSVIG Oh Sandi Toksvig, for years I’ve concealed my flame for fear of your Tory leanings. But wait, what’s that? You’re a raging liberal? Well, be still my beating heart! Your sensible haircut, clipped vowels and noble surname make me weak at the knees. Come on Sandi, call my bluff…
After whetting our globetrotting appetites with our focus on the United States, LUYD has moved on from exoticising white picket fences and Taco Bell and brings you another international issue - this time with a more eastern feel. It’s easy to grow complacent about Pride and the shortcomings of the Scottish gay scene when our idea of ‘east’ extends to the other end of the M8. However, in a nation as conservative as Korea it is clear to see what the impact that events such as Seoul Pride (pgs 6-9) can have in terms of visibility and awareness. In a culture where being gay is seriously taboo and controversy is ignored to the point that it ceases to exist Pride is as vital as it ever was. Kirsty Logan returns with an account of her experience in Tokyo in Peach Cigarettes (pgs 18-21) while Graeme Park invites us along to his debauched night out on Hong Kong’s gay scene in Does your Mother Know? (pgs 32-33). For our centrefold this issue LUYD is very proud to present prodigious photographer and local boy Tommy Ga Ken Wan. Resident gremlin Jack Dawes takes us on a highly academic tour of the History of Lesbians in British Soaps (pgs 10-12). Niall Connolly gives us his lyrical bent on the Taxonomy of Bears (pgs 37-39) while Petra Davis reviews Apple™’s latest innovation in life-cum-technology. Orgasm? Yup – there’s an app for that (pgs 28-29). So meine Lieblings, issue #5 and going strong! A year on since becoming a monthly night this issue’s showcasing Jon Pritchard’s club photography (pgs 40-45). Here’s to the next year and to all you beautiful losers! LUYD x
CONTENTS 6.
PRIDE IN SOUTH KOREA
10. LESBIANS IN SOAP 13. DRAG 15. RAE SPOON 18. PEACH CIGARETTES IN TOKYO 22. TOMMY GA KEN WAN 28. OH Mi BOD 30. FILM REVIEWS 32. HOMO HONG KONG 34. SHUNDA K 37. TAXONOMY OF BEARS 40. JON PRITCHARD PHOTOGRAPHY 46. COMIC - NO STRINGS ATTACHED 48. EL GROUCHO HOROSCOPES
6 PRIDE IN SOUTH KOREA The lack of publicity surrounding Seoul’s Queer festival made it difficult to believe it was actually braving its 11th annual celebration. Information online was either sparse or, as is in keeping with South Korea’s strict censorship regulations, blocked. Leading me to wonder, just how much “pride” would actually be on display? Information via word of mouth was equally hushed. On asking my Korean coworkers if they were planning to attend few had even heard of it and those who had couldn’t understand why I would want to go. This so-called celebration looked set to be a very coy affair indeed.
The weather that day was equally unobliging. The row of brightly coloured floats stood sadly bedraggled as Seoul’s blackened skies gave way to a torrential downpour. The blue skies of the previous weeks would no doubt have left the organizers feeling confident that the day would be blessed with the same. Sadly it wasn’t to be. And so it was with the rustle of hastily bought plastic ponchos that people cautiously left the muggy underworld of Seoul’s subway station and made their way toward the collection of rainbow banners and umbrellas. The stretch of colour stood in stark contrast against their dismal urban surroundings. Inside the nearest shopping centre a motley crew of Koreans and foreigners stood smoking and talking whilst taking shelter from the rain. A glum bear peered from behind his Ray Bans and some butches stood watching their tiny drowned dog. All the while organizers buzzed around the mall trying to encourage people to abandon their plastic seats and tepid junk food and venture out
8
into the rain. The first act, a girl-fronted punk band, took to the stage and people finally began to gather. As the weather began to brighten even the most cautious of spectators (and the Koreans are notorious for being cautious) began to lower their umbrellas or plastic hoods. Organizers and volunteers wandered amidst the damp crowd handing out the required “press passes” to anyone taking photos who cared to sign a disclaimer promising not to use them in a subversive way. People with disposable cameras wandered around proudly brandishing their oversized passes. As the acts drew to a close, the parade set off to Poker Face. The focal point appeared to be two Korean girls in tight leather shorts dancing and thrusting much to the embarrassment of accidental passer-bys keen to distance themselves from such taboo flouting revellers. As the parade crossed a series of major roads motorists waited with a practised, vague indifference. Buses full of police sat idle; few of the police even bothered to get out their cars, either for fear of getting wet
(rumour has it that the rain is so polluted that it makes you go bald) or to avoid any association with the event, even in a professional capacity. At no point was there even a hint of trouble or protest against the proceedings let alone any organised, active opposition. And so as quickly as the parade had begun to grow in confidence and gather momentum, it began to wind down and dissipate. According to the Korean constitution, homosexuality is technically legal. Despite this, any homosexual relationship is officially classified as “sexual harassment” regardless of consent. Koreans are still extremely reserved. Samesex couples are rarely seen in public and any ostentatious displays of affection, gay or straight, are heavily frowned upon. It was surprising that a culture as conservative as Korea would have a Words: Stephanie Holmes, Alex Stirling-Reed Pictures: Alex Stirling-Reed
Gay Pride celebration at all. Perhaps its presence is a reflection of western influence, or perhaps of its necessity - it is impossible to say, especially since Koreans are so reluctant to divulge any personal opinions. The cause has been helped somewhat in recent times by a number of prominent figures and celebrities coming out. The tide of public opinion does seem to be turning. This is in spite of Prime Minister Lee Myung-Bak’s efforts who in 2007 stated that he considered homosexuality “abnormal” and strongly opposed legalising gay marriage. Given the current climate it is doubtful whether homosexuality will be ‘accepted’ anytime soon. However, if efforts continue who’s to say whether things won’t be different by the time Seoul Pride reaches its second decade.
10 THIS IS ENGLAND
Soaps are weird. Several times a week, a zillion British people watch shows about the misadventures of the (frequently criminally insane) broken detritus of modern society as they blunder about in laundromats, pubs and bedsits, hopelessly grasping for some semblance of a life. This is England. Soaps are to Panto what tragedy is to comedy: universal human themes and everyone having a shit time. And what makes them even better is that there are lesbians on them sometimes! What follows is a totally objective chronological account of female homosexuals in postmodern British televised serials.
1994 Brookside - Beth Jordache In the beginning, there was Anna Friel on Brookside. And the viewers saw that she was well fit, if a little frumpy, and the landscape of soap was changed forever. A landmark in cardigan porn, many viewers found such explicit scenes of chunky-knit Aran wool before the watershed shocking. 1996 Emmerdale - Zoe Tate There’s really no excuse for Emmerdale. I think my Granny only tolerated it because she was on so much Valium for her tinnitus. Anyway, everyone’s favourite country-dwelling lesbian schizophrenic, Zoe Tate, totally pre-empted the whole civil partnership thang by ‘marrying’ her partner. She also lasted from 1993 - 2005, making her easily the longest lasting lez on British telly. 2006 Eastenders - Sonia Fowler Before her illustrious career as pregnancy columnist for New! magazine, she was Natalie Cassidy: Worst Lesbian Ever. Erotic though it was to watch Sonia, complete with all the enthusiasm of a cat in a ducking stool, reluctantly bump mandibles with a woman, the storyline was ill-conceived and soon fizzled out with a consumptive whimper. But give them a break, yeah? Eastenders isn’t really that interested in lesbians. It’s far more into promoting diversity with its one Asian family. However, although hawk-eyed, leather-skirted Shirley is not a lesbian per se, she must be mentioned as holding supreme dykonic status. Having busted balls as the Baddest Girl of them all on G-Wing (where she was again, incredibly, not an actual lesbian), she now divides her time between being Philip Treacy’s new muse and surrogate father to human-Tunnock’s-Teacake-Heather’s illegitimate sprog.
2009 Hollyoaks - Sarah Barnes If your favourite soap is Hollyoaks, you are either a) dim or b) horny. Set in a terrifying distopia where there are no adults or children - only maladjusted, unthinkably buff youths clamouring around like the spawn of Steps - Hollyoaks is the show for those who like a bit of drama with their midriff. Also, the occasional lesbionic high-street-honey. So there was this love triangle between these two hot girls and one ratty one and the ratty one cut up one of their parachutes before they all hurled themselves out of a plane (living in Chester drives people to this sort of behaviour) and so FHM fave Sarah Barnes was mashed into the ground, her blood-curdling scream echoing for miles around. Except, 97% of viewers were too absorbed in wanking over ubertwink Jean-Paul or wondering whether the lipo on Jennifer Metcalfe’s bum was worth it, so nobody really noticed. Still, if you’d like to recap, some considerate loser has posted a very distressing video of Sarah plummeting to her death to the tune of ‘How Do I Live Without You’ on YouTube. 2010 Coronation Street - Sophie Webster Apparently, the most common reason teenagers lose their virginity is boredom, something there is no shortage of on Coronation Street. Boredom unto death. There is literally nothing to do except perhaps stab Ryan repeatedly in the face with a pair of Bette Lynch’s earrings. Fortunately, Sophie Webster and Sian Powes have discovered that getting off with each other alleviates the misery of crying and freezing their tits off through nylon school shirts in Saaaaouffffpoooaaaaaaarrrrrrht. They are Soap’s best gay couple, Sian’s gaping mouth and permanently befuddled expression is perfectly offset by Sophie’s scornful lip curl and heavy-lidded ennui. Their relationship may look like the regional heats of Strictly Come Sulking but they have their good times - constipating themselves silly on chip butties, modelling identical Sporty Spice ‘up’ do’s, running away to gay Mecca Scarborough... Sadly, the gals don’t get up to any more than snogging and surreptitiously rubbing elbows in choir practice because this is only 8pm and we don’t want to frighten our largely geriatric audience into defecting to the Emmerdale camp. Despite these constraints, the romance manages to be well written, well acted and authentic. What’s more, unlike the bronzed sirens of Hollyoaks, Corrie’s teenbians are just rough enough to be believable. Sian tells Sophie she’s ‘fitter than Beyonce’ and the salted earth of my cynical heart yields a tentative bud of sentimentality. Or maybe I just like a girl in uniform.
Words & pictures: Jack Dawes
14
DRAG For me, drag is less about sequins, Shirley Bassey and end-of-the-pier entertainment and more about simply dressing the outside to reflect the inside. Sure, drag may be more associated with the heightened transient state of clubbing, being the embodiment of carnivale and modernity and all that, but personally I feel that my drag has more to do with the ritual and ceremony of the geisha, existing as a living work of art. That work of art can be serious, dramatic, comedic, pastiche, horrific, whatever. It’s all about performance. Drag isn’t a mask I wear that obscures my true identity - quite the opposite. If anything, it helps me eke out those otherwise hidden areas of my identity and put them on display to the outside world, illuminating what normally goes unseen. Drag has little if anything to do with sex. It’s about the fluidity of gender. It’s not about the female body but rather all the peripheral surroundings of the ‘traditional’ female form. Clothing, action, gesticulation, and everything else that is perceived to construct a prototypical ‘woman’ are adopted and then amplified. Interestingly, the majority of my drag icons and inspirations are men. Boy George, Pete Burns, Words: Lady Munter Pictures: Michael James
Leigh Bowery, Justin Bond, RuPaul, Quentin Crisp, David Hoyle. With the exception of Lady Gaga (who is essentially a ‘tranny with a fanny’ anyway), their focus on genderfuck is what drew me to them and their style. Labels like ‘drag queen’, ‘cross-dresser’, ‘transvestite’, ‘whatever’, really do not bother me. I don’t really care what you call me, so long as you call me! I love the transformative power of makeup. The facial features that I heighten or underscore with makeup are my own. I like to see how I look in different wigs. I like the way that heels elongate my legs. There is also a definite element of the monstrous in what I do. Not just vampishness and hard glamour, but the ridiculous, the extreme, the caricature, the cartoonish proportions of my enhanced anatomy and face. I like to play into the fears and uncertainties that strangers feel when faced with me. I couldn’t bear to be thought of as fey. I guess that’s where I differ to a lot of queens - I’m confrontational, in attitude and aesthetic but bitchy-for-the-sakeof-it drag queens are ten a penny. I’ve always been driven by a desire to push that red button, to cross that line. This isn’t a throwaway guise I assume - this is me, to the very core.
THIS AIN’T NO COUNTRY SONG… Stereo’s stage is a big stage to fill, especiallyforamanwhostandsinperfect proportion to his three-quarter sized guitar. However, as Rae Spoon steps into the spotlight, as if by some optical illusion, everything shrinks back and there is only him – he owns it.
Coy yet confident in equal measure Spoon is a natural charmer. His between song chat is, if slightly awkward, not unnatural and the modest Sunday evening crowd are drawn in and edging towards the stage. Originally from Calgary, Spoon’s early sound is distinctly country. “I grew up on the prairie and moved to Vancouver when I was 19 and then I got homesick, well not homesick but yeah I just started writing about the prairie, there’s a lot of country music where I grew up. My uncles all drive trucks and wear cowboy boots and have handlebar moustaches, it’s cool I guess, until they start saying bad things.”
Tonight’s gig is 100% ‘new’ Spoon. Armed with laptop and effects pedal - “this makes my guitar sound like an electric”. The Euro/electro influences absorbed through a spell in Berlin are clearly audible. “I re-learned how to sing so I wouldn’t sound so country, I mean it still sounds a little bit country but I try to just sound as little country as possible”, despite this, Spoon’s musical heritage shines through and by the time the last notes of his final song fade away, the audience is literally howling at the moon.
18 PEACH CIGARETTES IN TOKYO The first time I ever smoked a peach cigarette, I was wearing a dinosaur suit and sitting on my friend’s balcony in a Tokyo suburb
My friend had a dinosaur suit because he’d gone to a fancy dress party the week before, and I was wearing it because I was cold and it was made of fleece. I’d never been much of a smoker, but the vending machine sold dozens of different flavours and what was the point of travelling halfway around the world if I wasn’t going to try new things? It was the end of my first day in Japan, and I felt overwhelmed with the strangeness of it all. Scotland has its fair share of oddities, but nothing compared to shops selling comedy wigs for babies and solar-powered money boxes. The air here felt heavy and hot – there is no such thing as humidity in Scotland, and I wasn’t used to feeling like I was breathing through a wet cloth. There was so much going on, and nothing was familiar. I’d never felt so far from home. Through the door to the balcony I could see my friend at the other end of his tiny flat, bathed in the glow of his laptop screen, tracing kanji symbols onto his palm. He was in his final year of a degree in Japanese, and had to learn 150 kanji symbols a week. I lit my cigarette, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back against the railing. Above me was the same night sky that I’d seen a thousand times at home. I breathed in the dusk air and listened to the flats around me relaxing into their evenings. Suburban families, the mutter of other people’s
televisions, the evening sky: finally something was familiar. I felt calm for the first time since I’d got off the plane. The second time I smoked a peach cigarette was two weeks later, on my final evening in Tokyo. My friend had gone out to a prison-themed bar, but as I was slightly hung over from the night before I’d decided to stay in his flat and finish packing. I made the ten-minute walk to the conbini (convenience store) to get my dinner: iced coffee and triangles of sticky rice. It had rained earlier, and the air smelled clean and cold. I knew it was going to be the last time I walked down this street, and I tried to absorb everything: the curious smell from the always-closed shopfront, the name of which my friend could not translate – either fish or carpenter, he said; the American-themed bar selling pizza and terrifyingly expensive beer; the jingle of a bell as a cyclist tried to pass; the restaurants that are just a tiny kitchen and some stools out on the pavement; the shushed wails of a baby; the house so overgrown with ivy that you’d think it must be abandoned – except for the light glowing from an almost-hidden window. I went left, then right, then right again, turning down dark suburban alleys between pools of streetlight. When I got to my friend’s flat, I realised that I hadn’t been paying attention to my
route. After two weeks, I knew this place so well I didn’t even have to think. I stood outside his door, finishing my cigarette as I dug through my pockets for the spare key. I’d spent a fortnight in a city where dogs wear hair-clips and get pushed around in prams; people wear surgical masks for their morning commute; you can eat lunch served by girls in maid uniforms while surrounded by dozens of cats; and everything – everything – can be bought from vending machines. Finally, on this walk between quiet houses, I started to make sense of it. Sure, some things were still pretty mystifying, but I was beginning to feel like I knew what I was doing. I could navigate the subway system and order food in restaurants. I knew how much chilli oil to put in my ramen and which types of sushi were made of mysterious sea creatures. I had swallowed down huge chunks of this strange city, and now I was ready to go home. The third time, my girlfriend was out at band practice and I had stayed at home. I spread myself out on the couch with a glass of wine and a book of short stories. As usually happens when I start reading, I wanted to write. I opened my laptop. Three sentences later, I didn’t want to write any more: the story had floundered, the Words: Kirsty Logan Picture: Erin McGrath
flat was too hot. I had forgotten I had any peach cigarettes. My girlfriend doesn’t like smoking, and the pack had stayed at the bottom of my suitcase since my return from Tokyo three months ago. Something about my frustration made me remember them, and I dug the slightly crushed pack out of the suitcase jammed into the bottom of my wardrobe. I took my wine glass and lighter out to the back of our building, to the paved area with the bin shed and washing line and a view of the rear windows of a dozen flats. Every window was lit up, so I smoked my slightly bent cigarette and watched the city go to bed. The air smelled of frying food and clean laundry, and it was warm enough that I hadn’t put shoes on but cold enough that the hairs on my arms felt rough. I could see a few burning blobs where other people had gone out for their own secret cigarettes. I liked the feeling of having a communal secret. I went back inside and wrote a page without blinking.
22 TOMMY GA KEN WAN
On a night out, Tommy Ga Ken Wan stops every few minutes to take a photograph. He grins, offers the LCD screen of his camera, his subject is pleased, grins back and another friendship is forged.
At just 24 the Glasgow-based photographer has already worked for, and with, an enviable array of emerging and established names in the art world. And it’s no wonder. He’s been short-listed for the National Gallery of Scotland’s Photographer in Residence, and lauded by - among others - artist Martin Firrell, Scottish literary giant Alasdair Gray, and veteran Private Eye photographer Eric Hands. The harrowing last days of his Alzheimer’s-suffering great grandmother, his circumcision, his fleeting relationships, his lovers, his wayward party antics and nocturnal peregrinations through Glasgow, Hong Kong, London, and Paris; nothing escapes the click of Ga Ken Wan’s shutter. His photographs are a contradiction in terms. At once synaptic and fresh they are equally cool and composed: the hipper, headier, filmic-version of our lives. Tommy Ga Ken Wan is astute, by turns gregarious and withdrawn, he is also wildly funny and erudite. In the four years I’ve known him, I’ve seen him rise from a relative unknown to a kind of local celebrity. Yet even with a headcount that boasts Stephen Fry, Germaine Greer, Richard Dawkins, and various noteworthy bands, writers, actors, poets, and politicians, he still insists that his favourite subjects are the people he knows. Those without what he calls a ‘front’ for the camera. You seem to have a compulsion to take photographs – what drives that compulsion? At the time when I began to take photographs I was a teenager and was, like most teenagers, very shy and insecure. I found the camera to be a useful aid for these disabilities - whenever I would blush or
when there was an awkward moment I didn’t know how to fill, I would just lift the camera to my face. One of the passages of fiction I most vividly remember reading is in Milan Kundera’s Unbearable Lightness of Being, in which the camera is described as a both a ‘mechanical eye’ with which to observe and a veil with which to conceal the photographers face. So it was with my camera and me. I suppose this is what attracted me to photography at that time, but I later learned that it satisfied a much deeper need I had, the need to create. Photography was perfect for me in that I could integrate it entirely into my life as something both spontaneous and instantaneous. Would you agree that your success is in part due to your social presence in and around Glasgow? A love of, or even an obsession with, photographing people has driven me to spend time around them, and throw myself into social scenes and situations where I could do this and enjoy myself at the same time. Much of what I consider to be my best work has been taken in these circumstances, and so in this sense it has been central to my ‘success’. And recently you have been involved in some exciting projects with Glasgow’s Che Camille, and fashion blog Les Garcons de Glasgow. Che Camille has for a long time been at the centre of a particular scene in Glasgow. The atmosphere while working with Che Camille is so high-spirited and enjoyable: everyone knows each other and it’s easy to forget that it is made up of people who are serious about and good at what they do. Che Camille and Les Garcons are fine examples of a creative energy in Glasgow that I find it hard to believe is as easily found in other cities. Although they are concerned mainly with fashion, the same creativity and drive can be seen in Glasgow’s music and club scene, and I feel privileged that I’m able to participate to some extent in all of this. Is there ever a tension between TGKW the documentarian and TGKW the aestheticist? The relationship between the two is complicated although I don’t think it ever produces tension. While I may document things that are sad, ugly or horrifying, I always aim to take a photograph that has aesthetic appeal regardless of its subject matter. What’s the difference between taking and editing a photo? The process of editing a photograph is an opportunity to look in many different ways, to suggest something with tone or colour. Analogous to writing, different manipulations of the tone curve of a photograph is like wording or structuring a sentence differently: it can emphasise different aspects it can reveal or conceal. While the camera cannot lie, photographers can: in framing a shot, I decide what is included and what is excluded from an image. I decide the moment I release the shutter. A photograph presents the surface and suggests what lies beneath. It can be misleading. You have recently experimented with the moving image – notably Red Eggs, and my personal favourite, the My Granny “get that oot ma fuckin’ face” Annie videos (see YouTube for My Granny Annie’s Ultimate Compilation Party Mix). Tell me more about this. And, My Granny Annie: what a legend! Hah, well, they’ve only had a relatively modest numbers of hits, but someone did recently introduce me to a friend of theirs as “This is Granny Annie’s Grandson!”
Cinematography, rather than other photography, has always been the main inspiration for and influence in my work, but it wasn’t until I met and worked with the filmmaker Jean-Julien Pous who films his personal projects with a Nikon D90, that I was inspired to give it a go myself. At the moment my own projects are no more than experiments, but I’m hopeful! Where do you see yourself in ten year’s time? The thing I love most about doing what I do is that it is unpredictable. I never know what might come next. Tomorrow I may get an email asking me to take the headshots for a small business round the corner from me. I may instead get an email asking me to work on a film set in Tokyo. If I have a goal for ten years from now, then it is a vague one: I hope simply to be busy photographing things that interest me, and not have to worry about next month’s rent while I do it. Words: Maja Shand Pictures: Tommy Ga Ken Wan
OHMiBOD - VIBRATORS OF THE FUTURE? Petra Davis, bifurious sex writer, tests a new family of vibrators designed to get us hard-to-please GenY queers where we really feel it – our music collections Sex toy marketing is generally TERRIBLE. We’ve seen the vibrator as perfectocock (with or without clit destroyer), the vibrator as liberator of the g-spot (basically a condom over a hand-whisk), the vibrator as racist fetish object (so big! So black! So veiny!), and even the vibrator as symbol of lesbian purity (an egg? Seriously?). Design is all, and not enough time is spent thinking about queer [dis]function: will it fit a harness? Will it tear my boy’s arse? Will it go off in my bag during meetings, spurring an impromptu office sex party? Ohmibod is a welcome step towards a more conceptual understanding of sex toys, and the concept is simple: ohmibod is a vibrator that allows you to get off to sound. It vibrates in time with whatever it’s plugged into, whether that be your ipod, your phone, or even – when unplugged - ambient sound. The product line includes 3 different designs, and each design is all about function. Praise, you pervs, the sweet baby Jesus. Road test: the original ohmibod is a standard wand vibrator, smooth, pink and harmonious of proportion (it’s designed to fit in with the ipod range – creator Suki is a former Apple product manager). It’s versatile, with adjustably intense vibes, and good for external and internal use. It’s fine for fucking and pegging too, though to really experience it you have to plug it in to your ipod and go it alone. I tried getting off to Rammstein (rhythmically interesting, but all that roaring got a bit Tolkeinesque after a while) and Jefferson Airplane (Grace Slick has a voice like a thigh I want to bite) before settling in to a cosmic disco mix that made me cum pretty hard. What’s interesting about this version of the ohmibod is that it takes the focus away from the vibrator as object, and focuses you on the music and its relationship to your own body. I had difficulty walking afterwards – everything pulsed, and I was superaware of sound. If the wand ohmibod is best used solo, the boditalk – a streamlined bullet - is perfect for phone sex. It plugs into your phone and allows you to get off in time with whatever your partner’s saying; a little odd at first, dirty talk being rhythmically unpredictable, but as soon as you’re both mmming in sync, it’s incredible. You know that thing where you hear the other person make that tiny noise at the back of their throat and it just tips you over the edge? Yeah, that. Only more so. The final element of the ohmibod is the Club Vibe – a tiny bullet vibrator that picks up ambient sound and vibrates to it. Designed to be worn while out dancing, it comes with a vibe adjuster and thong. I took it out for a test drive at a local queer electro night. I can’t say it wasn’t strange, secretly thrumming away in a roomful of people; it was. And it made me feel super dirty turning up the volume as the floor filled up. I chickened out of getting off, came home in the cab (which almost finished me off – never before have the words ‘that’ll be £5.80 love’ been so charged) and fucked the shit out of my boyfriend, but if I’d had a fellow traveller on the dancefloor, things might well have been different. LUYD Christmas party anyone? Ohmibod is available from http://www.ohmibod.com Words: Petra Davis Picture: Ralph Francis Fox (www.salutehq.com)
CELLULOID TRIP THE FISH CHILD Whilst there’s been an explosion of queer characters in filmmaking of late, they tend to be billed along an unproblematic straight/gay divide. For those of us who sit outside this binary, XXY, the story of an intersex person exploring their sexuality, was a welcome interjection. Following the film’s success on the international festival circuit, director Lucía Puenzo returns with The Fish Child. Lala (played by XXY’s Inés Efron) lives with her family in an expensive villa in Argentina and is in love with Ailín, their Paraguayan housekeeper. The smitten pair hatch a plan to rob Lala’s parents and use the cash to run away to Ailín’s hometown and build an idyllic house by Lake Ypoá. Unfortunately, as Lala discovers, the lake has a more sinister
resonance. Some surreal underwater shots reveal the fantasy ‘fish child’ who lives there. This creature is a Guaraní old wives’ tale and represents Ailín’s troubled past and resultant compulsive sexual behaviour. Puenzo’s second film is a love story, a crime thriller and a fairytale all in one. It’s also a social commentary on economic disparity and sexual exploitation in South America. Servant Ailín is automatically blamed for a crime which wealthy Lala commits and is abused throughout by males in position of power. The Fish Child is not as subtle in its storytelling as XXY but contains the same rich characterisation that makes it nonetheless gripping and powerful. Words: Helen Wright Pictures: courtesy of Peccadillo Pictures
31 BLUE GATE CROSSING There’s a theory that all teenagers are queer and that their passage into adulthood involves being moulded into good, honest, hetero citizens. Blue Gate Crossing, a 2002 film set in Taiwan, features a teen love triangle that highlights the tension between unadulterated lust and the social pressure to conform. Yuezhen is besotted with Shihao. In a time before Facebook, she must resort to more traditional stalking methods such as stealing his trainers and fashioning a mask with his picture on it. Shihao is, however, obsessed with Yuezhen’s best friend Kerou and follows her around, eating dinner at Kerou’s mother’s snack bar every night, until she agrees to go out with him. Kerou, meanwhile, is in love with Yuezhen. She is unwilling to tell her and goes out with Shihao in the hope that her lesbian tendencies will diminish if she dates
a boy. All three enamoured adolescents are charming in their vulnerability and naivety. Yuezhen fantasises about having a handsome husband and perfect future. She picks Shihao as her object of infatuation because he is the cutest boy in school and wears a trendy Haiwaiian shirt. Kerou writes ‘I’m a girl, I like boys’ on a rock to try to convince herself of the fact but is unimpressed by Shihao’s puckering advances. That characters recurrently mirror each other’s actions is perhaps a metaphor for the learned behaviour that comprises sexual identity. Shihao continually cycles and walks alongside Kerou until she eventually talks to him. Kerou and Yuezhen bend over in unison while checking out Shihao. All of which makes for an intriguing study of teenagehood and the erotic and emotional limbos that accompany it.
DOES YOUR MOTHER KNOW? Graeme Park takes you on a tour of Hong Kong’s best gay clubs. As the primary language of global business, English is the most widely used tongue in Hong Kong. Many students choose their own English name before they’ve got a good grasp of vocabulary. As a result, the city is full of natives known to their western colleagues by surprising names such as Computer, Violin or Apple. It’s not uncommon to meet a handsome chap called Susan, or a petite princess called Bernard. Although this freestyle attitude to names often frustrates expat pedants, the general attitude of the locals is ‘this is Hong Kong! Who cares?’ The city’s long-standing economic freedom means that past generations were able to seize opportunities unavailable in neighbouring communist China. The established business model is of family-run empires founded on traditional patriarchal values. Local Chinese men are expected to father business successors and other traditional values prevail. Particularly among the more senior citizens, homosexuality is, shall we say, discouraged? Hong Kong’s gay culture, however, is far from undercover. It’s vibrant, exciting and brash in all the right places. The twenty-something scene kids are proud and open about their sexual preferences. Ivan, a young gay Hong Kong native, meets us in the aptly titled bar: Does Your Mother Know? It’s one of the city’s best boozers. Gay or straight, you’re welcomed with open arms and a drink will set you back about £6, or HK$70 - a fairly standard price throughout the city. But no, Ivan’s mother does not know. She doesn’t really know Ivan. Her son as Li Ka and Li Ka isn’t gay. So everyone’s happy. Ivan leads us into the city’s throbbing neon nightlife. Jazzy bear pits with mirrored walls blur into tongue-in-cheek fiascos where you’re never quite sure who should be wearing the trousers. It’s disarmingly fun but also makes me a little nostalgic with the monotonous rhythms of 90’s Eurohouse and campy disco played everywhere (and entirely without irony!). It’s all a familiar symptom of the musical sickness Hong Kong suffers from. Grating Canto-pop re-imaginings of dad rock classics are not only considered the epitome of live music, they are also presented as a tasteful soundtrack to accompany any meal. Thankfully there is Propaganda. This gyrating haven is a clubbing Mecca. It’s the city’s premier gay club and probably the best venue in town. Techno thunders from the dark alley it sits off and plumes of smoke spill from the entrance. Inthe-know cabin crew and tourists bump up against the city’s army of bankers, lawyers and students in an inspiring mix of expats and locals. The music defies genre and the dancefloor is always full. The club is a juggernaut of excess that closes ‘when everyone goes home.’ Overzealous use of tequila with some brand new friends signals my own home time at around 5am. Ivan had long since disappeared in the arms of a buff stranger and it was some days later before he resurfaced with the text: ‘Sorry I left you dancing on your own!’ My reply was instant: ‘This is Hong Kong! Who cares? When can we do it again? Words: Graeme Park Picture: Ralph Francis Fox (www.salutehq.com)
34
SHUNDA K
Floridian MC and former Yo! Majesty front-person Shunda K takes time-out before her imminent album launch to chat music, going solo and how there’s a place for God in hip-hop.
When is your album coming out? My album, The Most Wanted will drop on 11/1/11. The album features over 11 collaborations with artist from all over the world including my wifey Ms. Tedra, Lady Lash, Tanisjah Matthews, SNAX, WeHaveLove, Raspberry Cocaine, B Coney (my lil cuz), The Real Fiasco & Flyy Git (a couple of my artists), and, of course, Cindy Wonderful of Scream Club and Shon B of Yo! Majesty. With this album comes knowledge and wisdom about life, from the church to the club and everything else in between. It is a record that will encourage and inspire, raise questions and debates, and explain to the world who I be: The Most Wanted, The Best To Eva Came Grande Dame, Shunda K! Who’s producing on that? Producers include Raspberry Cocaine, B Coney, Tha Pumpsta, DJ Flore, Tori Fixx, Les Gourmets, Chrissy, ElectroSexual, B.A.T.S., Deekline, PureSX, Sick Rick, SNAX, DJ Keshkoon, and Robots Are The Future aka Nerdz With Gunz. When are you next coming to Europe? I’ll be back over to the UK headlining London’s Ladyfest 2010 November 12th, so make sure to come out and witness nothing but the truth! Yo! Majesty had such a distinct sound and vibe it makes me wonder what the music scene is like in Tampa? Is it different from other parts of the States? The music scene here is like the music scene everywhere else. I’ve always stayed within my realm, doing me because being gay and bragging and boasting about it really didn’t go over well in the late 90s, early 2000s (as I started writing in 97’). It’s been a pretty lonely road I must say. I formed Yo! Majesty as a solo artist in 1998. I met Shon B in 2000 and we met Jwl B in 2001. After meeting Shon and feeling what she brung to the table, we agreed that Yo! Majesty should be the group name.
And if you don’t mind me asking, how did it come to an end? I walked away because everybody deserves respect and I wasn’t getting that, even though I was the one carrying everything in many cases. And so moving right along, if I can’t do what I love with others and be happy doing it, its not worth doing it with ‘em. So, I’m keepin’ it movin’! At a time when the gay rights movement is having big clashes with the religious right in the US, it’s very fresh and surprising to hear an openly gay AND religious performer. Do you have any trouble squaring off those two sides to your persona? God is love and with that knowledge I move forward with my head held high. God says that everything He made is good and very good, so it’s all good. My mission is to spread the truth about who God is and what His purpose is for us all. And so, because another human tells me that I’m not worthy to do that, I’m suppose to stop? Hell naw, the devil is a liar. I have peace with my maker and that’s what we all need to be doing, making peace with Jesus so we can live our lives in the fullness and be happy. God loves each and everyone of us, so don’t you let nobody else tell you He doesn’t. Stop ‘em right in their tracks. Pray for yourselves. Get up out of that pit you in. All excuses was nailed to the cross, so I can’t use the excuse, because people don’t agree with my lifestyle, I can’t be what I want to be. I’m free to do me, through the grace and mercy of God. We all are! Any fresh young talent you’d like to give shout outs to? Stay tuned for some new artist coming up out of the GMEQCA camp. That’s my label which is an acronym that stand for God’s & Man’s Eternal Quest to Conquer All. They include Blaque Pop, Fly Gitt, The Real Fiasco, and Ghetto C.
Interview: Niall Connolly (shallowrave.blogspot.com) Pictures: courtesy of Shunda K
37
TAXONOMY OF BEARS
Taxonomy of bears There are many animals in the homo-rainbow... There’s lions, there’s wolves, there’s cougars, there’s bulls But one group have got more than their share Some people’s favourite animal’s a bear! So what does it take to be a bear? Well you have to be big and covered in hair! Though this definition has caused some tussles Some bears are big cos they’re covered in muscles. Some bears prefer men all soft and cuddly If you’re bigger than most you get called a grizzly! But some bears find skinny guys hotter If you’re hairy but slim you get called an otter. There are many ways you can join this club, If you’re small or you’re young you get called a cub If you’re looking for a cub and you’re over forty, Don’t be surprised when they call you a daddy! Some bears like men that are even older, If you’ve already gone grey then you are a polar! Bears come from all over the world it’s true There’s Black Bears, Red Bears and Panda Bears too! Bear don’t have to act all hard and manly... You can be a bear AND be a lady! There’s even a name for the bear fag-hag Couldn’t you guess? Goldilocks is her tag!
Words: Niall Connolly (shallowrave.blogspot.com) Pictures: Lucy Elliott
Jon Pritchard Photography (www.flickr.com/people/jon_pritchard/)
42
El Groucho’s Horoscopes Somehow managing to take some time out from the writing of his memoirs (or Gremoirs if you’re in the biz), Grouch has once again channelled the ether to bring us a new set of horoscopes… Virgo If you see a black cat, don’t worry. If you don’t see one, don’t worry either.
Taurus Avoid public transport – for the public’s sake as much as your own.
Libra If you spot a Gremlin on the back of your bike, ride into the river – and remember, that’s a frickin’ metaphor dumbass!
Gemini No-one likes a bad winner. Actually, people don’t really like winners in general (except maybe Jesus).
Scorpio Make someone’s day – drop a tenner in the street.
Cancer Oh hello Obsidian…
Sagittarius SHUT UP! No, you’re thinner! Capricorn Don’t let your skiving become a habit! Aquarius Don’t be alarmed if your illegitimate children just suddenly pop-up from nowhere. That’s what they do. Pisces You know that thing you thought everyone had forgotten about? Well, they haven’t. Aries Just when you thought it was getting easier it’s actually getting drearier.
Leo If you keep going with the flow, you’ll get washed down the plughole - believe me you will not like that!