SOMETIMES YOU FEEL LIKE A WOOF, SOMETIMES YOU DON'T
Bears: Gay Erotic Stories ed. by Richard Labonte (Cleis Press, 2008)
I have gone on record as finding most visual porn funny or distasteful. I'm going to prove myself a liar on that point further on here, but, initially, I will defend myself and emphasize the VISUAL objection.
It is akin to my attitude towards music video or film.It is simply not like the vision in my mind, and, while I am not a solipsist, it is not unreasonable to want theoutside reality to match your interior one.
Hence the advantages of written erotica. With varying degrees of success, I can populate it with the people I would like to see therein.
A book like this makes it easier. There are big furry boys or chasers of same within the FRAMEWORK - no Photoshopping required. ;O)
Of the 17 stories contained in this slim(sorry) volume, I was especially taken by "Mr. Bear's Birthday Bash" (a cheerful S/M romp) from Doug Harrison, as well as the literary smut of Jeff Mann's "Leather-Bear Appetites".
The book does have a few problems with 'cute'. Not one, but TWO, stories with a Goldilocks and the Three Bears overlay. A comedic tale with overtones of "The Metamorphosis" by Kafka (it missed its opportunity by not taking the first sentence of that story and plugging the word 'bear' into it - that might have worked better). Another account that seems to combine Gothic romance with Dickens. (I hasten to add I have no great objection to 'cute', as a fan of Manga and sickly sweet bear stickers, but I do need to watch my kitsch intake as I get older :) ).
On balance, a fun collection, ranging from raw animal sex to camp (and for hypermasculine bears who say there's nothing fey about them? Grrr-friends, that's the campest pose of ALL...) - and the salt and pepper daddy on the cover is worth the price alone. :)
Manly by Dale Lazarov and Amy Colburn (Bruno Gmunder, Berlin, 2008)
As I said, my cue to prove myself a hypocrite. This collection, with storyline by Dale and drawings by Amy (girlfriend clearly is channeling a slutty gay man of the nth degree!), really rocks the balls, er, bells.
A lushly drawn, furry, sexy, sticky collection of three wordless stories (narc and blond bubba-cub; two boxers; librarian bear and admirer). Schwul! :)
It's Hard Being Queen:The Dusty Springfield Poems by Jeanette Lynes (Freehand Books, Calgary, 2008)
I suppose I am to deny music made by women, poetry, and all those 'girly' things.
To which I would say: 'Reject Kirsty MacColl or Yoko Ono or Diamanda Galas or Dusty? I think not." For poetry, I need only point to Walt Whitman (when I think of his
G(r)ay Eminence, I often feel pointy - but that's another matter...).
Besides, I've taken the precaution of putting my GayCard on elastic, so take it if you wish. One quick yank and I'll have it back... :)
In any case, as a beardyke (when I take surveys on what type of gay man I am, I often get 'lesbian' - I think it's my fashion sense, my body type and my taste in tunes - cliches, I know, but so is the skinny twink...), people like Dusty have always resonated for me (as a child, some of my first crushes were on people like Joan Jett, Kristy McNichol and Jodie Foster (not to mention Anne Shirley with her bosom friend).
Clearly, I was a baby cub(byhole) waiting to happen. :)
This ambitious volume tries to give a view of the life of Dusty Springfield (1939-1999). As an emotional document, I feel it does better service to her memory than either of the two main biographies(especially the one written by her former manager, which, though I balk at describing it as 'betrayal', painted a picture of utter misery - surely there was a MOMENT of happiness in a life of sixty years...).
These poems bubble with wit ("A Brief History of Mascara"), pathos ("A Sonic Map of Childhood"), irony ("You Know You've Made It When"), and so much more, in narrative voices that range from impressionistic to flat and blunt. It seems effortless in its effect, which, as a writer myself, indicates that the poet (who I saw read some of these pieces before the volume's release) laboured over it as much as the poetry (and the public record) demonstrate Dusty did with her art.
Though this is outside the parameters of the book (in those 'backtracks behind backtracks' in "A Brief History of Vinyl"), one can hope that the connection of beauty/ art with pain/misery is severed in our lifetimes. Amy Winehouse would appreciate it, and Kurt Cobain might have lived.
What Would Kinky Do? How To Unscrew A Screwed-Up World by Kinky Friedman
(St. Martin's Press, New York, 2008)
The snide and obvious answer would be: 'Produce a collection of excerpts from previous works', but that would be missing the point.
Everyone's favourite sardonic, politically mixed, Texan-by-way-of-Illinois, former gubernatorial candidate, Jewish cowboy has released another volume of cracked wisdom.
There is the usual stuff skewering politicians (one does not run for Governor without forming views on the disloyal opposition), as well as opinions on writing (the man has spewed out mystery novels, essays, travelogues, touching Christmas stories and even one book in which the narrator is NOT 'Kinky Friedman', so he is entitled to his opinions - who isn't, other than Danielle Steel?) and personal heroes (for a big, profane cigar-chomping guy, he has a sweet streak a mile wide - it's one of the things that makes him loveable). He and I have much in common - mustaches, height, writing, possibly being left-handed (sadly, despite his saying in his books that 'Kinky Friedman' is homosexual, this is not true of his real-world or even fictional version). Having met the man, and vowed I would have voted for him if I were Texan or American, I feel like his gay Canadian baby brother twin :). (You'd think I would have watched as he signed a copy of one of his books to see if he were sinister - but no...).
All this, plus warped cartoons by John Callahan, makes this the irritating, obstinate and wicked joy that it is. :)
Moondog, The Viking of Sixth Avenue cd (Honest Jon's)
Even within my admiration for beardy one-man-band weirdos (Emitt Rhodes, Roy Wood, R. Stevie Moore), Moondog (born Louis Thomas Hardin, 1916-1999) stands out, as a nominally classical/jazz artist.
One must say 'nominally' because his work defies description. Some of it is madrigals - there are drones for percussion, strings and horns - there are organ duets and solos.
In nearly 50 years, he put out countless records and spent a fair number of those years on the streets of New York, where his outlandish outfits (which he saidhe adopted because people kept looking at his innocent air as Christ-like, for which he would not
stand...) earned him the nickname that graces this collection. That he managed to live as a blind man (sightless from 16 - a 'lucky' event that resulted in him going to a school for the blind where he learned music and composition) on the streets of New York speaks to some divine overseeing, you might argue, however. ;)
Much of this work is driven by simple but hypnotic rhythms he said he learned as a child from Native Americans. The melodies are linear, plaintive and rarely overfussy or ornate, but still captivating and thoughtful, even when they swirl almost like a Nico or Velvet Underground piece (cf. "Oboe Round") or threaten (but never succumb) to become dizzy big-band jazz ("Dog Treat").
This is a generous sampler of his work, with 36 pieces in 73 minutes (as you might guess, many of his compositions were brief, though we do get more than 10 minutes of 'Invocations', a late piece for droning horns and subtle percussion...). Listen, and be taken away to an alien, but not hostile, world.
Rae Spoon, Superior You Are Inferior cd (Alberta Foundation For The Arts)
Mr. Spoon has put out five albums, and this would be his first in two years.
It will probably need to be pointed out, in order that people who insist on characterizing voices by gender (what MUST they think when they hear late Nico or Jimmy Scott?) not be confused, that Mr. Spoon is a transman.
That out of the way - he sings in a high voice over musical backings aswirl with twangy guitars, organs and shuffly/tapping drums...at least on the opening track "Great Lakes", as well as "My Heart Is A Piece of Garbage". Lyrically, these landscapes are full of oil and nature, as might be guessed.
Then plays "Come On Forest Fire Burn The Disco Down",which, given its slightly lower key, reggae syncopation, anti-colonialism and ethereal/hearty- ripple-voiced juxtapositions, seems like something Natalie Merchant or Sinead O'Connor (or Hamell) might cover. "Bones In A Museum" swirls with steel guitar and strings, but is not some soothing country song - it is oblique, but calling to the marginalized inorder to encourage and give strength.
As a general summation - rootsy, not traditional. At least, not the MAJORITY tradition, thank goodness!
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