You Know The B-52’s Song “Roam” Is About Butt Sex, Right?

The B-52’s are currently in the midst of their first farewell tour. It seems like a good time to revisit this blog post from the summer of 2018:

A couple of months ago, the internet burst into flames when Bunny Wailer, songwriter of “The Electric Slide”, confirmed rumors that the song is indeed about a vibrator. (It’s electric!).

An article on the Aazios site quoted him as saying that he wrote the song after a girlfriend told him she didn’t need him because she had a toy she nicknamed the “electric slide”. The story went viral.

Singer Marcia Griffiths was not happy about it. “I don’t sing about vibrators,” she said. “I sing to teach, educate and uplift.”

“Why not both?” I say.

ALT whynot both

Huffpost, which initially reposted the Aazios story, then printed an update that it was not true… noting, apropos of nothing, that Aazios is “an online source of LGBTQ news and entertainment” – as if that had anything to do with Bunny Wailer, the vibrator, or the validity of the story.

Snopehas labeled the story FALSE with a quote from Bunny Wailer that reads like a statement prepared by a lawyer to protect a client from litigation: “At no time have I ever lent credence to a rumor that the song was inspired by anything other than Eddie Grant’s Electric Avenue. To state otherwise is a falsehood and offends my legacy, the legacy of singer Marcia Griffiths, and tarnishes the reputation of a song beloved by millions of fans the world over.”

The problem is… Wailer wrote the song in the 1970’s, years before Eddie Grant’s 1982 hit. The song was dusted off and reworked to ride the “Electric” coattails of that hit record. Thirty-five years later, it is still a dance floor staple at a certain caliber of venue. It is understandable that someone who still makes money off of this record does not want to suddenly admit that their cash cow is about a dildo.

electric slide

Bottom line: It is or it isn’t. Either way, you now have a topic of conversation to slur loudly over your 9th cocktail while your mom and Karen from finance are knocking into each other on the dance floor. 

So… now can we talk about The B-52’s 1989 hit song “Roam“? You know it’s about butt sex, right?

b52s wildplanet

Of course, nobody is going to step up and confirm this now. The B-52’s still make a nice living touring the world performing “Roam” along with party classics like “Rock Lobster and “Love ShackOne song they haven’t performed in years is “Dirty Back Road,” a track from their 1980 Wild Planet LP. Co-written by a guy named Robert Waldrop with band member Ricky Wilson, it’s not that much of a stretch to figure out what this little ditty is about:

Wreckless driving / Like a sports car / God I want you / Like a fuel engine / Energized line / Like a road / You ride me / Like a road / You ride me / Foot on the peddle / Feet in the air / Sand in my hair / Don’t look back / Don’t look behind you / Reckless drivin’ on / Dirty back road

Pretty obvious, right? Well… of course not, according to YouTube comments. People will argue about anything. I know, I know. Never read the comments.

b52s dirty back roadb52s-dirty-back-road-1980

Now lets move on to “Roam“: The song’s lyrics are credited again to Robert Waldrop, with music written by the surviving members of the band. Ricky Wilson had passed away from AIDS complications in 1985 during the recording of the Bouncing Off The Satellites LP. After taking a few years off, the band came back in 1989 with the LP Cosmic Thing, which would be the biggest commercial success of their career. The singles “Love Shack” and “Roam” topped the charts around the world, garnered the band their first two Grammy nominations and still get regular airplay today.

b52s cosmic thingb52s roam

When did I realize that “Roam” was about butt sex? I couldn’t say. I just always knew. I saw Robert Waldrop’s name in the cassette booklet, read the lyrics to “Roam and thought “Look at that. He cleaned up his ‘Dirty Back Road.” Well, not completely – the second line has them “dancing down those dirty and dusty trails.” It may not be as blatant, but it’s there.

The phrase “Take it hip to hip rock it through the wilderness” is repeated about a dozen times throughout the song.

The chorus: Roam if you want to / Roam around the world / Without wings without wheels / Roam around the world / Without anything but the love we feel… 

And then there’s this verse:

Hit the air-strip to the sunset Ride the arrow to the target / Take it hip to hip rock it through the wilderness / Around the world the trip begins with a kiss 

(at this point in the video, a banana goes through a hole in a bagel)Roam

I would like to make it clear that I do not make these pronouncements as some sort of slander. Believe me, I am a big fan of butt sex and partake as often as possible.

In posting this piece, I realize that there are people who will get annoyed or upset that their favorite B-52’s hit is all about taking a ride on the Hershey highway, but really… if you think this is shocking or not possibly true then you never really understood the band and/or their sense of humor in the first place. People who only know them from Top 40 radio might not remember that they were/are a predominantly gay party bandThey were messysubversive and more than just a little punk. Fun punk. 

If a clueless fan does not know that, it is akin to saying that you love John Waters because of the films Hairspray and Cry Baby, but have never seen Pink Flamingos or Female Trouble.

Polyester

Like many other bands before or since, the B-52’s started out edgy and moved towards mainstream pop as their career progressed. While their current tour does pull heavily from their first two LPs, their bread and butter is still playing the hit songs. They are a business  not so much a band as a corporation like their contemporaries the Go-Go’s and Blondie.

Even if the B-52’s issued a statement today that Roam” never was or is about getting popped in the pooper, the motivation would not be to tell the truth, but rather to protect their own livelihoodCase in point: The Village People, Inc. When faced with anti-gay protests for a gig in Jamaica back in 1998their representative had the balls to issue a statement declaring that there was nothing gay about them. The fucking Village People, people. I would like to think that the B-52’s are still way too cool to ever do such a thing.

So… I just thought you ought to know. Roam” is about takin’ it up the ass. Something to think about when you hear it wafting over the airwaves at the supermarket or when you are in line at the bankI am not going to debate the evidence. It is what it is. I think it’s a hoot – it makes me chuckle whenever I hear it. But if you feel a strong opposition to the theory… may I invite you to hit the airstrip… and teach yourself the Electric Slide. Boogie woogie woogie.

B52s loveshack.gif

UPDATE: Since this was piece was first posted in August, 2018, an expanded 30th Anniversary edition of the Cosmic Thing LP was released. The band did a considerable amount of press, reflecting on the songs and recording process. Not surprisingly, nobody mentioned that “Roam” is about butt sex.

“‘Roam‘ has many meanings, but it’s a beautiful song about death,” Cindy Wilson told Classic Pop magazine in 2019. “It’s about when your spirit leaves your body and you can just roam.”

Well, yes. Some would describe it like that.

Etta James: Advertising Zombie

It has been 10 years since the passing of the other Queen of Soul – the great Etta James. Thanks to the big wide world of commercials, every year we are treated to a different song from her catalogue permeating our consciousness. Case in point: Google’s current ad campaign featuring her 1967 recording of “Security.”

This trend started in the 1990’s when these commercial placements would spur renewed interest in Etta’s work. She was still active at the time and able to capitalize on this with new records and more live shows and television appearances. The selling power of her recordings has only increased in the decade since she left the building, which is why I have dubbed her an “advertising zombie”. She may be gone, but her recordings are still working overtime on Madison Avenue.

Etta’s fiery voice had been used to sell products dating back to the 1960’s, as evidenced by this 1968 radio commercial for Blizzard Ice Tea:

Here’s the thing: Like most people, I don’t actually watch commercials. I usually have my face in my phone or computer. But I hear them. I have been singing the jingle “Nothing is everything… whoa uh oh whoa oh!” for several years now. I have no idea what they are selling. I assume it’s an antibacterial of some sort.

This is why I appreciate the used of Etta’s catalogue. When I am treated to a 30 second blast of that legendary voice during a commercial break, my ears perk up, even if my eyes do not.

Here are ten Etta James recordings that are most often and/or effectively used in commercials:

1) At Last – The jewel in the crown. When Joni Mitchell covered this song on her 2000 Both Sides Now LP, she said “I first heard this song on a tampon commercial and then again in a Jaguar ad. Funny way to find a masterpiece.” Etta’s omnipresent 1960 recording has been utilized in all manner of advertisement through the years, including Jaguar (1995), Applebees, Hoover, State Farm (2014), Cadillac (2018), and this ad for Guinness:

1996 UK 45 picture sleeve

2) I Just Want To Make Love To You (aka The Diet Coke song) – This one was an integral part of a classic 1996 ad campaign that became something of a cultural touchstone and launched the brief career of Lucky Vanous. Etta’s 1960 recording of the Willie Dixon tune was originally the B-side of her “At Last” single. Due to the popularity of this commercial, the song was re-released as a single, garnering Etta her first top 5 pop hit in the UK.

3) Sunday Kind Of Love – This standard dates back to the 1940’s with a version by co-songwriter Louis Prima and his Orchestra. Etta’s take was recorded for her 1960 At Last LP. It has been used in films (The Other Woman), television (9-1-1), a 2006 Dockers ad campaign and a 2015 commercial for the NFL Network, just to name a few.

4) Tell Mama – The title track of Etta’s classic 1967 LP was also her biggest chart hit in the U.S. Unfortunately, Etta was not a fan of the song. She wrote in her 2003 memoir Rage To Survive:

I have to confess that it was never a favorite of mine. Never liked it. Never liked singing it – not then, not now. I almost never perform it. It’s not that I don’t admire the chart and the songwriter. Clarence Carter is great. Maybe it’s just that I didn’t like being cast in the role of the Great Earth Mother, the gal you come to for comfort and easy sex.

T-Mobile took the title more literally with a series of 2020 commercials featuring actor Kevin Anderson and his mama.


5) I’d Rather Go Blind – The b-side to “Tell Mama” was an original Etta James composition and one of her favorites. A staple of her live act, Etta re-recorded the song several times throughout her career. The original 1967 version has been featured in films (Suicide Squad), television (Ozark, Pretty Little Liars) and a 2012 Kraft Dressing commercial, among others.


6) Good Rockin’ Daddy – Etta was just 17 years old when she recorded this Richard Berry tune in 1955. It was her third single release. This is the only song on the list that is not from her 15 year tenure at Chess/Argo/Cadet records. The song was used in the television show Lovecraft Country and in this 2013 HSBC commercial:

7) Something’s Got A Hold On Me / Good Feeling / Levels – This cash cow came from out of left field. Etta’s 1962 recording was sampled in two monster hit records of 2011: Avicii’s Levels and Good Feeling by Flo Rida. As a co-writer of the original song, she now has songwriting credits on all three. They were each used in multiple commercials for Citi Mobile, LG G6, various cars, a cruise line, you name it.




8) Trust In Me – This standard was originally associated with Mildred Bailey in the 1930s. Etta’s cover is from her 1960 At Last LP and has been used in multiple television shows (Betrayal, Mad Men, Memphis Beat). Commercially, it was used by Simplisafe in 2018 as well as Samsung the following year.

9) I Got You Babe – This non-lp 1968 single – a cover of the Sonny & Cher hit – was used for Wal-Mart’s series of Christmas commercials in 2021. An overlooked gem in Etta’s discography.

10) Security – This season’s Etta song is part of Google’s current ad campaign focusing on … uh… security. Recorded in 1967, this was the first of many Otis Redding-penned tunes that Etta would cover throughout her career. The pair were mutually fond of each other and had agreed to record an album together before he was tragically killed in a plane crash that same year.

The track was featured on Etta’s Tell Mama LP and was the follow up single to the title song. Click here for the Google commercial.


Honorable mentions:

Fire – While Aretha was wailing for “Freedom,” Etta growled about “Fire“. Another song from the pen of Willie Dixon (see #2), Etta’s incendiary take was the b-side of a 1968 single. I remember this being used to sell hot wings a few years ago, but I can’t recall the restaurant. It has also been placed in films (Rush Hour) and television shows (Mrs. America, Hacks). UPDATE: Now featured in the 2022 Infinity car commercial.

https://ispot.tv/a/2Tf2

Seven Day Fool – This 1961 single from her Second Time Around LP has been used in several commercials, although I cannot recall the products.

Watch Dog – Another track from Etta’s classic 1967 Tell Mama LP.  Again, I know it has been used in commercials but can’t recall what product. Security systems? Dog food? If readers would like to enlighten me, I will update.

You Can Leave Your Hat On – Etta’s funky 1973 rendition of this Randy Newman tune was used in the film Sex Tape and is a strip club staple.  In terms of selling power, it has been instrumental in getting many dollar bills stuffed into g-strings. That counts for something, right? Yay commerce!



Remembering Prolific Pornographer Robert Prion

I once heard Robert Prion described as “The Ed Wood of gay porn.” It makes a great punchline, but it’s not quite true. Prion was 69 years old when he passed away on March 28th at his home in Woodbridge, New Jersey. It’s a house that porn fans are well acquainted with, as he filmed over 70 full-length adult films there over the past 40 years.

Prion is survived by his lifelong partner, who appeared in his films under the name Jay Richards.

Robert Prion was born on July 1, 1952 and lived in Woodbridge his entire life. A 1970 graduate of Woodbridge High School, Mr. Prion was employed for many years in the meat department (how fitting!) at Foodtown.

In 1982 Prion released The Boys From New Jersey, the first of 12 films produced throughout the decade. The spirited performances of his skinny and hung cast shone through the muddy fidelity of the VHS home video recording. The films were also elevated by their kickass soundtracks featuring the songs of Depeche Mode, Erasure, New Order and other new wave hits of the day – copyrights be damned. There was plenty of spandex, stone washed high-rise jeans, crop-tops and mullets. Lots and lots of mullets. These movies act as a time capsule of 1980’s mall culture – you can almost smell the Drakkar Noir when you watch them.

Prion shot scenes in every room of his house, from the low-ceilinged basement to the vaulted attic. Additionally, he filmed in another structure on the property that appeared to be either an elaborate children’s playhouse or a bungalow for little people. Coupled with low camera angles, his performers always seemed to be in danger of hitting their heads in the claustrophobic spaces.

Jay Richards and Karl Thomas (1990)

And yes, there was the pool area – a New Jersey approximation of the traditional California porn set, although the sun never seemed to shine on Prion’s pool and the tiki cabana appeared to be a season away from collapse.

Prion was aware of his place in the porn world: his studio was called New Jersey Trash.

His motto seemed to be “more is more.” Rather than the traditional porn layout of 4 or 5 sex scenes per feature-length film, Prion would cram in 7 to 9 – often starting off with a quick group oral scene before the end of the opening credits.

Bijou Video Catalogue Ads for Suckulent and Men Who Dare (1987)

Prion with Chip Ryan in Powerdrive 500 (1990)

Whether or not his performers identified as straight, they put that aside when the cameras were rolling and gave performances that (for the most part) were far above average. It is the quality (and quantity) of these scenes that kept fans coming back for more, despite low production values and questionable design tastes. Many of the models appeared in over a dozen Prion films, indicating that they were treated favorably and/or well compensated.

Prion retired from performing in front of the camera by the mid-1990’s, but his partner Jay Richards continued delivering versatile, if perfunctory, performances in all 70+ Prion films.

In January 1995, Prion formed his own production company, Galaxy Pictures. His first film for the new company was Men Matter Most. With the advent of DVDs, Prion repackaged and re-released his earlier films. With those and subsequent releases, he would take advantage of the “multiple angles” DVD feature to include whole other bonus sex scenes. Unfortunately, these “easter eggs” are now inaccessible with today’s DVD viewing practices.

His biggest discovery was Rick Thomas, whose real-life older brother Dane also appeared in a handful of Prion films. They were among his stable of stars who always brought their “A” game, including Eric Carter, Vincent DeMarco, Bryon Rogers, Antonio Vegas, Jon Dante, Alex Turner, Wicked, Cody Marshall, Titan, and Chris Collins, aka “The Mystery Stud” who appeared in over a dozen films and never took off his sunglasses.

Prion benefited from his close proximity to New York City. Big name adult film stars making personal appearances in the city could hop on New Jersey Transit and earn some extra cash for a day’s work. Some porn stars who ducked through the low Prion doors: Jon King, Joey Stefano, Karl Thomas, Marc Andrews, Terry DeCarlo, Eric Stone, Todd Stevens, Rick Pantera, David Grant, Storm, David Thompson, Kevin Alexander, Jason Nikas, Scott Matthews, Ryan Raz, Scott Spears, Brandon Aquilar, Tommy DeLuca, Chris Stone, Kurt Morgan and Aaron Lawrence.

Terry DeCarlo on the old Christopher Street Pier in Put It Where It Counts (1993)

Prion’s dizzying output of films began to slow after 25 years although he continued to repackage and re-release older titles in online platforms, where many are still available for viewing. His last movie was released in 2014. See below for a list of all his films.

Robert Prion Films (including compilations):

  1. The Boys of New Jersey: 1982
  2. Friends Are Best: 1983
  3. Men Grip Tighter: 1983
  4. Cum and Get It: 1984
  5. Boys Do It Better: 1984
  6. Guy’s Just Can’t Stop: 1985
  7. The Young Stimulators: 1985
  8. The Wild Guys: 1986
  9. Men Who Dare: 1987
  10. Suckulent: 1987
  11. Addicked: 1988
  12. Raw Impulse: 1989
  13. Ultimate Desires: 1989
  14. Powerdrive 500: 1990
  15. X-Posed Images-The Naked Truth: 1990
  1. Untamed Seductions: 1991
  2. Uncensored: 1991
  3. Hidden Instincts: 1992
  4. Total Impact: 1992
  5. 19 Good Men: 1993
  6. It’s Raining Dicks: 1993
  7. Solid Intake: 1993
  8. Uncle Prion & His Young Men: The Best Of Robert Prion: 1993
  9. Up Close & Sexual: The Best Of Robert Prion 2: 1993
  10. What A Man’s Gotta Do: 1994
  11. Put It Where It Counts: 1994
  12. Men Matter Most: 1995
  13. Pushing The Limit: 1995
  14. Power Grip: 1995
  15. Everything A Man Wants: 1995
  1. Point Of Entry: 1996
  2. Natural Response: 1996
  3. Whatever It Takes: 1996
  4. Unexpected Persuasion: 1996
  5. Drive Shaft: 1997
  6. Every Man’s Desire: 1997
  7. Can’t Say No: 1997
  8. Nothing Else Matters:1997
  9. Don’t Hold Back:1997
  10. Pushover: 1997
  11. Stop At Nothing: 1998
  12. You’ve Got The Touch: 1998
  13. Make It Count: 1998
  14. Relentless: 1998
  15. One Way Or Another: 1998
  1. Shameless: 1999
  2. Any Way I Can: 1999
  3. Let’s See What Happens: 1999
  4. Aim To Please: 1999
  5. What Guys Want: 1999
  6. Best of Robert Prion 1 – Give and Take: 2000
  7. Best of Robert Prion 2 – Outdoor Seductions: 2000
  8. Best of Robert Prion 3 – Three In The Sack: 2000
  9. Best of Robert Prion 4 – Mix and Match: 2000
  10. Best of Robert Prion 5 – Video Virgins: 2000
  11. Best of Robert Prion 6 – Superstars: 2000
  12. Going Too Far: 2000
  13. Every Inch Of Him: 2000
  14. If You Dare: 2000
  15. So That’s How You Want It: 2000
  1. One Step Further: 2000
  2. Don’t Stop There: 2001
  3. Qualified To Satisfy: 2001
  4. I Want More: 2001
  5. Never Stop The Urge: 2001
  6. I’m Your Guy: 2001
  7. Over The Edge: 2002
  8. Take It All: 2002
  9. Natural Impulse:2003
  10. Doin’ The Nasty: 2003
  1. Return The Favor: 2003
  2. Teasin’ N’ Pleasin’: 2004
  3. From Every Direction:2004
  4. Access All Areas: 2005
  5. Standing Firm: 2006
  6. All Men Should: 2006
  7. Back Door Advances: 2007
  8. Prion’s 69 More To Cum aka That Sucks: 2007
  9. Can I See It?: 2008
  10. It’s Only Natural… Daddy: 2014

We extend our condolences to Jay Richards and the friends and family of Robert Prion.

See also:
Gay Porn Stars We Lost in 2021
Gay Porn Stars We Lost in 2020
Costello Presley and 80’s Gay Porn Guilty Pleasures

Fire Island PaJaMa Party

During vacations from the 1930’s through the mid-1950’s, artists Paul Cadmus, Jared French, and his wife Margaret Hoening French photographed each other on the beaches of Fire Island and later Cape Cod. Usually nude or donning simple costumes, they would also use found objects as props to create stark, surreal and/or erotic images. They passed Margaret’s Leica camera around, taking turns as subject and auteur. This collaborative authorship was reflected in the umbrella name they chose for this work, utilizing the first two letters of their first names: PaJaMa.

Years later Cadmus explained, “After we’d been working most of the day, we’d go out late afternoons and take photographs when the light was best. They were just playthings. We would hand out these little photographs when we went to dinner parties, like playing cards.”

The dynamic was complicated: Cadmus and Jared were lovers – a relationship that continued during the marriage. All three lived and worked in a townhouse at 5 St. Lukes Place in Greenwich Village.

A 2015 New York Times review of a PaJaMa exhibition noted that their photos “breathed eroticism.” While some of the hundreds of photos are masterpieces of magical realism, others appear to be figure studies for their painting. And then there are simple snapshots of nude men frolicking on the beach, enjoying the sun and surf.

Right: Jared French on Fire Island (1940) Left: Paul Cadmus’ etching “Youth With Kite”, 1941

Jared French and his considerable wares are the most frequent subject of the photographs, with entire rolls of film devoted to his nude poses and posturing. Cadmus and Margaret are slightly more demure although we do not know who was giving direction from behind the camera at any given time.

These three artists were joined by various friends and lovers through the years, fellow artists and writers that were part of their New York social circle.

Dancer/Model José “Pete” Martinez appears in PaJaMa photos of the late 1930’s with Paul Cadmus

1938 PaJaMa photos of writer Glenway Wescott sometimes appear online mislabled as Paul Cadmus or Ted Starkowski.

Writer Donald Windham (with Cadmus & French), 1938

Photographer George Platt Lynes was a frequent guest with his own camera.

Jared French in Saltaire after the devastating hurricane of 1938.

West of Saltaire, the Fire Island Lighthouse served as a frequent backdrop.

Jensen Yow, Bill Harris & Jack Fontan, ca. 1950

Now well into his 90’s, Alexander Jensen Yow recently recalled the circle of artists, as well as his participation in PaJaMa photos of the early 1950’s. “Paul posed us and took the pictures. I was never out there with Jerry (Jared). There were plenty of personality conflicts all scattered around with these people, but I never knew what they were or anything… Jerry was always nice to me though. But his and Margaret’s was a strange relationship… She was crazy about Jerry but she was always in the background, you know. Always there. Jerry did what he wanted to do, and she tagged after him. I was so green when I met these people that I didn’t know how to act…. I tried to be discreet but it wasn’t easy.”

Paul Cadmus, “The Shower”, 1943
Margaret French, “The Moon by Day”, 1939

As with George Platt Lynes’ male nude photographs, the PaJaMa collection did not receive much notice or recognition until the 1990’s. They are now frequently exhibited in galleries and selections are a part of the MOMA collection.

PaJaMa, Nantucket, 1946

See Also:
Artist’s Muse: José “Pete” Martinez
Artist’s Muse: The Mystery Model
Artist’s Muse: Chuck Howard
Artist’s Muse: Ted Starkowski
Artist’s Muse: Randy Jack
Buddy & Johnny: A Historic Photo Shoot

We Got Hitched

The warmth of your love
is like the warmth of the sun…
This will be our year
took a long time to come…

“How come you don’t write about me? Or maybe you do.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. Or, I assumed they did. He texted this to me, so it was virtual skepticism that I sensed.

My partner of 9 years is artist/musician Toby Hobbes. He is also my editor/proofreader and the person who set up this blog 5 years ago and told me to get to work. While he does get an occasional mention from time to time (see Circle In Monkeyshines or Scenes From A Pandemic), any essays specifically about him or our relationship remain unfinished.

This was one piece I started:

It was our second date. We were heading out to dinner after a few pre-game cocktails at Nowhere Bar in the East Village. I pulled him over by the side of a building to get out of the First Avenue foot traffic. I had something that I needed to tell him and didn’t want to keep it a secret any longer. My gut was telling me that we were heading into a relationship, so there had to be honesty. And he was new to this – at 37, this was his first same-sex dating experience.

Summer, 2013

I took a deep breath and said; “Listen there is something that I need to tell you before this goes any further…” I was still holding onto his hand. He looked concerned.

I continued on, talking fast just to get it over with. “I know I told you I was 39 years old. Well I’m not. I am 44. I know. It’s stupid. It’s just a number. But 44 sounds so much worse and I didn’t want you to feel like it was too big an age difference. So now you know. And I hope it’s not a big deal.”

The concern faded into puzzlement. “Why would I think that was a big deal?”

I went off on a diatribe about gay men being ageist and that I had shaved off exactly 5 years when I ended up single again at 40, which seemed to be a big cutoff number for most men on Match and Grindr and Scruff and Growlr and Fluff and Squirt and…

Toby let go of my hand and took a step back. “I have to tell you something too,” he said. “I have a kid at home. Well, he’s my nephew. I’ve had custody since he was 10 and he’s 17 now. I didn’t say anything because I was afraid that you wouldn’t want to deal with all that.”

In that moment, my opinion of him – of his character, his heart – went right through the roof. He was a responsible adult.

Besides his nephew, there were also two dogs, a cat, and the long shadow of the ex-girlfriend that had left his finances in a shambles. On our first anniversary, we agreed to move in together. This was partly out of necessity and also because we felt like we were ready. For me, this meant leaving Manhattan after 22 years, as there was no way we could afford adequate space for our crew. We settled in Forest Hills, Queens, which I highly recommend.

At the time, people would congratulate me for being “selfless” or ask how I could take on so much responsibility. For me, there was no choice – no question about it. I realized that I loved Toby very quickly. And he loved me with a totality that was unlike any of my previous relationships. I felt like the last 4 years of frustrating dating experiences were just The Universe’s way of keeping me in a holding pattern until he showed up at my apartment with a six pack of Sam Adams.

________________________________________________________________

Fast forward to July 30th 2018: I proposed to him on The High Line above West 23rd Street with my family hiding in the bushes taking pictures nearby. We made no immediate plans for the wedding but assumed that we would be married the following year.

Then Toby got accepted into a program at the International Culinary Center (formerly the French Culinary Institute) and we decided to wait until he graduated. Then I was suddenly unemployed. So we waited again. And then there was the pandemic.

In the spring of 2021 we started to look at wedding venues. I was determined to get hitched before we celebrated our 10th anniversary as a couple. Besides, after this pandemic, we all needed a party. To celebrate LIFE. Also, neither of my sisters ever got married, and my mom was itching to finally have a wedding for one of her kids. We secured a venue and set a date: Sea Cliff Manor, May 19th, 2022.

About that pesky pandemic… I thought; “Ohhh – surely that will all be behind us by then! Just a masked blur in our rear-view mirrors.” Silly, silly fool. I failed to remember that objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.

In the months prior to the wedding, it became clear that COVID was not going to be gone, so we decided to specify on the invitations that attendees needed to be vaccinated. Imagine our surprise when this turned out to be a deal breaker for some, as a few formerly enthusiastic friends and family members suddenly ghosted us.

We went into planning this wedding with the awareness that, at some point along the way, we might encounter people who were a little more churchy than we realized and they might object to our Big Gay Wedding. Thankfully that did not occur. As it turned out, our big ethical divide was not religion. It was science.

Ultimately this was for the best. Better to know who people really are when their masks come off.

The three weeks before the wedding are bound to be stressful, as anyone can tell you. We were finalizing the guest list, DJ setlist, photographer, tuxedos, favors, seating charts, menus, programs, obtaining the marriage license and wedding rings. And the vows! We had to write the vows.

But then other stuff started happening.

On Saturday April 30th, Toby cut his finger on a meat slicer at work, requiring 12 stitches on his left pinky. Three days later, I got sick with COVID. The next day, while taking the final reception payment to Sea Cliff Manor, my mom & stepdad were in a car accident. Thankfully, nobody was injured. Two days after that, on his birthday, Toby got COVID as well. We were both vaxxed and boosted, so it was more of an inconvenience than anything else, although we were starting to feel like some homophobic anti-vaxxer was practicing voodoo shit.

We soldiered on. This wedding was going to happen whether we were ready or not.

The big day arrived and everything went off without a hitch. It was a family affair with Toby’s nephew as his best man and my sister as my best woman. My mom & stepdad walked me down the aisle.

We asked my friend Merri to sing The Zombies’ This Will Be Our Year. When I chose the song last year, I thought it was a pretty obscure choice. Turns out to be a wedding standard as well as the jingle for Target’s “Back To School” ad campaign. Ah, well. The chorus of “This will be our year / It took a long time to come” certainly struck a chord with us.

While the planning was crucial and paid off in the best way, it was actually a spontaneous moment that I keep revisiting from that day. Luckily we opted to live stream the ceremony, so there is footage to look back on. When Toby and I joined hands to say our vows, he started to bounce up and down with excitement. It was the defining moment of the day. I turned it into a gif captioned “Life Goals: Marry someone who is this excited to marry you.”

And now it’s done. After nine years, we are hitched. Married. We tied the knot and jumped the broom. It took a long time to come.
Wedding photos by Glenmar Studio

80 Years Ago: The Men of St. Mary’s Pre-Flight School

Celebrating the jockstrap-clad WWII men of St. Mary's Pre-Flight training school, which began 80 years ago this month.
St. Mary’s College during WWII

June, 2022 marked 80 years since the start of the U.S. Navy pre-flight training program that took place at St. Mary’s College. Images of naked or jockstrap-clad cadets were taken during training at the school in Moraga, California when it was requisitioned for the war effort from 1942-1946. You can see more of these photos in our previous posts:

Men of St.Mary’s Pre-Flight School

Boys of Summer: St. Mary’s Pre-Flight School

Christmas At St. Mary’s Pre-Flight School, Pt. I

Christmas At St. Mary’s Pre-Flight School, Pt. II

Unfortunately, there is still some confusion when these pictures surface, as they are sometimes miscredited as Ivy League posture photos. For comparison, here are two of the different Yale posture photos:

The single profile pose was used from the late 1930’s until 1952. It was then replaced with a mirror/ triptych setup, which has “Yale” visible in the background.

Prior to World War II, there were other physical fitness photos taken at the army base in Ft. Sheridan, Illinois. These fully nude pics do not pop up on the internet as often as those from St. Mary’s Pre-flight school. As shown above, both sets of photos contain the location identified within the photo.

The St. Mary’s photos were taken to measure the fitness progression of each recruit as they underwent extreme physical training. Each picture was accompanied by an index card containing body measurements and physical achievement statistics over the course of several months.

This allows for some contrasting images that would be the envy of many fitness plans.

Only the earliest St. Mary’s photos – dated June 13, 1942 – feature the men completely nude. All subsequent photos feature the cadets in jockstraps. In all of the photos, the men stand behind some sort of grid fencing to better illustrate misalignment and spinal curvature. The above comparative photos were dated June 13th & August 28th, 1942.

My collection of photos gathered from around the internet now includes close to 700 different cadets. The youngest identified died at age 20 and the oldest lived to 103 years old.

Whether the individual photos of these handsome young men capture them at the beginning of their lives or tragically close to the end, all of the subjects are timelessly captured in prime physical condition as they trained to serve their country. 80 years later, we salute and admire their fine forms and dedication.

Navy Memorial Bench plaque from the St. Mary’s campus.


The Yale Posture Photos: James Franciscus
Men of St.Mary’s Pre-Flight School
Boys of Summer: St. Mary’s Pre-Flight School
Christmas At St. Mary’s Pre-Flight School, Pt. I
Christmas At St. Mary’s Pre-Flight School, Pt. II

Len & Cub – A Relationship In Photos

A new book gives insight into a same-sex relationship in rural Canada a century ago.

Tinted photo of Leonard “Len” Keith (1891-1950) & Joseph “Cub” Coates (1899-1965) on a trip to Jemseg, New Brunswick (1916)

If it weren’t for the advent of the self-timing camera, we would not know anything about the relationship between Len & Cub. There are no surviving notes, letters or documents to provide any further evidence. Luckily, Len had an interest in photography and documented their intimacy in a trove of images spanning nearly 15 years. These photos serve to illustrate their story in the recently published book Len & Cub: A Queer History (Goose Lane Press) by Meredith J. Batt and Dusty Green.

Len & Cub features Len’s photos of the duo between 1916 and 1930 and tells the story of a relationship in early 20th Century rural North America. These photos provide the oldest known photographic records of a same-sex couple in New Brunswick, Canada.

The term “queer” seems a bit ill-fitting to describe the actions of individuals a century ago, when even the terms “homosexual” or “gay” were not part of the vernacular. The choice of language is explained by the authors, who dedicate the book to the queer youth of New Brunswick. As Green states in his preface, “… the record of their lives is a testament to the resilience of queer people and an affirmation that we belong in any place we choose to call home.”

Leonard “Len” Keith  was born in 1891 in Butternut Ridge (now Havelock), New Brunswick. His family enjoyed a moderate amount of wealth as the owners of a match factory and later a grist mill. Joseph “Cub” Coates was born 8 years later, the son of a farmer who was a neighbor to the Keith family. Together Len and Cub shared a love of the outdoors and documented their outings in photos. The pictures taken during hunting and canoe trips with their arms around each other or lying in bed together make clear the affection they held for each other.

When Len was called to service during World War I, Cub signed up as well, and the two trained together in Quebec.

Cub and Len in training at Saint-Jen-sur-Richelieu, Quebec (1918)

Photos of the duo are less frequent in the late 1920’s. Len’s camera captures several other unnamed male companions that accompanied him on trips and other outdoor adventures.

Len was also a car enthusiast and eventually opened a garage, which he later converted into a pool hall. Cub continued to make a living farming and then as a butcher.

In 1931, Len was forced to leave Havelock, allegedly due to his homosexual activities. He signed over control of his business and finances to his sister Lucy and headed to the United States. He later settled in Montreal, where he resided until succumbing to cancer in 1950. His sister arranged for his burial in Havelock.

It appears that Cub was not caught up in the scandal that forced Len out of town. He stayed in Havelock until 1940, when he married Rita Cameron, a nurse from the neighboring town of Chatham. After he served in WWII, the couple relocated to Moncton. He would go on to become a prominent figure in New Brunswick’s harness racing circles before his death in 1965.

Len & Cub, ca 1916

The photos were donated to the Provincial Archives of New Brunswick by John Corey, a local historian who purchased them at a Keith family estate sale in 1984. Corey’s father had been a classmate of Len’s and knew both families. When he donated the collection, John referred to Len & Cub as “boyfriends” and also identified a photo of an individual who was instrumental in driving Len out of Havelock.

As some of these photos began to circulate on the internet several years ago, curiosity about Len & Cub’s story grew. In addition to the recent publication of the book, the BeaverBrook Art Gallery in Fredericton, NB is featuring an exhibition of the photos from April 2 – July 29, 2022.

Click here to watch a short video about Len and Cub from the CBC.

Your Nostalgia Is Killing Me: John Weir

John Weir is pissed off. Rightfully so.

He has a new book out. An award winning book. It’s called Your Nostalgia Is Killing Me (Red Hen Press). It is described on the cover as “linked stories” and won the Grace Paley Prize for short fiction. God forbid you call it a memoir or a short story collection. But we’ll get to that later.

This month, his two previous novels: 1989’s The Irreversible Decline of Eddie Socket and 2007’s What I Did Wrong are back in print with Fordham University Press. You can easily order any of these titles on Amazon or Barnes Ignoble. However, if you want to throw your business to an indie book seller, or more specifically a gay bookstore, it appears that you will have to go to one that he has personally walked into and asked them to stock his books. He’ll come back and sign them, too.

The Strand also does not have copies in their store. He went there and asked. Something to do with distribution, although you can order them from their online warehouse.

John Weir on the cover of The Advocate (1990)

I have been a fan of John Weir’s work since Eddie Socket‘s original release. I purchased a copy at, uh, Barnes Ignoble, and was thoroughly captivated by this groundbreaking book – winner of the 1990 Lambda Literary Award for Best Gay Debut Novel and one of the first to address the AIDS crisis.

The book kept me company on a miserable theater tour in the fall of 1991. I strongly identified with the protagonist, and when he contracted AIDS halfway through the book, it scared the hell out of me.

I wrote some of my favorite quotes in my journal:

Though he didn’t think that God existed, still, it was nice to just sit somewhere with people who believed that he did.

And

My feelings are clichés and that bugs me, so I try to hide it with other slicker clichés, and with everything in quotes, at least I can remind myself that I know better than my feelings, which are really the drippiest, most sentimental, self-pitying things.

I pored over it for so long that one of my cast-mates finally said “What the hell is with you and that book?!”

The many editions of Eddie Socket

John Weir was working with ACT UP on The Day of Desperation in January, 1991 when he and other activists (including fellow writer Dale Peck) interrupted the CBS Evening News with Dan Rather:

It’s interesting to hear him mention his mother in the clip above, as she is the subject of several stories in Your Nostalgia Is Killing Me, written 25 years later, after their relationship had evolved into an adult child/caregiver situation.

In the intervening years, Weir was Contributing Editor at Details magazine and published nonfiction pieces in The New York Times, Spin, and Rolling Stone, among other publications. In addition to his writing, he has been an associate professor of English at Queens College since 1993.

I have been following John on Facebook for years. He would sometimes post new material and share extended witty, hysterically funny conversations with his mother. I also followed Sukey Tawdry, Mrs. Weir’s beloved pooch who had his own Facebook profile and passed away just days after she did in 2018. (John’s tribute is posted here.)

For all of the platform’s faults, John’s connection to Facebook is evident: he dedicates Nostalgia to his 5,000 followers.

Weir has a crankier social media alter-ego, whom he refers to as “The 3am Guy.” This allows him to rant about various topics at all hours of the night and then perhaps soften the edges or clean up the mess the following day – a tactic more people should adopt, IMHO.

It was Weir himself and not The 3am Guy who posted the following – a stinging encapsulation of what it is like to be a gay author of a certain age, on the first day of Gay Pride Month, just trying to get his work in front of its target audience.

This is his entire post, which I have reprinted with his permission:

The Self-Pitying Author Asks: Why Are None of My Books on the LGBTQ+ Pride Table at My Local Groovy BKNY Bookstore, Next to *The Town of Babylon* and *The Guncle*?

It’s LGBTQ+ Pride Month, and I plan to spend the month ashamed! Mostly because I have this new book out and I haven’t done enough to promote it. Here’s a funny thing about the book:

John Weir Photograph © Beowulf Sheehan

What’s its genre?

Is that like asking a book its pronouns?

Maybe!

Well, *Your Nostalgia Is Killing Me* calls itself “linked stories” on the cover. That’d mean it’s a collection of short stories: fiction.

Somebody said maybe it’d get more notice if I had called it a novel, “because it reads like a novel” (presumably because the same dude is the narrator of all 11 stories, and the stories follow him – not in order! – from like 1974 to 2014); and the thing is:

It got published because I submitted it to a writing contest – the Association of Writers & Writing Program’s (AWP’s) Grace Paley Prize for Short Fiction.

I submitted to a contest, which I’d never done before, because: my agent wasn’t interested in the manuscript, which meant I no longer had an agent; and of the *12 agents whom I queried to see if they’d represent me* – well: None. Of them. Even. Replied. Not even their harried assistants wrote back to pretend they were the agent and say, “No thanks.” No one. Not an email, not even a form-rejection email.

Then in fear and self-loathing I sent the manuscript to a friend, who is also an agent (generally, I don’t think it’s a good idea to have an agent who’s a friend), and they said, “Love this, can’t sell it.”

So I submitted to a contest.

Which specified: “Short Fiction.”

Author Grace Paley, photographed by Jess Paley

Like the kind of stories Grace Paley wrote. A prize in her name! And I was all, “Well, I’m not Paley, and not that the judge has to pick a Paley-esque collection, but: I do sort of do the thing Paley does of writing stories as if they were just what happened that day.” (Not to put myself on her level of genius!)

A lot of Paley’s stories are written as if they were unstructured suit jackets, they fit fine but without the expected ribbing: her work feels impromptu, copied from everyday ordinary life (even if that ordinary life is extraordinary); and so but then you realize that every word is deliberate, she has a distinct aesthetic and a project, her writing isn’t random, nor is it cinema verité, though it’s often presented as if a quirky documentarian were given a camera to record whatever is in front of her.

So my collection got picked for the Grace Paley Short Fiction Prize, the reward for which was its being published by a small press that partners with the AWP: Red Hen Press.

So it won a Story prize, so it’s Stories.

I guess it was my idea to use the phrase “linked stories,” because short story collections don’t sell that well, and I thought maybe people would be more likely to buy it if they thought it was gonna feel like a novel.

I don’t think it’s a novel. I don’t really care if it’s a novel. I don’t know what it is; but then some people have been:

It’s a memoir. It’s autobiography. It’s a series of essays with a dude in the middle saying “Ow.” It’s nonfiction misnomered as fiction!

“How dare you misgenre me!” it’s thinking, sitting un-bought on a low shelf in the Fiction section at your neighborhood Barnes Ignoble.

Well, but back to Paley: I can’t call it nonfiction because I lied about stuff; compressed 6 real people into one fictional character; took scenes from real life and put them in a different month, with other weather; invented conversations; collapsed 8 different events into one; made shit up; gave all my best lines to other people; left things out that’d make me look bad if you thought I committed them; mis-remembered the past; manipulated my mis-remembered past to satisfy narrative arcs. Gave stuff tidy endings that, in real life, are never-ending.

I used techniques of fiction, in other words.

But I wanted it to read as if it were happening right in front of you, happening *to* you, right now, in this moment that you’re reading it.

I wanted it to read like nonfiction. Or like a Frederick Wiseman documentary, maybe.

I wanted you to think, “He must have just written down what happened.”

Robert Lowell & Elizabeth Hardwick

“Why not say what happened?” Elizabeth Hardwick said to Robert Lowell, when he was stuck on a poem; and then he emptied all her letters into his book! Her aggrieved, enraged letters about his leaving her for another woman.

Sleep with a writer, wake up in print.

So I can see a person’s assigning my book in a course in, like, I dunno, “Personal Narrative?”

Argh, I think the term these days is “Autofiction,” which I hate. I always hear, under that name, the accusation that all a particular writer ever did was obsess about themselves; and that an “auto-fictionalist” was deficient because they could not make shit up.

Is there a notion lately that a “writer” is a person who works entirely from “imagination,” and that to base a story on true events is somehow not to be as glorious as a person who works solely from imagination?

As if “saying what happened” did not involve using your imagination.

As if “autofiction” is somehow ethically suspect because you’re invading the privacy of people whose lives your work is based on. But there is such a thing as an emotional autobiography, where the arc of feeling is lifted from your own life, if not the events. And even a science fiction writer is surely modeling characters on people they know in real life (see Philip K. Dick’s books where one of the main characters is clearly based on Bishop James Pike of California).

Argh, anyway.

John Weir Photograph © Beowulf Sheehan

And then there is this thing of, If you’re a homo-dude like myself over age like 55 and you’re writing about stuff that happened in the first 15 years of the global AIDS crisis, 1981 -1996, you are automatically *historical*, and your writing is going to have no useful application to stuff that is happening today, it’s gonna be retrograde at worst, merely “interesting” at best, yet another traumatized recounting of an era that properly belongs in a theme park, AIDSWorld.

O and alas. Call my book what you want, it doesn’t have a genre. But if it reads like nonfiction, that doesn’t mean it’s without an aesthetic; and if it reads like a novel, that doesn’t mean it’s not a series of stories carefully revised and assembled in a particular order; and if it reads like memoir, don’t expect it to be telling the truth about everything; and if it’s just some Wicked Aging Sodomite not letting go of the past, well:

Maybe we live in a country and moment when we are deeply aware of having *let go too quickly of the past*; and maybe the refusal to account for the past is a right wing strategy; and maybe the past is not even past, as Faulkner says; and maybe a book is not a weighted blanket, maybe it’s not meant to help you fall dreamlessly to sleep, maybe its point is to fling you into a stage of inconsolable grief at 3 in the morning.

Follow him on Facebook. Follow him on TikTok. He’s @jwierdo on Twitter.

Buy the fucking book.

Costello Presley and 80’s Gay Porn Guilty Pleasures

Amy Sedaris is the queen of Instagram – her offbeat posts highlight the weirdly funny and/or oddly sweet. I am just one of her million+ followers. If you need a daily pick-me-up – and who doesn’t at this point? – check out her feed.

A couple of months ago, she posted this:

This clip has more than 300k views, 23,436 likes and 897 comments…. but apparently I’m the only one who doesn’t just click the heart, post “LOL” and move on. No. I’m the gay porn nerd spewing info that the general population really does not give a shit about, pointing out that it’s Eric Manchester & Billy London admiring Dean Chasson’s talents in Head Of The Class (1988). Music by Costello Presley!

The comment garnered no “likes” or “responses” – it just dissipated into the air like a public fart as crickets chirped in the distance. Whoooo cares?

Taking my killjoy vibe to the next level, I would also like to point out that the blond, Billy London, was brutally murdered and dismembered in Hollywood back in 1990. He is sometimes referred to as the gay “Black Dahlia.” Circus of Books filmmaker Rachel Mason is currently working on a documentary looking into the unsolved crime.

I know I’m not the only one interested in finding out more about these videos. Amy Sedaris reposted this clip from Instagram user @homomacabre, whose followers also care about the minutia. His posts highlight the kitsch of old gay porn, with acting thinner than the flimsy sets, not to mention the tacky period clothes and hairstyles. And then there’s the music of Costello Presley.

I wanted to do a blog post about the mysterious synth-pop wizard who scored several dozen gay porn films in the 80’s and early 90’s, but have not successfully uncovered any info about him, including his true identity. I am not alone in my appreciation of Costello Presley: There are multiple soundcloud files and a reddit post with a filmography of approximately 40 titles that feature his music. A porn-adjacent friend of mine does not remember his real name, but assures me that Mr. Presley has left the building.

In 2017, synth band Parralox did a faithful cover of Costello Presley’s “Animal Reaction” from William Higgins’ Class of ’69.

In addition to Head of the Class, another Scott Masters/Catalina video in the Costello Presley oeuvre is John Travis’s Powerline (1989), which also starred Eric Manchester. This film features one of my favorite unintentionally funny scenes from that era.

I purchased a VHS copy of Powerline while on spring break from college. I had gone into New York City to see a Broadway show with some school friends and was about to head back to Long Island. I couldn’t manage to break away from the group and go into a porn shop, so I said my goodbyes at Penn Station and headed down to the train platform. Once the coast was clear, I ran back up to 8th avenue and went into the first smut shop I could find.

I made my way over to the video racks as a stripper in a silver bikini and stilettoes danced on the stairs to the upper level, beckoning shoppers to partake of something more tangible. I grabbed Powerline and headed to the register. With a $39.99 price tag, it was more than I would normally pay for a porn videocassette but my train was leaving in 5 minutes.

All the “acting” scenes are priceless but this one is my favorite, featuring gay-for-pay cover model Tom Steele as the cable guy with Lou Cass and Troy Ramsey as the couple from downstairs who catch him jerking off on the roof.

Porn legend and uber music fan Lou Cass was a frequent guest on The Robin Byrd Show in the early 90’s when he was dancing in New York. The Bay Area resident still has a strong social media presence and occasionally releases his own music. This is one of several versions of Pat Benatar/Nick Gilder’s “Rated X” that he has recorded through the years:

If and when I find out more information about Costello Presley, I will be sure to update the post.

See also:
10 Gay Porn Stars We Lost in 2020
Gay Porn Stars We Lost in 2021
Remembering Prolific Pornographer Robert Prion
RIP Porn Star Turned Activist Terry DeCarlo

Dusty Springfield Sings Kate Bush

It’s hard for me to believe that I am well past 5 years into this blog nonsense and I have never written a single post about Dusty Springfield. I am a huge Dusty fan – she’s my diva. When I had my public access show here in New York City, I ran performance clips of Dusty so often that I received condolence calls and letters from viewers when she died in 1999.

Too much?

Back then, there was still much to discover: whole albums of unreleased material were unearthed and LPs that had been out of print for decades were remastered and reissued. But now the cupboard is bare, with even incomplete performances cobbled together to produce somewhat finished products.

I do appreciate collections that present the tracks in different contexts. A couple of nice recent compilations: Real Gone Music’s Complete Atlantic Singles (1968-1971) and Ace Records’ Dusty Sings Soul are welcome additions to my dusty Dusty collection. And then there’s Goin’ Back: 1964-1971, a 2-CD set of radio and TV recordings that is about to be released in the UK.

With a career spanning close to 40 years and hundreds of recordings in genres from folk to disco and everything in between, it’s easy to forget about some of the lesser known Dusty performances. I was recently reminded of the time she covered a Kate Bush song.

Yes, Kate Bush.

And I’m also a huge fan of Kate Bush. But somehow, I had forgotten about this.

It’s like artists converging from different dimensions. Or maybe not. We live in an age where Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett duets are a thing.

Programme for the Drury Lane shows, 1979

Dusty always had a great ear for music, whether choosing her own material or introducing the Motown Sound to the UK. She was also instrumental in getting Led Zeppelin signed to Atlantic records. It’s not surprising that she would have taken notice of Kate Bush from the very beginning.

Picture it: London, April 1979. Dusty has just turned 40 as she returned to the UK after living in the US for most of the 1970’s. Meanwhile, 20 year-old Kate Bush had released her first two albums within the previous year. Dusty was performing several shows at The Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Unfortunately there are no official recordings of the performances but we do have a couple of bootleg audio recordings. Dusty introduces the song:

“When I came here last year, I was surprised and mostly pleased at the musical changes that had happened here. I like things like (Ian Drury’s) ‘Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick’ just as much as you do…. anyway the thing that impressed me most was that so much originality was around. In particular one young lady came through with a song called ‘Wuthering Heights’…. Kate Bush has an immense amount of originality and I was absolutely staggered by her. I’d like to sing a song that I think is one of the prettiest ones ever written, certainly by her. It’s called ‘The Man With The Child In His Eyes.'”

She then goes on to, as Neil Tennant would later say, “Dustify” the song. It’s a beautiful performance of an unexpected song choice:

Dusty was not alone in her praise of “The Man With The Child In His Eyes”. Besides reaching the #1 spot on the UK pop charts, the song also won an Ivor Novello Award for songwriting.

Later that year, Dusty’s performance at Royal Albert Hall was properly recorded for posterity. Unfortunately, by that time the song had been removed from the set list.

Today would have been Dusty’s 83rd birthday. She is still sorely missed and I’d trade my eye teeth to hear her sing a duet with Lady Gaga.

Revisiting Kate Bush’s gayest songs.