Mar. 30th, 2008 11:22 am
Goths Night Out
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klwardI've completed my manuscript. There's a goth-industrial club running at the Sly Fox Hotel this Saturday. Those new anti-smoking regulations have been in for a while now. Hmm.
I stopped clubbing in the mid-90s upon realising I was spending more time outside chatting to the bouncer than inside inhaling the fumes. My various health problems, which were just hitting me at that point, include a zero tolerance of cigarette smoke. Although this barred me from the scene at the time, it increased my angst no end and forced me to assemble my own cd collection. And I never stopped buying the clothes...
So it's me and old friend J.M, who also hasn't been to a club in over a decade, off to Radioactivity. I'm wearing a new deep burgundy shirt with matching cravat, a magnificent spider brooch thatashamel bought me in London and the leather. Also, my best eye-makeup ever. Standing on the station platform, the spectacle of the guys and gals in their floral shirts and sequinned halters, kamikaze heels and advanced state of inebriation brings home to me the many benefits of being a goth. The music is great, you are always well-dressed and retain your dignity. You also get to have animated conversations on trains about necromancy and the legendary Newcastle cemetery game. J.M. is also a roleplayer of long standing. We remember all the same freeforms. We gossip shamelessly about the people we knew. Where are they now?
Well, a few of them were at Radioactivity. It is wonderful to recognise them, to be hailed by them, to have to summarise the years in highlights. It feels like history, as though we have in some way left a trace in the world. And being goths, none of us have grey hairs. One guy is unexpectedly bald, but that's cool.
I don't know. Something about blood red walls unevenly lit by spinning lights, intermittent smoke clouds (oddly enough, that stuff has never affected me) and a singer growling in German just soothes me. I feel relaxed and lairish. But it's the Cure that gets me up and dancing. Things don't really turn goth until the perennially elegant Montag starts her set at 1.00 am, but then we get the Cure, New Order, NIN (Head Like A Hole, no less!) the Tea Party, the Sisters and Clan of Xymox. People were dancing previously (including the group of afro-haired, flare-wearing adolescents who were clearly on ecstasy and had no idea where they were) but the moral is, you want to fill a dance floor, you play music you can sway to. Music you can writhe to: that's what corsets are for (and my leather cincher). And so much of that music was written in England about twenty years ago. I hold that Wombat's 2007 single Let's Dance to Joy Division is obviously about this phenomenon. Montag did not play Wombat, I hasten to add.
I dance. Get into the right space and there's no need to stop. The music comes in great waves with intricacies you may catch in your fingers. And those groups form, the mutual recognition of people with no connection outside of the song. Those who remain seated have Victorian silhouettes and sip from glasses of translucent green. Respectful, dark and elegant, just as I remember. Just as it should be. No need to stop at all, until the next DJ begins.
I have a complete manuscript for a paranormal romance. I can eat spelt bread. I can stay out dancing till 3.00 am without being totally dead the next day. Things are looking up.
I stopped clubbing in the mid-90s upon realising I was spending more time outside chatting to the bouncer than inside inhaling the fumes. My various health problems, which were just hitting me at that point, include a zero tolerance of cigarette smoke. Although this barred me from the scene at the time, it increased my angst no end and forced me to assemble my own cd collection. And I never stopped buying the clothes...
So it's me and old friend J.M, who also hasn't been to a club in over a decade, off to Radioactivity. I'm wearing a new deep burgundy shirt with matching cravat, a magnificent spider brooch that
ashamel bought me in London and the leather. Also, my best eye-makeup ever. Standing on the station platform, the spectacle of the guys and gals in their floral shirts and sequinned halters, kamikaze heels and advanced state of inebriation brings home to me the many benefits of being a goth. The music is great, you are always well-dressed and retain your dignity. You also get to have animated conversations on trains about necromancy and the legendary Newcastle cemetery game. J.M. is also a roleplayer of long standing. We remember all the same freeforms. We gossip shamelessly about the people we knew. Where are they now?Well, a few of them were at Radioactivity. It is wonderful to recognise them, to be hailed by them, to have to summarise the years in highlights. It feels like history, as though we have in some way left a trace in the world. And being goths, none of us have grey hairs. One guy is unexpectedly bald, but that's cool.
I don't know. Something about blood red walls unevenly lit by spinning lights, intermittent smoke clouds (oddly enough, that stuff has never affected me) and a singer growling in German just soothes me. I feel relaxed and lairish. But it's the Cure that gets me up and dancing. Things don't really turn goth until the perennially elegant Montag starts her set at 1.00 am, but then we get the Cure, New Order, NIN (Head Like A Hole, no less!) the Tea Party, the Sisters and Clan of Xymox. People were dancing previously (including the group of afro-haired, flare-wearing adolescents who were clearly on ecstasy and had no idea where they were) but the moral is, you want to fill a dance floor, you play music you can sway to. Music you can writhe to: that's what corsets are for (and my leather cincher). And so much of that music was written in England about twenty years ago. I hold that Wombat's 2007 single Let's Dance to Joy Division is obviously about this phenomenon. Montag did not play Wombat, I hasten to add.
I dance. Get into the right space and there's no need to stop. The music comes in great waves with intricacies you may catch in your fingers. And those groups form, the mutual recognition of people with no connection outside of the song. Those who remain seated have Victorian silhouettes and sip from glasses of translucent green. Respectful, dark and elegant, just as I remember. Just as it should be. No need to stop at all, until the next DJ begins.
I have a complete manuscript for a paranormal romance. I can eat spelt bread. I can stay out dancing till 3.00 am without being totally dead the next day. Things are looking up.
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Oh, please explain.
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LAKE CEMETERY 'GAME' STOPPED
Six teenagers were 'moved on' from Whitebridge Cemetery last night when police found them playing the Dungeons and Dragon game on a blanket about 10pm. One of the six was dressed in black and the group were drinking a carton of beer, a Charlestown police spokesman said. There was no damage to the cemetery. "We did not think it was the right place to hold a game so they were moved on," the spokesman said.
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I myself was not there, but I am advised of the following errata from a reliable source:-
* There were actually seven gamers, of whom only two were still teenagers.
* All of whom were dressed in black.
* And playing Call of Cthulhu. They said it was D&D to save time.
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Which reminds me: they do tours of the Tank stream twice a year. You have to go in the ballot to get in, and the one for April has just shut. Interested later in the year? Cost is $35
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Tank Stream: yeah, count me in.