Susie Bright's Journal

The Musical Inspiration for My New Book: The Erotic Treasury

Name that tune, you say? Okay, now name the erotic legend that goes with the tune...

I have a new book out for the holidays, a fancy-pantsy slip-covered hardback called X: The Erotic Treasury, with forty stories from my favorite erotic literary fiction authors.

I asked all my writers, "What song would you like to dedicate to your story?"

Twenty-three of them answered— fiends like me, who invoke a lyric to every new inspiration!

Above is my "jukebox," where you can hear snippets of all the songs.

Below is a list of all the stories, with the title, author, song, and synopsis.

I loved doing this... it gives me another insight into what each author was thinking as they twisted the short and curlies!

1.    Wish Girls
        by Matthew Addison

"Wished for You" by the Squirrel Nut Zippers

A boy grows weary of his two devoted fembots.

2.    On the Road with Sonia
        by Paula Bomer

“Freeway,”  by Aimee Mann

One mother's erotic road trip.. several months pregnant.


3.    Seagum
        by Corwin Ericson

“Barnacle Bill the Sailor,” by The Controllers

A fisherman applies a shocking gift from the sea to his lingam.


4.    Beyond the Sea
       by Susan DiPlacido

"The Girl from Ipanema," Getz/Gilberto

Beautiful con artist works washed-up surf star on last chance cruise.


5.    Night Train
       by Martha Garvey

“Take Off Your Clothes (For World Peace),” by Royal Pink

They got on at Broadway-Lafayette... and the rest is history.

6.    Electric Razor
       by Irma Wimple

"Good Vibrations," by American Black Lung

The potential of household appliances in one woman's life.

7.    Must Bite
       by Vicki Hendricks

“Monkey Man” by the Rolling Stones 

Stripper takes on a new husband with an exotic pet collection and a huge insurance policy.

8.    Loved It and Set It Free
        by Lisa Montanarelli

“Memories of Times Square (The Dildo Song),” by The Neal Pollack Invasion

(What a perfect, perfect, song- SB)

Two young women's night of debauchery have to cover up their misdeeds in a hurry.

9.    Comeback
       by Nick Kaufmann

"Magic"  by Olivia Newton-John

A broken down porn star gets one hell of a supernatural last chance.

10.    Parts for Wholes
         by Monmouth

“Cue The Strings,” by Low

A tender, painful, and pleasurable intervention.


11.    Salt
        by Bill Noble

“Food and Pussy,” by Dan Reeder (How did I never hear this before?-SB)

Two unlikely lovers set adrift off the Na Pali coast.


12.    A First Time for Everything
        by Rachel Kramer Bussel

“Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!)” by Garbage

One woman's self-made bukkake party is no Martha Stewart affair.


13.    Fairgrounds
         by Peggy Munson

 "Carnival,” by Bikini Kill

A trio of outlaws and crips take their sex act to the carnival grounds.

14.    Broads
        by R. Gay

“Angel,” by Massive Attack

A guy who doesn't think he stands a chance with a certain kind of woman finds he has a physical gift he didn't realize.

15.    God’s Gift
         by Salome Wilde

“Big Bottom,” by Spinal Tap

A legendary Rock Star is reincarnated beyond his wildest sexual imagination.

16.    Red Light Green Light
         by Shanna Germain

“L'il Red Riding Hood,” by Sam the Sham

A tourist takes a turn in a brothel window in Amsterdam.

17.    Puffy Lips
         by Susie Hara

“Flamenco Tangos,” by Manuel Salado

A dare at a bar goes one step further than either lover expected.

18.    Gifts from Santa
         by Tsaurah Litzky

“Jingle Bells,” by Duke Ellington & his Orchestra

That jolly ole' elf knows exactly how to get you off.

19.     Deprogramming

          by Greta Christina

"4'33" by John Cage

Two refugees from a charismatic religious cult know they have one catharsis left undone.

Watch the Cage performance here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HypmW4Yd7SY

20.       Yes

            by Donna George Storey

"The Power of Love" by Huey Lewis and the News

Just how far you can take one dinner guest, one accommodating hostess, and one highly authoritative master of ceremonies.

21.    Cold Ass Ice
         by Chelsea Summers

"Hot Child in the City, " by Nick Gilder

A sweltering summer in an un-airconditioned apartment in The City can take one right past the point of no return.

23.   Rock of Ages
        by P.S. Haven

“Pictures Of Lily” by The Who

One young man's coming of age, thanks to rock'n'roll and his sister's unintentional inspiration.

24.     A Perfect Fit
          by Katya Andreevna

"I'll Be Seeing You," by Françoise Hardy and Iggy Pop

A last-minute trip to the shoe shop takes one customer into a fitting session she'll never forget.

24.     Clean Comfortable Room
          by Pam Ward

"Swordfishtrombone," by Tom Waits

What's a woman gotta go through for a decent room and a pack of cigarettes?

24.     Valentine's Day in Jail
          by Susan Musgrave

"If You Were Crying Over Me," by Rita Chiarelli

This autobiographical-based story was made into a film for the Canadian TV series Bliss, which is devoted to women's erotic memoir. Rita's song was used on the soundtrack.

Photos: Rachel Kramer Bussell hitting the bowl again, and P.S. Haven, coloring outside the lines.

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Those Unforgettable Lesbian Love Songs

Lesbian Pop historian Rabdrake has posted a remarkable contribution to the rarefied world of lesbian erotic music and video: The G2G Love Song List.

All the songs are by female vocalists singing love songs to other women—  "Not friendship love, but undisguised sensuality, an open expression of same-sex attraction."

Every tune links to a video featuring the likes of Patti Smith, Lisa Lopes, Janet Jackson, Ani DiFranco, Laura Nyro, Melissa Ethridge, The Butchies, Katy Perry, Joan Jett, Amy Winehouse, and Marlene Dietrich.

It's interesting to look at that group of names, isn't it? Some are outspoken dyke activists, some are "it-ain't-no-big-thing" bisexuals, while others are persistent closet cases who nevertheless make these videos which reveal their true affections.

My personal favorites are Amy's "Valerie," Marlene Dietrich's montage, and the concert clip above from Sarah Jane Morris.

I was always interested in "straight" pop songs that crossed over into the once-dynamic lesbian bar scene. It often had to do with a play on words, like "Me and Mrs. Jones."

"I Never Loved a Man (The Way I Love You)," with Aretha Franklin wringing it out wet, has to be at the top of that list. I just had another little gasp listening to Allison Crowe's cover of the same.

Rabdrake is the researcher behind the story of "Emmie," Pop music's first lesbian love song, composed by Laura Nyro, who wrote it for her lover, Maria Desiderio.

The reason Nyro must've been so secretive about her lover wasn't because they were gay in a not-so-friendly time— but because they were 13 and 18 when they met and fell in love. That's when Nyro wrote "Emmie."

Later, she wrote "Desiree," another devotion to her partner. Both women died, still together, in middle age, of ovarian cancer, just a few years apart. It reminds me of the rose and the green briar in the lyrics of "Barb'ry Allen:"

They grew and grew to the steeple top
Till they could grow no higher
And there they twined in a true love's knot
Red rose around green briar

 I wish we knew more of their story.

Hobo Bill's Last Ride

Today, in honor of my mom and dad's birthdays, (August 12th and 13th, respectively) here's a playlist I made while I was on the train to Santa Fe last week. There is nothing like the percussion of a locomotive to set your mind to music!

I learned a lot of these train songs from my relatives. My mom used to like to grab my hand and swing me around to the Chattanooga Choo Choo. My aunt Frannie used to work me up singing Rock Island Line, faster and faster and faster. My dad was the font of all Holy Modal Rounders recordings.

Enjoy! And if you have never heard Lord Buckley's "Train" Recitation, you are in for a treat. —You can play clips of each song at the bottom of the post.

1. The Train
Lord Buckley

2. All Down The Line (Exile on Main Street, only!)
The Rolling Stones

3. Baby Ride Easy
Carlene Carter

4. Blue Railroad Train
Jorma Kaukonen

5. Cannonball Rag
The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band

6. Chattanooga Choo Choo
The Andrews Sisters

7. Choctaw Hayride
Alison Krauss and Union Station

8. Choo Choo Ch'Boogie
Clarence Gatemouth Brown

9. Rock Island Line
Devil In A Woodpile

10. Freight Train
Sonny Terry

11. Ghost Riders in the Sky
Mary McCaslin

12. Hear My Train A Comin'
Jimi Hendrix

13. Hobo Bill's Last Ride
Jimmie Rodgers

14. I'm Going To The West
Mike Seeger

15. I've Been Working on the Railroad
Pete Seeger

16. It Takes A Lot To Laugh, It Takes A Train To Cry
Bob Dylan

17. Last Train To Clarksville (Album Version)
The Monkees

18. Mystery Train
The Paul Butterfield Blues Band

19. Night Train
James Brown

20. Railroad Boy
Joan Baez

21. The Cuckoo
Holy Modal Rounders

22. So Many Roads, So Many Trains
Otis Rush

23. This Train
The Staple Singers

24. Two Trains
Allen Toussaint

25. Walkin' Down The Line
The Rising Sons

Miss Quesie's Summer Solstice Dance Party

Today is the longest day of the year— and in Santa Cruz, where I live, it might be one of the hottest.

This can only mean one thing: Dance Party!

Rigorous, unrelenting, jam-down-your-pants, marathon.

As Mr. Brown used to say, "I am going to make you sweat."

Below is a widget of fourteen songs I've been dancing to, nonstop, for the past few weeks. It's your basic Funk African Latin Island Fever Detroit Brooklyn Lunacy.

Tell me what you think of it... and what's greasing your heels lately?

Ringtone Virgin

Sometimes I have crazy insomniac ideas in the middle of the night. Like making a "Susie Ringtone."

More from Susie Bright at Myxer

I was reading about the recent SXSW conference, and how musicians are making a living with their talent. We know the recording industry has melted like the Wicked Witch of the West under a hot bucket. So musicians are touring their tuchises off, and selling fan merchandise, such as ringtones. People note that ringtones cost a lot for a few seconds of sound, yet they sell better these days than many other aspects of a musical career!

Writers read the news about musicians like a crystal ball, since we're having the same problems, only slightly behind the catastrophic curve. I wondered, "Why can't spoken word performers and authors have ringtones, too?" There's lots of beautiful voices I'd like to hear coming out of my cell phone, people who are familiar and inspirational to me.

I'm a virgin at this. I've made six ringtones so far:

Bright Love: This is a classical choral piece by David Meckler, with the libretto based on my story, "BlindSexual."

Circus Whore: This is my live performance of a Cyborgasm fantasy.

Hunter Thompson's Late Night Phone Calls to Susie: Say no more.

I'm Not in the Business: Some comic melodrama.

Let's Talk About Sex: Humorous scene, I wrote for Erotique.

Milky: A sexy lullaby, the intro to my "La Leche League" Cyborgasm recording.

Listen to all the audio previews here!

I have some ringtone questions for you experts out there:

Do you enjoy other spoken word ringtones— or are they nonexistent, or unappealing?

If I make a short ringtone, will it repeat itself when your phone rings? I want it to!

What makes the "perfect" ringtone?

Do you change yours all the time, or keep to a couple favorites?

Of course this is a wild author scheme to make money, and to play upon your worst impulses to buy nonessential items for your hedonistic pleasure. The noble part is that you are supporting the artists you respect, who need you like lambs need their milk!

If you are a paid subscriber to my blog already, please let me send you a ringtone for free. I appreciate your support so much, and I'd love you to have any of these new toys. Just email me, with the subject: Ringtone Club, and tell me which one you want. I 'll email it to you.

If you'd like to subscribe to my blog, and get everything for free that I cook up, please do join our merry band, for $5 a month— and we're talking dollars, people— practically nothing! The photo of me in the Ringtone pic, btw, is by Della Grace...

Tommy, We Hardly Knew Ye

This spring marks our first St. Patrick's Day without singer and storyteller Tommy Makem... since his birth in 1932. He died last August— and I bet a lot of people are toasting Tommy with more than a few tears this weekend.

Tommy Makem, and the Clancy Brothers, sang the songs I was put to bed with, as a child, my lullabies. Not all of them are sweet, or sad like this one— Tommy is just as famous for his dancing tunes. I remember my mother grabbing me up into the air and starting an Irish jig at the first chord of Finnegan's Wake, or O'Reilly's Daughter.

These Irish folk songs are the first lyrics I learned by heart, the kind of tunes a toddler warbles without having any idea what the words mean!

Mary Mack, Mack, Mack
All Dressed in Black, Black, Black
With Silver Buttons, Buttons, Buttons
Going Down Her Back, Back, Back

Now way down Yonder, Yonder, Yonder,
In the Jailbird Town Town Town
Where the Women All Work Work Work
When The Sun Goes Down Down Down

You know, it wasn't until I was 32 years old, and singing my infant to sleep, that I realized that song is the story of a singular streetwalker!

I was watching the Pete Seeger documentary the other night— The Power of Song— and contemplated his remarks on the fate of music's communal memory:

In 1943, when he was in the Army, Mr. Seeger conducted an experiment on his fellow soldiers, asking them to write down the names of the songs whose words and tunes they really knew. In his own memory file he counted about 300, but he was impressed by the competition.

“I was surprised how many the average person knew back then,” he said. He supposed that the number of songs crossing lines of generation, class and sex would be much lower today, outside of “Over the Rainbow” and “Happy Birthday to You.”

Ouch. That's sad but true. I think how many songs I know by heart, and they pale in comparison to my parent's musical memory. My mom not only sang all the songs, she knew all the dances that went with them.

Sometimes I get in a panic, when I realize that the days when I sang my daughter every night are long behind us. At a certain point, she became embarrassed by my singing— Mom! Stop it!—  and since the rest of the neighborhood wasn't crooning their own tunes, voices floating out the windows, kids singing harmony in the streets, there's been no peer support for it.

You have to go out of your way to find a singing group now— in my childhood, I can't recall going over to someone's house where people didn't dance and sing as a matter of course.

The other night I went to a dinner party followed by the roll-out of a home karaoke machine. I noticed that anyone who knew the song, would rather turn around to the crowd, and belt it out, without the lyric prompt. The microphone's the fun part, not following the bouncing ball. My friends were shocked that I knew so many  old country tunes, like "Your Cheatin' Heart," or "Jackson."

I don't know how I know these songs; I can't remember a time when I didn't know them. I realize they go so far back in my mind, because I learned them from my family's singing, not from a recording. I didn't know who "Patsy" or "The Carter Family" was. It was only when I when I got older, and bought my own 45's and records, that I learned lyrics from the original recording artist.

This song, The Butcher Boy, is the lament of a young girl who's found herself knocked up by the butcher's helper, who's abandoned her. She contemplates her and her baby's fate, and  hangs herself, with her last poem tucked in her pocket.

Tommy is singing it on Pete Seeger's wonderful old TV program, Rainbow Quest.

The tragic splendor, if not the narrative, of the tale, is an inspiration to Patrick McCabe's novel, The Butcher Boy, and Neil Jordan's movie of the same name. In the case of the McCabe's tale, it's as if the young girl had birthed her child after all, and named him "Francie Brady." His story makes his mother's look like a walk in the park— one of the most damning stories about religion, poverty, violence— and Ireland— I've ever read.

But back to Tommy. What a passion for life. His poems will be sung for very long time. I hope you don't mind if I change the lyrics to another one of his favorites, this time, a Scottish one:

Now Tommy is a bonny lad, he is a lad of mine,
I've never had a better lad and I've had twenty-nine...

And for you, and for you, and for you, my Tommy lad,
I'd dance the buckles off my shoes wi' you my Tommy lad!

Wednesday Night is the Night We Make Love

I went to a vegetarian potluck deep in the dark wet forest of the Santa Cruz Mountains, and this is what I came home with.

Official site of Flight of the Conchords, New Zealand's fourth-most popular digi-folk paradists. —Thanks Laura!

My Favorite Music I Discovered This Year

I listened to too much pink noise this year, and not enough new music! But what I did hear, I've been pretty crazy about.

Who did you listen to this past year, when you couldn't go to sleep? How about when you wanted to get down in your own kitchen? Do you make your own music?

What tune do you find yourself belting out when the occasion demanded it? Did any lyrics reduce you to a slobbering wreck?

Tell me everything.... and here's my little list:

Stairway to Heaven  (4:44)

Rodrigo y Gabriella

Rodrigo and Gabriella

Video

They came to Santa Cruz, from Mexico City via Dublin, to blow our little town's minds, and get some custom-made love from my friend, and master guitar-maker, Rick Turner.  Imagine the Ramones taking up Flamenco in the Zona Rosa.

Little Wing (3:16)

A Flying Leap

James Hill

Listen

James came to play at our monthly Ukulele Club hootenanny, and it was LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT. Not only did he captivate every striving amateur in the room, he also told us about how he's arranged for ukuleles to get into every school kid's hands in Canada. Back in the 70s, when I lived in Edmonton, it was recorders!

Sleepwalk (4:30)

Back in Chicago

Freddie Roulette

Video

Freddie improvised with a group of steel guitar masters in a "showdown" a few months ago at the Kuumbwa Jazz Center, and it was near pandemonium. He's like Roy Rogers meets Jimi Hendrix on a rainy night in Chicago. There's not nearly enough recorded music from him, but this will give you a little taste.

 

Peter & the Wolf, Beatbox Flute (2:11)

Winter in June

Greg Pattillo and Project

Video

Love City  (4:38)

Live Cut from the 1969 Woodstock fest, that isn't on any album I know of!

Sly & the Family Stone

Video

I love everything on the Woodstock albums, but I found this cut on YouTube, exclusively. After seeing the "Family" (without Sly) this summer at the Boardwalk, I was on a "Stone Dance High" for weeks afterwards. I am honored to say I touched the hem of Rose Stone's garment, felt Cynthia Robinson's trumpet-spit fly on my brow beneath the bandstand.

 

Peter and the Wolf

The orchestral version of "Peter and the Wolf" was one of the first pieces of recorded music I ever heard, which scared the mittens off of me at my tender young age. I always wanted to hear the story one more time... if you'd promise to hold me tight!

This is beatboxing flute player Greg Pattillo, whose entire CD, Winter in June, is just as awesome.

Miss Fanny's Regards for Everyone

Oh, and if you want to end war and stuff, AGAIN, you got to sing loud.  Thank you, for helping me sing my loudest this year...

From The Last Waltz: "The Weight," performed by The Band and The Staple Singers, featuring Mavis and Pops Staples, at Winterland, Thanksgiving 1976, at the Band's farewell concert.

Library Crimes

Must. Have. Library. Sex. Now.

This video is by New Zealand band Haunted Love: Geva Downey (vocals, "Enchanter" living-room organ, percussion) and Rainy McMaster (vocals, guitar). See their YouTube channel for ghostly pop tunes about werewolves, haunted museums, vengeful librarians, love inside computers, and ponies that just won't go.  Neigh! to Steve Harsin for the tip.

Thank You Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin

I can't move; I'm so sore, and it's all the Family Stone's fault.

I saw The Original Family Stone over the weekend at the Santa Cruz Boardwalk— or, I should say, I joined the Family Stone, because if you get within 100 feet of their company, you are a participant. 

I was on "background vocals," and "background dancing fool," along with a couple hundred other Everyday People, who screamed and pounded the beach into a cake of funkified salt.

There are three 60-year-old-plus original members of Sly's Family leading this reunion tour: Cynthia Robinson, trumpet/vocals; Jerry Martini, sax/vocals; and Rose Stone, keyboard and lead vocals— along with a bunch of youngsters filling out the other positions that the original Family revolutionized.

I danced directly under Cynthia's trumpet because I wanted her horn-spit to to hit me if I should be so blessed.

Cynthia is my favorite. I remember sneaking into my first screening of Woodstock when I was fifteen, and realizing that this commanding woman was the first female performer I'd ever seen in a band horn section.

Woodstock made the Stone Family mega-stars. Sly brought the first multi-racial, gender-blind band to the rock stage. The Family featured women who were ferocious, not fluffy. And when was the last time you saw a white drummer backing a black front musician?

Sly's Family snipped racial and sexual cut-outs to ribbons: Don't call me Nigger, Whitey— Don't call me Whitey— Nigger. Songs like that are outrageous today. It's dumbfounding to consider how courageous this group was— and more's the pity, how radical they still seem today.

It's hard to remember a time when every funk/soul/rock group didn't trade lead vocals like the Family did. The original bass player, Larry Graham, was onto SLAPPING something—  and no bass player ever touched his strings the same way again. This band's funk came out from between their legs, and knocked you upside the head. Even James Brown had to take a deep breath.

After Friday's show, I went home and looked up all the archival material I could find on the Stone Family— it's rich. I recommend viewing their prize-winning gig at the Ohio State Fairin 1968, their early 70s rehearsal footage, and an encore performance from Woodstock called "Love City," which surely could've been included in the main feature except it would've made everyone else look puny.

If you haven't been in the history vaults, your first question might be, "Where is Sly?"

Sylvester Stewart is alive; he supports this reunion group, and this really is his family— Rose is his sister, and Cynthia's the mother of one of his musical daughters, Phunne Stone. Jerry is all the uncle you're ever going to need. Freddie Stone,

Sly's brother, was the original lead guitarist, and now leads a church congregation in Vallejo who I'm determined to go see in their monthly jubilee.

Vet, another sister who used to perform background vocals, has a daughter, Lisa, who's played with the family too. They all came down to the Boardwalk, just to be in the audience. I'm sure I'm missing half the family tree, because the Stewarts rival the Osmonds and Jacksons for sheer genetic musical talent.

People say that Sly fell apart over drugs, notably cocaine. That's true, in a small-fact way, but it's deeper than that. Every superstar of the 60's rock scene fell apart on coke, heroin, and booze. The Stone Family band had its horrible ego/drug feuds, like every other band.

Some died, some survived, and some couldn't survive if they stayed in the business end of what gets called "music." Some have been self-medicating for another angle altogether.

I'd say Sly falls in the tortured genius camp— he's never stopped making music, but he stopped trying to deal with the public. He did time on cocaine possession, and I don't mean Paris Hilton time. His family is protective of him.

When you see the senior Family members step up on stage today, with their chops and charisma, you realize this really is "A Family Affair." We should all be so lucky to kick out jams like this when we're pushing 70. *I* can't lift my tired arms over my head after one measly night, and they're back on the road with a full summer tour schedule: Link.

People in Santa Cruz typically arrive early at the Boardwalk to set their blanket up on the sand for the Friday night music shows. They are maniacal about saving their space, and when the music starts, they get cranky if anyone stands up, or blocks their view.

But Friday night, they were all on their feet:

"Everybody... STAND!...You've been sitting much too long; there's a permanent crease in your right and wrong...Stand!... There's a midget standing tall, and a giant beside him, about to fall— Stand! Stand! Stand!"

It was Panda-Funkin-Monium.

My daughter was running the roller coaster behind the bleachers— she's a ride operator there this summer— and they turned off the ride so that everyone could have as much hot fun in the summertime as they could take.

The teenage boy she was running the ride with, he confounded her: "I don't know how to dance to music like this," he said.

"He's a little hung-up," I said, when she described it to me later. She listened to that word, "Hung-Up," like she'd never visualized the full metaphor before, and nodded her head.

Yeah, there's always someone like that  around; you want to Take Them Higher (Higher!) — but they hold on so tight before they let go!

Falling in Love Again

I recently got a nice note from Rick Turner, the legendary guitar-maker and pickup artist.  He praised my music reviews, which made me think, "Dang, I haven't posted anything I'm listening to in forever!"

A remedy is in order. Here's a few albums for March Madness, with not. one. bad. cut.

Imagine if Burt Bachrach went to sleep, and then woke up as the rudest girl imaginable. This is the avenging angel you'd hear in your bed: Lily Allen.

I've decided all Ted Haggard needs is a little Wednesday Night Prayer Meeting to give him a push. This is the "alternate take" on the reissued Blues and Roots:

Lily Allen said she admired Amy Winehouse, and I got soul-bowled all over again:

Finally, I had to do my little poledance to the Black Keys "I'll Be Your Man"

And what are you pole-dancing to lately?

Hendrix, & Why the Little Dykes Understand

Teenagers find reasons to live and die in popular music. The aging process grinds on our passion, as we become more cynical and cautious. But a former teenager never forgets her first, and my first was Jimi Hendrix.

Having Been Experienced: Jimi Hendrix, and Why the Little Dykes Understand

Hendrix is one of the most compelling legends of the sixties. He was a virtuoso musician, a “fuckin’ genius” as they say, and he died at the height of our country’s discontent, an estrangement he described many times in his lyrics. He didn't suffer society’s rules gladly or hold back the wages of war. He was an army veteran who wasn't a stranger to the term “imperialism.” I idolized him at the time, not only as a revolutionary guitarist, but as a revolutionary and an ax man.

But there was something about Jimi’s sound, rather than the lyrics, or the times he lived in, that made young people like me want to be free— in that classic sense of no inhibitions, no limits, no authority.

When I talk to men of my generation who revere Hendrix, they usually rap about his technical mastery and mysteries. But the biggest mystery to me about Hendrix was not how he achieved his outlandish distortion, but how he distorted my world— why my body responded to his voice; why “If six turned out to be nine, I don’t mind, I don’t mind.” I’ve been playing Electric Ladyland for decades now, but I didn’t examine what Jimi meant to me until I had a very weird flashback in the mid-’80s…

It’s hard to keep track of all the military actions the United States has engaged in post-Vietnam. Since Nixon, every Pentagon folly is an incident, a “war-ette,” and in that vein, perhaps you recall that in 1986, Reagan bombed Libya.

I remember the night the Libyan air strike was reported because I was at a lesbian strip show. It was a Tuesday, the night I helped host a women-only burlesque show. This was the first example of what later became ubiquitous, but at that time, it was underground and unknown to the mainstream culture. This evening featured our usual two hundred-plus crowd of leatherdykes, financial-district escapeés, and Midwestern dyke tourists. The strippers were all local girls who worked regularly in the Tenderloin.

The kind of erotic dancer who plays to a lesbian crowd tends to have a bit more spirit, a real desire to connect to the crowd. She's a feminist whore who's having a righteous moment with the girls. But her costumes and acts were rarely different from what she'd perform in at a regular porn palace, regardless of her sexual orientation.

They all danced to Top-Forty, which at the time was a string of tunes by Janet Jackson, Mötley Crüe, and Vanity 6. It was an ‘80s crowd with an ‘80s beat, and the last thing I expected to hear any Tuesday was the electrified rattle of a machine gun.

It was the “Machine Gun,” Jimi Hendrix’s song from Band of Gypsys circa 1970.

The first riffs erupted on a bare stage, and then a yellow spot came up. Out of the darkness, a stripper named Lupé crawled on her belly upstage, in a combat uniform and a gas mask. She was a death spirit; her body was contorted and furious, and her sex was driven by Hendrix’s ferocious rat-a-tat-tat.

She did her entire set, seventeen minutes, to Hendrix’s anthem, and the gas mask was the one thing that never came off.

I don’t know what the girls at the cocktail tables were thinking; I don’t know if cruising and foreplay came to a halt. Most of the audience was younger than I— I don’t think they remembered Walter Cronkite announcing the number of Vietnam casualties every night.

Some of these baby dykes may have been born the year that Hendrix played his disintegrated version of “The Star Spangled Banner” at Woodstock, which became the theme song of everyone—including myself—Who'd Rather Be Smashing the State.

Lupé was old for a stripper—almost thirty. When she came off the stage, she was so soaked I didn’t know if it was tears dripping off her face or sweat. But when she saw my own tearful face as I hugged her, she began to cry in earnest.

“You know why I did it, you know,” she said, and when she got a little drier, I asked her how she started listening to Jimi.

We had both listened for hours to Hendrix’s ”Machine Gun,” which was released during the most political and “Black” phase of his career. She and I remembered smoking a lot of pot to this album, chewing peyote, making love to men and women, and cursing the the stars and stripes. It was a time of inverted patriotism, where the very thing that made you hate LBJ, the Pentagon, Tricky Dick, and how-many-kids-he-killed-that-day, was the same thing that made you think that maybe this country had some greatness after all, if only we could get rid of... the pigs. I considered corporate greed to be a cancer on the body; I still trusted we were born clean.

I have one unusual clue to my feminine Hendrix fascination, which tied my revolutionary interest in him to my erotic interest. Everyone who has read the postmortem Hendrix biographies has heard tell about Jimi’s huge sexual appetite, his big cock, and his black erotic presence in a white milieu.

But in the middle of my lesbian strip show years, I found unexpected pictures and clues in the record of his life.

One of Hendrix’s closest running buddies had been a woman named Devon Wilson—his lover, roommate, pimp, dealer, and advisor. She was often called a “super-groupie,” linked with Mick Jagger and others. But the most interesting thing I read about her was that she was  bisexual, which in the sex work world is a euphemism for a hooker who  loves women exclusively, but fucks men for money and advantage. That would describe most of the women I met at our lesbian burlesque.

Devon’s bisexuality is not commented on very much in the typical Hendrix bio, except to say that Jimi “straightened Devon out.” I thought that notion was very funny, but my reading of a woman like Devon is that she "queered Jimi in."

Hendrix wrote a song about his muse, called “Dolly Dagger,” which one official biographer claimed was a mocking rhyme about Devon’s relationship with Jagger. But this rock journalist obviously didn’t know the biggest contribution Black English has made to the queer vernacular: bulldagger. Dolly/Devon was a bulldagger par excellence.

Been riding broomsticks since she was fifteen
Blowin’ out all the other witches on the scene
She got a bullwhip just as long as your life
Her tongue can even scratch the soul out of the devil’s wife
Well, I seen her in action at the player’s choice
Turning all the love men into doughnut boys

I wondered if “doughnut boys” meant guys who couldn’t wait to get Dolly’s cock up their ass. Instead of imagining Hendrix’s big dick, I saw his begging asshole in my mind, and Dolly taking him with her magic broom dick. After all, men who haven’t gotten down on their knees don’t say, “ ‘scuse me while I kiss the sky.”

I find it absolutely plausible to understand that Hendrix was a dyke daddy, a fellow traveler. The queer femme lacing to his soul was something I could anchor my militant teenage sexuality to. Of course, I am practicing the ultimate Spectator’s Choice, making my hero into me, believing that we shared a faith rather than just a good beat we could dance to.

Hendrix introduced me to the blues, to funk, and divine cacophony. If I hadn’t been fifteen at the time, I would have been unable to hang my political and erotic identity on his hook. But I was lucky.

Sure, lots of MTV stars are cute, but I don’t see them when I look out my belly button window. I’ve fantasized fucking many rock ‘n’ roll legends, but I’ve never again had the feeling like I got with Hendrix that I could fuck the whole wide world.

With Jimi you could love it and leave it; the two philosophies were not exclusive. He carved an axis bold as love and left me like he left so many others— spinning.

Photo of Jimi and Devon at LAX from the amazing collection at JimiHendrixOnline.com. Story first published in Sexwise. Dolly Dagger wasn't released before Hendrix's death, but you can find it on compilations like Experience Hendrix. He sang it as his opener at concerts in the summer of 1970. You can see Lupe in drag, stripping to Jagger, plus all the other original BurLEZk dancers (including "Sandra Dee" who later became "Tiffany Millions") on BurLEZk I, from Fatale Media. By the way, even if you've seen Woodstock on screen many times before, the Directors Cut DVD is mouthdropping, and I am so glad I stumbled upon it.

Eyes For You: Canciones de mi Padre

Since my dad died in October, I've been working on an album of songs for him.

These are songs we sang together, cried or laughed over— and sometimes lived right through.

This "record" is my memorial present to everyone who knew Bill and loved him, and whom he loved so much. Your support has meant the world to me the last few months.

You know the extraordinary ear and voice Bill had for music and poetry— in every language. I could have made a ten-volume set, but it was more like composing one of his haikus!

I've made one long mp3 file, that you can listen to here. It's about 75 minutes long— and below, are the individual songs and artists that make it up.

Peter and The Wolf Introduction (2:05)
Prokofiev: Peter And The Wolf - Britten: The Young Person's Guide - Lorin Maazel
Prokofiev - Britten

If I Were King Of the Forest  (4:17)
Wizard of Oz OST
Bert Lawr

Volver, Volver  (3:47)
Cancionero: Mas Y Mas
Los Lobos

 

Euphoria (1:32)
Holy Modal Rounders
Holy Modal Rounders

Did You Ever Have To Make Up Your Mind?  (2:00)
Do You Believe in Magic
Lovin' Spoonful

 

Everybody Leaves Without Telling Me Goodbye (1:53)
Jo Miller and Laura Love Sing Bluegrass and Old-Time Music
Jo Miller and Laura Love

Sitting On Top Of The World (2:39)
Trouble in Mind: Doc Watson Country Blues Collection
Doc Watson

I Only Have Eyes For You  (3:24)
The R & B Box: Goin' Nationwide - Volume 4
The Flamingos

Tierradentro  (4:11)
Tierradentro
Claudia Gomez

For No One  (2:32)
It's Like This
Rickie Lee Jones

Coyote  (5:01)
Hejira
Joni Mitchell

It's Alright, Ma (I'm Only Bleeding) (7:32)
Bringing It All Back Home
Bob Dylan

Cello Suite No.1, 4. Sarabande (2:51)
Bach: Six Unaccompanied Cello Suites
Yo-Yo Ma

Within You Without You  (5:05)
Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band
The Beatles

Big Bad Bill (Is Sweet William Now) (3:36)
Jazz
Ry Cooder and Joseph Byrd

My Native Home  (3:40)
Jo Miller and Laura Love Sing Bluegrass and Old-Time Music
Jo Miller and Laura Love

Your Flag Decal Won't Get You Into Heaven Anymore (2:52)
John Prine
John Prine

I Got Loaded  (3:18)
Cancionero: Mas Y Mas
Los Lobos

Notturno (6:10)
Goldsmith Variations
Daniel Goldsmith / Respighi

Apa'a Pa'a Wind Pololu  (1:54)
E Lili'u
George Kahumoku

The Leatherwing Bat (2:33)
Peter, Paul & Mommy
Peter, Paul & Mary

Sexy Music Triggers Teen Coitus Explosion

"Thank god someone is finally doing something about all this filth. Teens should only be listening to people yodeling over harpsichords.

"Also, they should have their hormones removed."

Thanks to new father and friend Ari Levenveld for advising me, which unfortunately, is way too late in my case.