Saturday, December 21, 2013

I woke up like this.



In a rare moment in which myself and the contemporary universe collide, I do declare, that I totally get the current hoopla over Beyonce. This visual album is the summary of the best bits from the last 40 years of pop music; from Janet to Madonna, Prince to Lana Del Rey, though I wasn't expecting her to reference Bowie's "DJ" on her journey to the centre of the earth. She drops in her Mother, Joan Smalls, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and Pharrell alongside a plethora of trends, subcultures, and self-referential riffs to summon up this magic lantern. And she owns it, with love and respect to her inspirations for sure - but it's hers.

Now if it were Gaga we would undoubtedly say it was an appropriated grab bag of pretentious, attention grabbing swag, but Beyonce is a different creature entirely. She is so totally convincing, absolutely hypnotic, and dynamically fascinating, moving with supernatural grace from sex kitten to mafia don to girl from the kiez to Mama on the make to supreme ruler to sublime being, then throwing us that smile which says, "I'm just playin' ", and cracking herself up. It's exciting to see somebody be so, multifaceted and still joyful, and whilst we're at it, so frank with her sexuality (and it DOES feel like it's her sexuality, doesn't it?)

Of course it helps that she is a stone cold fox, but that's not the only reason the world is in love with her, or else every J.Lo release would register a seismic impact. We love B because she has worked for it, from the ground floor up, and because even though some of her hits may not have hit home with us personally, we've grown up with her. (Speaking of isn't it GREAT getting a peep of some really, really awful old Destiny's Child outfits? Personal highlight there).



She is just such a great performer, I don't think anyone else comes close, not that it would even be possible because to be as good as Beyonce you have to have done it for as long, and with as much continued success, which is itself almost impossible. So she's a tautology too, what can I say?

And tech savvy too, not just in her lines about Instagram, but in outdoing Bowie's attempt from earlier in 2013 to release a record direct to download "unannounced". Okay, so yes, it's a stunt and a trick that cannot be pulled out of the hat again (nor would it work for anyone other than a superstar like Beyonce) but what this release has done is to make the concept of albums relevant again (if only for now). Since we can just download the hits we want, or stream them, why bother with buying a record, right? Wrong! Mrs Carter's latest release shows you the error of your ways. Do you remember the last time there was this much excitement about an album? I felt as though I was skipping high school to go and buy a motherfunking COMPACT DISC as I watched my itunes progress bar bring me closer to the goods.

But why for the love of Little Debbie's snack cakes does Jay-Z have to ruin it all with his Ike Turner wife beating tribute verse? Why do it? Such a misstep there lover. But nobody's perfect, not even Beyonce, though as one of history's greatest babes, a wondrous singer, a tireless worker, a peerless writer of melodies, and a beautiful dancer, she ought to at least consider filing a claim with the relevant authorities as to her being the human superlative.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Everything Must Go


(Cover artwork by Stevie Hanley)

Oh lover, this is a big one! My novel, Everything Must Go, has been picked up for publication by ITNA in New York, after a mere four-years of shopping it around! It will arrive in March alongside two other titles, "Food Chain" by photographer Slava Mogutin and "Limiters" by Christopher Stoddard. What great company! I think I have Bruce Benderson to thank for this (as well as out Lord and saviour Jesus Christ) as it was Mr Benderson's recommendation to ITNA which provoked the connection. In case you aren't aware, Mr Benderson (a motherfuckin' Prix de Flore winner) wrote of the novel, ahem, "illuminated by a talent one encounters only once or twice in a lifetime.... La JJ's narcissism is midwife to the birth of such miracles. Most of us afflicted with it end by turning it on ourselves; yet his synergies turn it into the shining currency of invention, worthy of an R. Firbank or Dame E. Sitwell."

EAT IT.

I'm not being very gracious am I? But truly I am beyond thrilled to get the book out into the big wide world, because it is a work which means a great deal to me. I almost lost my mind writing it, but I genuinely think it is a great piece of writing, and as experimental as it is I believe there is an audience hungry to hear this story. So here's the synopsis to whet that appetite.

Everything Must Go is the psychedelic, kaleidoscopic tale of the young Diana who, pregnant by her father, flees a childhood home which is quickly being devoured by gargantuan, omnipotent shrubbery. She becomes a single mother, a would-be martyr, and her own twin brother as she travels to fulfil a cryptic doomsday prophecy, encountering an outlandish cast of characters along the way. Somehow knowing of Diana's undertaking, this unholy alliance of drag queens, religious maniacs, pre-pubescent freedom fighters, oracles, speed freaks movie stars all spur Diana on towards her sacred goal of unleashing the apocalypse. The question remains though, is she worthy of such a mission? Part road trip, part showbiz memoir, part quest novel, Everything Must Go is in turns, graphic, magical, satirical, horrifying and beautiful.

Oh and PS, visit the publishers to get a pre-order 35% discount which is good until the end of 2013. Hyperlinked bargain babes! http://itnapress.com/titles/everything-must-go-by-la-john-joseph

Monday, October 28, 2013

Breaking News: "A Woman's Right to Choose"


My identical twin brother and occasional lover, Alexander Geist, announced a new single release today. "A Woman's Right to Choose" comes out on Nov 25 on New Pangea Records (Berlin) and will be accompanied by a video shot by Imogen Heath of nowmomentnow, which will premiere on the day of the release. The single will be celebrated on Dec 5 with a live concert at Monarch in Berlin.



Says Herr Geist; “I wanted to write a song which explored gender identity in a much more expansive way than it is usually allowed in pop music, but I wanted to do so in my usual sardonic manner. I wanted to satirize the paranoid fears people have of transpeople, and likewise make a case for a transfeminist political alliance. The idea of releasing the single as a poster is part of an ongoing exploration of the remnants of pop culture – what is my identity as a recording artist in the digital age?”

Photo credit: Merja Hannikainen

Saturday, September 28, 2013

Hair




The Autumn has truly bestowed herself upon us and I have started to grow out my hair. The Fall is the perfect time for this, free as we are from Summer´s sticky clutches, abandoned as we are to Winter´s ravenous emptiness looming up ahead. In Autumn there is such a pleasant slowness in the air, as nature goes to sleep, as the trees shed their leaves, as the birds flock away, and I grow out my hair.

What else is there to do but acknowledge that the year is ending and that everything we leave behind us is lost for good? We can only look at those leaves as they tumble, and try to find a gentle pleasure in the beauty of that very moment, even as it takes us ever farther from the sun. All we can do it acknowledge that decay is necessary to the nature of regeneration, and grow our hair as the nights draw in close and earlier around our shoulders.

Autumn opens up the gate between the seasons, and between the worlds of the living and the dead, it gives us the perfect opportunity to transform, so I grow my hair as I remember the dead who departed in the Fall. I remember the living too, and as my curls spill into my eyes I name them for the loved ones who can love me no more.

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

Alexander Geist video interview



Here's a little something from Alexander Geist on the subjects of performance, gender and sexual NRG. Expect a new hit single in November.

'Hello Lover' - Introducing Alexander Geist from Salka Poeschel García-Courtoy on Vimeo.


Interview by Lukas Von der Gracht, shot by Salka Poeschel Garcia-Courtoy at Chalet, Berlin.

Sunday, March 17, 2013

Lent



For Lent I gave up eating cake, and other closely related delicacies, biscuits, muffins, cookies and donuts, a simple enough task but not one without its own controversy. You could tell a friend, "Last night I smoked crystal in Lidl, convinced myself I was Diana Ross, climbed onto the roof of the Ecuadorian embassy and kidnapped Julian Assange, whom I then promptly dragged to a black mass performed in honor of David Cameron at XXL!" and they would not think this unusual or remarkable, but tell them you are observing Lent and they look at you as though you are actually the hellmouth incarnate. It's reactionary, it's old fashioned, it's restrictive, repressive, archaic, homophobic by default and P.S. it's pointless - apparently.

Now this article is not an attempt to justify myself, I mean who has the time? Rather it's intended as a musing on cultural practices and assessing your very own lifestyle for your very own self. Lent provides me an opportunity to observe patterns in my behaviour which are automatic and possibly addictive, certainly not conscious or well considered. When I think about it clearly, why would anyone eat as much cake, as many cookies as I do on a regular basis. Are three desserts a day really that necessary? Clearly not. There is an argument to say that I could do this at any time of year and that there's no need to tie it in with the Catholic Church, but that you see is from where I come.

Ever since I was a child I gave something up in the run up to Easter, and my word how long did those four weeks seem? Extending out for a candy free eternity ahead of me, a desert of, "No thank you", and, "Not until Easter", which seemed to only grow longer the closer the calendar told me we were coming to Good Friday. In primary school I would talk with my friends about what they were abstaining from, at home it was the same. We would watch each other, with a sense of propriety streaked with a childish sadism, to make sure we didn't stray, and when we suspected that someone had broken their covenant, out would come the damning mantra, "You're only cheating yourself, God knows."

Thus we would spend a month playing hide and seek with temptation, chewits had never seemed so decadent to our sugar starved minds, Satan seemed to appear to us in the guise of a grandmother offering us a innocent curly wurly or a sales assistant with a tray of free sampled of M&Ms at the mall.

But what pleasure there was in our dorky little quest for salvation! How we loved to count off the days, to stack them up like firewood on the bonfire of our good deeds, to burn on Easter Sunday and warm ourselves in those heavenly tongues of flame. The annual observance of Lent was just like dressing the Christmas tree each December, a gorgeous, delicate, spellbinding ritual full of ancient symbols and achievements, which lit up the pathway to the great celebration like a trail of glitter on the grey pavements of Thatcher's council estates. And just as we would string up the tinsel and hang the baubles with such excitement in Winter, so giving up our silly childish desires for a month each year as Spring began had it's own definite, preparatory charm. The sacrifice was a wonderful part of the celebration, as necessary as it was to make sure the house was immaculately clean before Father Christmas came to visit.

The pleasure of disavowing pleasures unravelled marvelously with the chocolate eggs and assorted weird fruit gum candies, a feast fit for a welfare queen that came on Easter Sunday. I have never gorged as much as I did as a nine year old, barely able to contain myself from swallowing the Cadbury's chocolate buttons egg whole, python style. And how ill I felt, but how satisfied.

I'm sure this is not the true intent of Lent, but I observe it all the same. Lent lets me meditate on what I want and why I want it; I catch myself even as I write, absent-mindedly reaching for the chocolate box, having to stop myself and ponder what lust powers these daydream fumbles, what corporate hypnotism has me equate comfort and productivity with sugar and confectionery. Each time I can't have what I reach for I require myself to think of everything I do have, in which case even the hardest work day, the nastiest argument, and the smallest bank balance seem irrelevant. This is a good thing, gratitude for what you do have is the greatest step towards being empowered and in control of your own life. And of course, every craving for candy returns me right back to where I was, when amongst my sisters at home as a child, we would lie in strips of sunlight poured through the window and onto the carpet, as if laid out just for us, and daydream of the bacchanal of bakewell tarts and custard to await us in Heaven.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

Tour Diary PT 7: Manchester and Brighton



Wise words at a train station somewhere.

This week our travels took us from the North to the South, via a whole nexus of the most gorgeous train carriages. We had two sold-out shows in Manchester, and one in Brighton, both in wildly different venues with very diverse audiences, proving how universal the show is. Tweets and facebook messages abound from people who have seen the show and want to know how they can see it again! The proof is in THAT pudding I'd say.


Gratuitous selfie, taken to commemorate the world's most flattering backstage mirror.

In Machester we performed at the Contact Theatre as part of the Flying Solo Festival. After a minor slippage with the stage times (we believed we were on at 8pm, the website said 7.30pm and the theatre believed it to be 7pm) we barreled onstage for our Mancunian debut, barely 10 minutes after the lighting had been plotted. Much to my amusement the mannequin legs which furnish the front quarter of the stage, gave up the ghost a mere 15 minutes into the show and capsized rather loudly and in an entirely unmissable manner, leaving a rather gaping hole in the set and indeed the narrative. Likewise in our panic to get onstage a costume had been left on the stage rather than backstage, which necessitated Erin to casually stroll by me at a very unexpected moment to rescue it and chuck it to our unflappable stage manager, Maud. Musical director Ed didn't fare much better, not noticing that the sunglasses he was wearing had been recently painted red with a sharpie, he spent the last third of the show with some very fetching red Adam Ant-esque stripes adorning his face. In spite of that catalogue of hiccups, The Public Reviews gave us a glowing review, though with an inexplicable 4.5 out of 5 stars.


In case you ever wondered, on what such GENIUS was based (although you probably didn't).

The second night in Manchester was nigh on professional, which meant that obviously, by the time we arrived in Brighton (a mere 5.5 hour, 3 train journey away) we were in desperate need of a minor catastrophe. Ask and you shall receive! The charming Marlborough Theatre has character by the bucket load, shedloads of ambience and acres of good energy, the only thing it lacks is physical space. Our set was approximately three times to big for the stage, a crisis for sure, but one which was somewhat relieved by the fact that only half of the set arrived from Manchester - every cloud, lover! What remained of our set was lovingly arranged onto the bijou stage and with only the tiniest bit of hysteria we reworked the movement, or should I say, removed the movement. After the accursed wardrobe was installed onstage there was barely room to walk a meter in any direction, so the show developed a certain languid stillness, shot through with the manic energy of knowing the whole thing might collapse and take the entire building down with it at any given moment. It was a hilarious show, with Erin and I colliding constantly, props flying off the stage and the wardrobe upstaging us constantly by swinging open at will.

Both cities were beautiful to spend time in, and we met a lot of very charming theatre-goers after the shows. Really, touring has been a refreshing and inspiring time, it has taught me a lot about developing stamina, patience and the ability to relax enough to perform, even under insane conditions. In short I've had a great time. Next week we're closing the circle and returning to the Battersea Arts Centre, where this whole madcap process began. We have 3 shows, 2 of which are sold out, and I thoroughly expect them to be as unhinged, uncanny and unpredictable as usual.


These shoes are still torture.

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Tour Diary Pt 6 Liverpool and Bristol



Dame Edna shoots from the hip

What a week!

"Boy in a Dress" pulled into Liverpool for our first show outside of London, at Unity Theatre. We were preceded by this article in the Liverpool Echo which although very pleasant, totally terrified me because it somehow made it all so real. Although we arrived the day before the show our get-in did not start until the following day and so we found ourselves in the nerve-wracking situation of teching practically until curtain up. There are so many lighting cues and sound cues, and so many details to attend to every time the set is built, that it is often unavoidable that we are wildly behind schedule, but onstage I felt distracted and overwhelmed, not to mention anxious about performing in my home town. In spite of the pressures, I think we pulled it off, the Liverpool Daily Post certainly thought so, saying the show, "crackles with good writing and fascinating stage craft."


5 of our 9 team members en route to Liverpool

As the originator of the work I have always felt a profound responsibility for it, for every element in fact. I could never help thinking that an audience would blame me personally any missed cues, mis-set props or lighting errors. Moreover I realized that the delays and the stress, the inevitable squabbles and the ever extending hours were actually disabling me in my performances. When we were focusing lights for a day and a half or spending twenty minutes to correctly pan a ten second sound cue, I recognized I was depriving myself of what I needed to deliver a good show, and distracting myself with somewhat extraneous details. The costumes, the lights and the set design are all beautiful and take the show to the next level aesthetically and professionally, but for me (selfishly perhaps) they are the icing on the cake not the cake itself. So I chose to focus on the victoria sponge beneath, the text, the story, the heartbeat and since making that decision I have felt so much more empowered and in control, in short able to do what I am good at doing, and not to spend each show fretting about whether the wardrobe doors close or if the playback will be loud enough.


The Bristol Old Vic

Bristol was such different story, the Old Vic is really the most amazing building, it's the UK's oldest working theatre and is just beautiful. (The whole city is gorgeous, but the theatre is just beyond). The performance space was wonderful to be in, the acoustics were great and the team running it made our three shows a joy. Erin, Ed and I delivered three knock-out shows, we were focused, we connected and we had the audience captivated all three nights. It was a genuine pleasure to perform there, and I think really proved that the show has a audience excited to see it, and a very diverse one at that. Twitter has been abuzz with reviews, reblogs and compliments, and the sales speak for themselves. Next up is Manchester, where I'm hoping for a similar smash!


An absolute tart

Saturday, February 23, 2013

PT 5 (in which I make it onstage - just)



The world's most attractive make-up artist, Vinny.

I think that the past two weeks of rehearsal have been just about the most difficult I have experienced. The renovations combined with my health hiccups have really taken it out of me. I came very close to canceling the show last night, and almost think it might have been better to. When you are onstage you feel both a responsibility to your audience to deliver, and a responsibility to yourself to present yourself at your full potential, so when you are limping slightly and have lost about a third of your singing range, well, it's a little embarrassing. I can say that all of the swimming, pilates and yoga paid off because physically the show was twenty times easier than last time, I was never out of breath coming out of a strip into a monologue, and I found clambering over the set in those accursed shoes very manageable.


My co-star Anna Hutchinson from Australia

On Monday we are pulling out of the big smoke and journeying to Liverpool for the first real shows of the tour. I'm excited to see what travel brings to the show, to see if a month long Travelodge experience can live up to my fantasies.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

Tour Diary PT 4



This is my lovely wardrobe


This is the view from atop my loverly wardrobe

After another delightful twelve-hour day I am sitting down to write to you, dear reader. What has come to pass in the past few weeks? Well, the expected tantruming, teching and tedium really. Oh and I joined a gym so now I can swim (theoretically, say if a day had 160 hours). Basically we are crammed into our little room ALL day, flicking lights on and off, meticulously placing sound cues and attempting to perform costume changes in alarming short pauses between scenes. Who wrote this? Oh wait.

Due to ongoing building works we are about two days behind schedule, and our press preview is tomorrow night. Sometimes we have no power in the space and so our lighting tech just...grinds to a halt. And obviously we have no heating. Occasionally the sound of drilling obscures the piano, and the building of the set, which is still taking place means that the backdrop is actually being erected above my semi-nude self as I rehearse a scene. It brings to mind Carole Schneeman's "Olympia" doesn't it?


Schneeman rulez 4 eva

My foot is horribly painful, and the smoke machine (don't ask) is causing me to splutter constantly and generally feel as though I have been gargling battery acid for a month. I am choosing to see all this as an exciting challenge, just like that part in the Beyonce documentary where she's locked out of her rehearsal space by the police and so has to choreograph 400 dancers for a live TV performance in a car park. JUST like that.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

A Daydream




The button
Fell off my coat,
The button
called hope.
Watching it
Scuttle
Across the floor,
"No,"
I said,
"I can not go on
Anymore."
In light
Of such dark
Situations,
I took myself
To
Fortnum and Mason.
Having always so admired their jams and preserves.
I thought I ought
To serve myself there
My just desserts.
My one wish was
To be
Dead
So
I shot myself
Right
In the head
And
As
The doors opened
On the elevator
A canny tourist
Knelt
To grab a scoop
For the morning
Papers.

Saturday, February 16, 2013

PT 3


Dear Diary, I spent yesterday dyeing swathes of fabric a gruesome shade of greige. This entailed carrying saucepans of water up and down the stairs in a real medieval peasant wench manner, and mixing it with various tubes of slime, before carrying the sodden fabric downstairs to rinse it for an eternity in a bath tub. The sheets will be hung onstage in the background, behind all the other detritus which makes up the set and hopefully create a cocoon for the performance to shelter in as it travels the country. Taking the show to so many cities runs the risk of it landing in a space not quite right for it, so in effect we are taking our space with us.


The Set

This arrived yesterday and I cannot tell you how thrilled I was! I always wanted my own flight case, full of things I don't know how to use.



The downside to all of this glamor is that my foot looks like this now, having fallen up a marble stair case. Suggestions? I have a real comedy limp now and it is NOT cutting it!

Thursday, February 14, 2013

Tour Diary PT 2 (Not actually yet on tour)



These shoes are dangerous to womankind

Being that it's Lent and I have a gluten intolerance, I am eating a lot of berries, let's get that straight. No cake for me, just horribly expensive trips to Whole Foods to find dehydrated vegetable crackers and the like. At said mecca of flavorsome bankruptcy inducers, I met my co-star in "Boy in a Dress", Erin, earlier today. We had lunch and spoke of the good old days (ie six months ago) when we all lived together for the duration of the Edinburgh Festival. What fun THAT was! Since then she has apparently being eating a paleolithic diet and attending mass in New Zealand, which I suppose explains that primitive mysticism she exudes.

Our production manager Maud and design assistant Naomi were also onsite today, figuring out how to create enough dresses out of paper to last the length of the tour without A) deforesting all of Latin America or B) driving ourselves entirely 'round the twist. I was expecting a phone call from a nice journo at The Liverpool Echo today, but sadly they had the wrong number so I didn't get to say anything embarrassing or libelous today :( Oh well, we're rescheduled for Monday. (My identical twin brother and occasional lover Alexander Geist however did manage to squeeze in an interview with Sarah Chew for a piece she is writing for The Independent - but that's just because he's an attention seeker).

Other highlights of the day included falling up the main staircase of the Battersea Arts Centre in gold platforms and inflicting a particularly unpleasant toe sprain upon myself. I had to spend the last third of the day wrapped up in fur (against the ice cold chill that runs through the theatre) reciting my lines from a chair, with one leg propped up on a space heater - very Elizabeth Taylor circa 2002. It's Valentine's Day and I am smoochless and icing my bruised foot - not the romantic evening I was hoping for. On the upside I had an STI test this week and don't have the clap, so it's not all bad.

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Imma blog, Imma blog, Imma.


Guess what? I am in jolly old England preparing to tour my hit show around the UK. I thought this would be a nice opportunity for us to get to know each other better, so I will be blogging the process for your delectation.

I arrived at Battersea Art Centre last night, after a woefully delayed flight and a charming chit-chat with the evergreen starlet, Anna Friel. It was downhill from there really. I didn't have a valium so I was forced to endure the flight sober and not even the mini chocolate teddy bears handed out by the air crew could take the edge off. I really do hate flying, I whisper the Hail Mary under my breath with such fever that I am sure I will one day mistaken for a fundamentalist terrorist and deplaned unceremoniously.

So now I am at B.A.C for two weeks of rehearsal and a press preview night (Feb 22nd if you're interested) before the tour rolls across the country. Mercifully there is a 24hr Asda but a few minutes away, which is wonderful since I know no-one within 20km of my current location. I hope to strike up at least one meaningful friendship whilst perusing the gluten-free cereal bars. The last time I had such convenient shopping opportunities was when I lived in Canada Water (of all places) with my bff Chanell. I remember well, writing my undergraduate thesis and only taking breaks to replenish my stash of cookies and cream cheese (that was back in the dark days of gluten). In fact the whole B.A.C artist in residence vibe is very collegiate. We have a shared kitchen, and a bathroom we seem to be sharing with the general public. There's even a chore-wheel on which you get to pick your housekeeping task for the week, and chalk your name alongside to show what a good sport you are. Sadly, there is no option to sign up for catching the mice which run around like they own the joint, or else I would gladly attend to that.

There is a most prominent aroma of herbal tea and oatmeal permeating the whole building, a sort of homely musk which is remarkable given that it is a former town hall and not exactly modest in size. In fact it's rather rambling, and combines the twin charms of Victorian architectural grandiosity and contemporary security coded doors to create an unmistakably psychotic rabbit warren atmosphere, enhanced by the fact that most of the building is closed for renovations and you can never quite be sure which doors have been boarded over and which walls will have been removed next time you trundle down the corridor. There is however a mouse in my room, she's keeping me company in the bedroom know as "Self-portrait with Frida Kahlo" (7a just wouldn't cut it). There's a mirror above the bed which makes for a disconcerting walking-up, a wall full of pencil sketches, and a bunch of fake flowers, giving the place a sort of theme b&b in Brighton feel (obviously a huge compliment).

Everyone is very sweet, and I am actually enjoying feeling as though I am living in a Californian co-op once again - I'd actually quite missed the late night kitchen table chats, the goofy injokes and the bulk buy shopping. Today being Shrove Tuesday the other artists in residence, Paper Cinema, made pancakes and a jolly good time was had by all. The community of itinerants here is far more relaxed than I remember the co-ops being, though I could well be surprised, it is early days and a squabble over how to sort the recycling may well be on the cards.

At the moment it's just the builders who are causing controversy, they seem pretty baffled as to why there are people on their building site, trying to make plays! Over the weekend our set had to be loaded into the theatre, but unfortunately this clashed with a major moment of re-wiring, so the set had to be brought into the building in the dark - hilarity ensued. I do think that we're winning the builders over though, early today the show's director came back from her lunch break to find a bunch of them trying on the costumes from the show. How I wish I could have seen those hard-hatted, dust streaked fellows in my red spangly dress and Erin's blonde wigs! Not to mentioned the glittered stack heels! To quote the late, great Anna-Nicole Smith, it must have been "J'gorgeous!"

I felt similarly myself, after I had my face overhauled by Vinny at Armani, who made me look like this.



Afterwards the real work began, and I had new platforms to climb a ladder in (not a metaphor). It was the first time I had seen the touring version of the set, and I must say it looks great! There's an extract mannequin amongst the detritus and a whole lot more UV paint, which is always a good thing in my book. So what's next? Well, unless I am devoured by my furry little room mate during the night, then there's a whole lot of rehearsals, interviews and even PERFORMANCES ahead! But I promise I'll keep you posted.

Thursday, January 17, 2013

Male Model Alter Ego


As things go, I signed with a model agent, Tomorrow is Another Day. They're doing some really great shizz (including bookings for the Lanvin, Barneys and er, Topman campaigns). So now I am officially like, really pivotal in contemporary culture, and shit. Castings so far for Prada and Rick Owens, jobs so far, nil. Let's see what happens next! Unsurprisingly, Eva who founded the agency is probably the coolest woman in the world, and you can read about her here in Dazed if that's your bag.

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Love letter to Julie Burchill


Burchill, shortly before she was matryred for her faith

Julie Burchill - what a travesty you are.

Get a grip you outlandish cretin, you may have risen to the top of the cesspit of British journalism (and with such self-aggrandising aplomb!) but really now, is there any need to imitate the big boys you claim to be rallying against, so TOTALLY?

Viciously grinding down people who are not-quite identical to yourself in such a barbaric, coldly provocative, sub-sitcom style is by turns ruthless and pathetic. The insults barfed out from your loathsome trap do not even bear repeating, because they are so profoundly idiotic and outlandishly tacky.

You are the Jimmy Saville of the Broadsheets, you are no feminist, you are a bad joke, and an out dated, offensive, deeply distasteful waste of paper. Paper which would be better used to embalm you in your own papier-mâché of hatred in which you should be delivered to a kindergarten full of those "wretched inner-city kids" and devoured in a manner as histrionic and repulsive as your own scrawlings.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013

Boy in a Dress on a tour bus


Well, here we are again. The lovely humans at Arts Council England have coughed up the funds for a UK tour of my hit show, "Boy in a Dress" which rolls out Feb-March. I am quite excited really, having never been to Bristol before. See you there lover!



Tour Dates

26.02 : Unity Theatre, Liverpool

28.02, 01.03 and 02.03: Bristol Old Vic, Bristol

05.03 and 06.03: Contact Theatre, Manchester

08.03: The Marlborough, Brighton

14.03, 15.03 and 16.03: Battersea Arts Centre, London


Production shot by Ami Nouvel