I just put on Magazine’s “Permafrost,” and as soon as the chorus line “I will drug you and fuck you on the permafrost” came up, I remembered I ought to write about my vanilla-mediated run-in with that cruel arctic clime last Thursday.
Saw the American debut of Norway’s Annie at the glamorously packed Tribeca Grand Hotel by way of a free invite from a friend of a friend. Annie is a dancey, Kylie Minogue-y, Discoteque debutante with songs and moves endearingly clumsy and, as such, weirdly sexy. Imagine being Tom Hanks with Darrel Hannah nude as Venus standing in your living room making little girl noises and weird overtures to sex that you’re not sure she- or you- understands. What is happening? You ask yourself. Then the mermaid pulls out a giant bottle of vodka and proceeds to drink half of it during her 5 or 6 song set. It’s finally happening! the Tom Hanks you is forced to conclude. What do you do next? You scream “Play Heartbeat!” and attempt to dance ass to hip with the other early adopters, industry insiders and other types of sweating bodies while holding a messenger bag that you should have dropped off before going anywhere that night. Had a great time. Annie and her band do a good mix of European Giorgio Moroder disco revival replete with vocoders, Kylie Minogue coquetteishness, innocently direct overtures for sex and silly metaphors for aforementioned having lots of sex (see “Bubblegum”). Many thanks to my companion that evening, whose veteran scenester pushiness and unameliorated excitement at the prospect of seeing live music despite many unmoving bodies standing between her and the stage has imbued her with superpowers that turn her finely-lathed frame into some kind of mass surgical instrument/crowd drilling tool. Without her I would surely have pussed out and stood way back in the bar looking uncomfortable.
Annie was very polite.