“A shrine of pillar candles and pictures of lost revolutionaries sits in one corner of the room. The trail of roses leads the men upstairs into the big room. We discover an unfamiliar cavernous hall. Glimpses of bars, ropes, candles, and petals appear in the distance, but a scene at the very center of the room illuminates the whole space…For about one hour, we see one gorgeous, impeccably dressed man dancing the tango, alone. He uses prison bars as his partner…”
This is just one of the scenes in Vance Garrett’s remarkably thorough treatment for the Black Party. The 13-page document also describes walls plastered with revolutionary paraphernalia and ticked with the chalk marks of a prisoner tracking his cell time. And of nuns muttering a blessing to the Virgin Mary — probably begging her for forgiveness — as each Black Party attendant checks his belongings at the door.
Garrett has been working for The Saint at Large since 2005, with increasing responsibility for the look and feel of the Black Party. Today he is its director and scenarist — this year mixing Argentine culture, the political upheavals of the Infamous Decade, leather and bondage, and high camp into one coherent, stimulating, storytelling dance party. (Read more…)
Revolutionary Cell Block Tango :: The Saint At Large Presents Rites XXXI: The Black Party by Mark Thompson and Robert Doyle EDGE Contributor Sunday Feb 28, 2010
Saint At Large Black Party XXXI
GOLPE! reads one headline. There’s anger in the air. Revolutionary fervor. Another headline reads:GOVERNMENT DEMOLISHED. NEW BLACK PARTY APPEARS.
Taken from the Spanish term “golpe de estado,” golpe means coup d’etat: the sudden overthrowing of a state government-which means that, once again, this year’s Black Party invite has caught the American zeitgeist and the revolutionary zeal in the vox populi with uncanny prescience. The Great Recession, with its discomfiting parallels to the final years of the Weimar Republic, has unleashed the demons of debauchery and decadence, with a burning desire for a totally new order-and that’s where Black Party XXXI commences.
With a twelve-page backstory narrative, this year’s Black Party celebration of the arrival of the vernal equinox reads like an amalgam of Kiss of the Spider Woman meets “Cell Block Tango” in 1932 Buenos Aires, where a militaristic regime with a penchant for roses and rough tango has seized control. Matadors and masochists commingle with sadists and Santeria. It’s the black of night and totalitarianism-and the red of blood, roses, martyrdom-and saints.
Ever since Bruce Mailman opened the original Saint in 1980, and celebrated the vernal equinox with a two-night Black Party (hence the reason for the 31st Black Party thirty years later), men from around the world have congregated in New York City to celebrate an annual rite that echoes the ancient Druids. With the enforced closing of the Saint in 1988 (due to the burgeoning AIDS crisis and city crackdowns), and the untimely passing of Mailman in 1994, the Black Party, for the past nineteen years, has been helmed by Stephen Pevner, the extraordinary visionary behind the Saint-at-Large, and his exceedingly gifted creative staff, all of whom work to explore the darker side of Dionysian, sybaritic revels. Recent incarnations of this blackest of nights have included such all-encompassing themes as Schwarzwald, the Black Forest, Lucha Libre, free wrestling, and the underside of NASCAR-as well as The Dangerous Black Party For Boys, all of them immersing patrons in theatrical environments that withstand comparison to Vegas, Cirque de Soleil, and les egouts de Paris. (Read more…)
As yet another boatload of exuberant party boyz disembarked on Governors Island, two guys on bikes, waiting to return to Manhattan, watched in gawking amazement-until finally one turned to the other and said, “What? Did we not get the memo?”
And it was right then, as the sun set behind Jersey, that opening DJ Corey Craig broke into a remix of that contagious chestnut, Patrice Rushen’s “Haven’t You Heard?”
Maybe those two bike boys missed the memo about Saint at Large’s 30th season opener, Freemasons at Governors Island, but hundreds of other wayward party boyz got the word-and happy they were to romp carefree through the night.
First of all, the setting: think Pinocchio at Pleasure Island, a haven for incorrigible party boyz-with multi-colored neon palm trees, and smoke machines and concessionaires selling confections and intoxicating liquids. No school, no rules-nothing but sand in the shoes and summer fun.
And it was the summer anthem, “When Love Takes Over,” that really got the kidz going-and the flaggers on the floor, while onstage, Corey Craig got ready to cede the house to Freemasons-when suddenly someone grabbed the mike and yelled, “I’mma let you finish, but Beyonce had one of the best videos of all time.”
(Source:Mark and Robert)
Bouncing all over the asphalt ~
Insane! The boyz went crazy-and stayed that way! With smoke billowing and red lights flashing, Freemasons took over-and right from the start, the boyz were whooping it up and bouncing all over the asphalt, working it out, shaking it down, so that when Freemasons really hit their stride with remixes of “Love on My Mind,” “Sexual Healing,” “Déjà Vu,” “Just Can’t Get Enough,” “Lola’s Theme,” “When Doves Cry,” “Rain Down Love,” “If I Were A Boy,” and “Ring the Alarm,” the floor was filled with boyz who were dancing, really dancing-and we’re not talking about that shuffle/shuffle/back-and-forth sometimes found on packed dance floors-and sometimes mistaken for dance. No, these boyz were truly feeling the music, absorbing the beat, screaming the words, shouting out love, as if they’d been plugged directly into an electric socket, with the current shooting out from their every extremity. To look around the floor, to see these kidz hollering out happiness while they shook down the house was to recognize anew the exultancy of music and dance.
After all, dance is as old as humanity itself, with the first dance in history born around the campfires of hunters-as an expression of joy. And last night, Freemasons had a direct link to that tradition, a high-speed connection to primeval joy that reached its apex with their remix of Whitney’s new “Million Dollar Bill,” a song so vibrant and ecstatic that both arms-and feet-were in the air, simultaneously, the whole crowd over.
(Source:Mark & Robert)
A love-filled summer send-off ~
Who was there? A houseful of hotties, from Manhattan, Brooklyn, Fire Island, South Beach, Brazil, and Montreal, and loads of Saint family members, including Alan (particularly ebullient) and Joey, and Armando, and Michael South Beach, and Alex B. and James C., and Jaker and Billy (and Jackson), and Marc Berkley (w/hand puppy)-and a delighted Steve Pevner, who, with his Saint at Large crew (with help from Highline Ballroom) created both a love-filled summer send-off-and a welcome to autumn.
Thirty Septembers ago, the very first Saint invite arrived in the mail, heralding the opening on September 20, 1980 of what would become the most fabulous and unsurpassable gay club of all time, the Saint-and in the ensuing thirty years, legions of Saintheads have joined an ever-expanding family connected by music and dance. Last night’s celebratory and soulful crowd was a testament to Saint founder Bruce Mailman’s groundbreaking vision-and particularly fitting for the opening of the Saint at Large’s 30th season.
If you have ever lost yourself in the best goddam mind-blowing mash-up remix of the ’00s (at least in this writer’s not-so-humble opinion), “Love on My Mind,” get set for the dance event of the summer, as Britain’s Freemasons storm the Battery for their first-ever New York City appearance.
Yes, it’s a British invasion of Lower Manhattan. The red coats will be based on Governor’s Island, an urban paradise between Manhattan and Staten Island. Mercifully untouched since the Coast Guard abandoned it several years ago (please, Mayor Bloomberg and Gov. Patterson, do not develop this property!), Governor’s Island has been a little-noticed jewel until a spate of articles in the New York Times and other publications have revealed its splendors.
The concert space on the island is being managed by the good folks at the High Line Ballroom (the site of all those way-cool Blowoff parties). Toffer Christensen, the lead booker for Water Taxi Beach, as the venue is known, explains that High Line’s association came about through New York Water Taxi, which runs those beach parties in Long Island City.
“They wanted this to be live music space,” he explains. “They do DJs. So we put together a deal with them to do shows. We did a few shows on Governor’s Island, so we did have experience getting bands on and off the ferries–so it was logical to work with them.”
Christensen acknowledges a little resistance on some concertgoers’ parts to take a subway to a ferry, but “this year, there’s been an awakening about Governor’s Island,” he says, referring to the spate of media attention. “People are discovering this place. Once they’re there, they can’t believe it’s here. It’s more of an education process for concertgoers than an obstacle.”
A state-of-the-art sound and light system is already in place, as is a large stage. Of course, this will be a DJ event. What makes it unique is that it will bring together the two disparate dance communities of straight folks and gay boys (and gals). The event is being presented by the Saint-at-Large, those bad, bad boys who put on the annual international flesh fest the Black Party, as well as other parties and concerts.
So yes, this will be a mixed crowd. But we’ve mixed berfore, most notably anyplace where the platter spinner is named Victor Calderone (who, BTW, did a concert earlier this summer on the island) or Junior Vasquez. Just remember that they like to face the stage for some odd reason; and they don’t take their shirts off (which, considering how hunky some of them are, is a real shame).
They also: drink less water, more beer; smoke on the dance floor; and spend a lot of time walking to and fro. Oh, and a lot of them are way better dancers than we are (sorry, truth hurts).
The real reason that is a-cap-E Event, however, is not because you will be witnessing Non-Homo Americanus, but the Freemasons. Trust me, if you’ve been on a dance floor anytime over the past five years, you’ve heard them.
They’ve produced or remixed for every single-named diva on the planet, from Shakira to Beyoncé, Kylie to Kelly. But its their work with the husky-voice Amanda Wilson for which they may be best known. Word on the street is that a Freemasons concert features their own music exclusively, and there’s a party in the DJ booth.
It’s almost weird to imagine that this super-DJ duo, possibly the most sought-after in the world right now, has never played Gotham. But that’s what makes this concert so special.
The Freemasons will be mixing it up from 6 p.m. until midnight on Sunday, Sept. 20. Tickets include water taxi to and from Lower Manhattan. Go to the Saint at Large for tickets and more information.
Lord Cornbury would approve. What, you don’t know Lord Cornbury? Cornbury was an early British governor of New York, who enjoyed dressing in women’s clothing. He built a house on Governors Island that was called “The Smiling Garden.” Now you see?
Lord Cornbury would love it that the Saint at Large is bringing the first major gay dance party to his “smiling garden”-and that Freemasons will be manning the decks. No wonder there’s a glass of bubbly on the invite.
Another tidbit: the original freemasons were skilled stonemasons of the 14th century-who recognized each other by secret signs. Hello? Sound familiar? Cruised anyone in public recently?
And furthermore, modern freemasons hold elaborate secret ceremonies. Pagan rituals, perhaps? Can we say kindred spirits? (Read on… )
Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
The mate was fixed by the bosun’s pike
The bosun brained with a marlinspike
And cookey’s throat was marked belike
It had been gripped by fingers ten;
And there they lay, all good dead men
Like break o’day in a boozing ken.
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
. Fifteen men of the whole ship’s list
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Dead and be damned and the rest gone whist!
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
The skipper lay with his nob in gore
Where the scullion’s axe his cheek had shore
And the scullion he was stabbed times four
And there they lay, and the soggy skies
Dripped down in up-staring eyes
In murk sunset and foul sunrise
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
Fifteen men of ‘em stiff and stark
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Ten of the crew had the murder mark!
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead
Or a yawing hole in a battered head
And the scuppers’ glut with a rotting red
And there they lay, aye, damn my eyes
Looking up at paradise
All souls bound just contrariwise
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
Fifteen men of ‘em good and true
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
Ev’ry man jack could ha’ sailed with Old Pew,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
There was chest on chest of Spanish gold
With a ton of plate in the middle hold
And the cabins riot of stuff untold,
And they lay there that took the plum
With sightless glare and their lips struck dumb
While we shared all by the rule of thumb,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
More was seen through a sternlight screen…
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Chartings undoubt where a woman had been
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
‘Twas a flimsy shift on a bunker cot
With a dirk slit sheer through the bosom spot
And the lace stiff dry in a purplish blot
Oh was she wench or some shudderin’ maid
That dared the knife and took the blade
By God! she had stuff for a plucky jade
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Drink and the devil had done for the rest
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.
We wrapped ‘em all in a mains’l tight
With twice ten turns of a hawser’s bight
And we heaved ‘em over and out of sight,
With a Yo-Heave-Ho! and a fare-you-well
And a sudden plunge in the sullen swell
Ten fathoms deep on the road to hell,
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!
