January 5, 2001 GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE

eveningsout

And now, for your listening pleasure

by Anthony Glassman

Did you ever want to know what "Livin' La Vida Loca" would have sounded like if, instead of being recorded by Latino heartthrob Ricky Martin, it had been done by Burt Bacharach at some point in the mid to late 60s?

Now, stop and think about it. We are a • nation that has given millions of dollars to "Weird Al" Yankovic for taking other people's songs and making them silly. "Amish Paradise," his send-up of the Coolio song "Gangsta's Paradise," was a huge hit in its own right. America loves a spoof.

Now that you've thought about it, your answer is probably still no. Possibly even a resounding "NO!" if you're a big Ricky

The LOUNGE O-LEERS

Martin fan, for reasons above the waist.

You're wrong. You want to know. You must know. It will now burn in the back of your mind, a shining example of a question that will never be answered, or so you believe.

Once again, you're wrong. You can find out quite easily, thanks to thè rather psychotic sounds of the Lounge-o-Leers. Who?

The Lounge-o-Leers is made up of Ricky Ritzel and Aaron "Hot Rod" Morishita, two gay guys from Gotham, known to Midwesterners as New York City. Ritzel looks a bit like the love child of Neil Tennant of the Pet Shop Boys and Andy Warhol, perhaps because of the shock of blond hair atop his head. Morishita is reminiscent of Lt. Sulu from Star Trek gone horribly, horribly wrong. Kind of like the Enterprise went back to the '60s and Sulu had to dress like a lounge singer, with a long, braided ponytail.

Their music is filled with lounge covers of popular songs from now and the past, as well as movie and television themes. It's actually kind of surprising that they didn't make it big when the whole lounge/swing revival hit a couple of years back.

You probably want to know how the music is. Is it good? Should we rush out to our favorite record store and buy it? Should we scream "It's the monster!" and run away while they stomp on Tokyo?

No, yes, and, well, if you feel like it. No, the music isn't good. It's not supposed to be good. The best way to describe the Lounge-o-Leers is "planned mediocrity," which in itself takes a great deal of talent. If they weren't good musicians, it would just be bad. They are, however, very skillful, though not very serious, and the music is not meant to be taken seriously.

This is not Madonna releasing an album for the purpose of making millions of dollars, it's not Sting releasing an album to make money and keep the rain forest from being cut down. This is more like Aqua with their song "Barbie Girl," a whole lot of silliness, a huge schmear of tongue-in-cheek, and some really cheap keyboards.

Yes, you should run out and buy everything of theirs you can get your mitts on. You might not actually like listening to them (I am currently suffering through their cover of Olivia Newton-John's “Xanadu”) but it is the perfect soundtrack for any cock-

tail party; a martini in one hand, a cigarette in the other, leopard-print dresses, and the Lounge-o-Leers: The perfect combination. It's fun music. The trick is to not take it seriously, something that cannot be stressed enough.

A prime example is their tune "Everybody's Free (to feel groovy)," in which one of the members of the band intones advice on living, with such gems as “Once a day, do something that makes you say: Damn, that was stupid," and "Floss your teeth, but not when you're smoking." It seems like common sense, but when did anyone actually ever say it out loud?

As for that whole "It's the monster" thing, it is kind of apt. These boys could easily be called Loungezilla; they rampage across

the popular culture countryside lying waste to everything that gets underfoot. And, one suspects they are probably as hard to get rid of as a Toho Studios' giant beast.

Regardless, this is good gay music. The mediocre house music that gets pumped at incredibly high volume from every dance club, the repackaged fifteen-year-old hip-hop that certain singers are putting out, well, I'm sick to death of it. It was fun when I was 18, but I think it's time to move on, and this wry collection of musical mayhem is just what the doctor ordered.

They've put out two full-length CDs, Experiment in Terror and Meet

the Lounge-o-Leers, as well as two EPs, Right Now! and Today! Experiment in terror, indeed. Their takes on garage-band standards like "Free Bird," "Riders on the Storm" and "Satisfaction" are the stuff of very amusing nightmares.

You might also want to see their web site, http://www.loungeoleers.com, where you can find fun facts about the boys, download “bubble gum cards,” and basically live the lounge life.

Someone called them a mix between Austin Powers and the Pet Shop Boys. It's pretty accurate, but I would probably toss in a touch of the aforementioned Warhol; they know what they're doing, even if we don't, and that was one of the things that made Andy famous. Hopefully, it will work for these crazy kids too.

Also going back a few decades yet not as far, brings us to the music of Jimmy Somerville.

But first, a little history lesson. It's the early part of the eighties, and evil rules the land. Here in the U.S., Ronald Reagan, a former actor is in the White House, with his red-clad harridan wife, Nancy. Over the pond, in England, Margaret Thatcher, often thought to be Reagan in drag, is the Prime Minister. Gay rights are taking two steps back as AIDS begins to decimate the community and re-stigmatize being gay.

Things looked pretty bad.

There were, however, some rays of sun peeking through the dark thunderheads gathered above. A band in the United Kingdom was tearing up the charts, and burning up the dance floors and airwaves. They were called Bronski Beat, and they were all gay. Their single, "Small Town Boy," was a chart-topping tale of growing up gay in the north of England.

Other songs followed, establishing the band and making a star of its falsetto lead singer, Jimmy Somerville.

Somerville eventually left Bronski Beat to fend for itself; they had a late-80's, minor success with "Hit that Perfect Beat, Boy," and then faded forever into semi-obscurity.

Somerville, however, went on to a successful stint with his new band, the Communards, and then went solo. On his own, some of his biggest releases were covers of disco tracks, which became standards in dance clubs. He also made a cameo appearance in the movie Orlando, in which he sang a couple of songs.

But where is he now?

Right here. He has been releasing new material off and on for the entire decade. His latest effort is Root Beer, a compilation of b-sides and re-mixes, most of which have been unavailable in the U.S. until now.

How is it, you want to know.

It's fine. It's a pretty good album for lightweight dance music. The problem with this album is not actually with the album at all. The problem is with Jimmy Somerville; really, it's with people who listen to this album remembering the Jimmy Somerville of their youth.

Somerville has always remained true to himself. He will not "straighten up" his

jimmy

act for the mass market. Unfortunately, his act hasn't changed much at all. A lot of people will compare this album to his old stuff, the material he released with Bronski Beat and the Communards. Everyone compares the new with the old, it's simply part of human nature and the price paid for having a memory span.

However, that would do this record a severe injustice.

This album, as said before, is pretty good. Is it as good as "Smalltown Boy?" No. Personally, I don't think anything Somerville recorded, either with a group or solo, was ever as good as "Smalltown Boy" or "Why." Just because it's not as good,

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though, doesn't mean it is not good in its own right. It must be listened to on its own, with as little comparison as possible. It has the same British gay dance feel as almost all of his music, it just needs to stand on its own.

Overall, a very cool offering, filled with Somerville's moody lyrics and wrenching falsetto. The songs, while not necessarily up my alley, are very danceable. If you haven't heard any of them, it's more a statement about the cultural memory span of the gay community as relates to celebrity than an indictment of the music itself. A worthy effort, and a suitable conținuation of the legacy started twenty years ago in the north of England.

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