As typically seems to be the case with any published "best of" music list, not everyone agreed with the recent Top 100 Gayest Albums of All Time compiled by Out Magazine, which was Amoeblogged about here on September 6th. After reading over this list many disagreed with numerous entries, suggesting certain additions and/or deletions. Most did agree however that Out Magazine's Top 100 list, based on a survey by the respected gay publication of 100 gay music authorities, was a pretty darn good list, albeit not perfect.
"There are a lot of omissions including The Cure, Nina Hagen, a ton more disco artists -- and of more recent artists Basement Jaxx and Miss Kittin" was an Amoeblog comment posted by A.D.Depp. "It seemed to be a little hipster heavy. It seemed like it missed many gay iconic artists," critiqued Amoeblogger Gomez Comes Alive. Meanwhile Larry Bob of the SFQueer.com website, who updates the exhaustive dally Queer things to do in the San Francisco Bay Area list, posted this comment to the Amoeblog, "No Pansy Division? Ridiculous. At least they managed to get Team Dresch and Fifth Column to rep the queercore. Also no Tribe 8."
The SFQueer.com webmaster is absolutely right, especially about Pansy Division (pictured above and whom FYI are the number one most popular act, by a landslide, in this Amoeblogay music survey series, which runs over the next few days). In fact, besides lacking in the queercore department the Out Magazine Top 100 albums list also displayed a glaring lack of any so-called homo-hop from artists such as the Bay Area's Deep Dickollectivelike (DDC), whose song "Straighttrippin' (feat. Doug E)" from their album BourgieBohoPostPomoAfroHomo was featured on the Independent Sounds: Amoeba Music Compilation Vol. III -- another omission that the ever astute Larry Bob also noted.
The view from my window. That store in the middle is Linda Thai - they have great food.
It’s a beautiful, autumn day in Hollywood. I’m sitting in my underwear at my open French doors which overlook my bustling community and writing this sentence. Well, I was. Now I’m writing this sentence.
Suddenly, I begin a new paragraph and with it, a faint sense of dread seeps in, because I realize I’m writing about writing, and there’s only so long that that is cute. It could quickly descend into obnoxiousness.
So I choose to focus on your face. Your sweet, shining face reading this blog entry. I can feel your eyes gaze on these words, and my heart grows warm. A little too warm. This is uncomfortable, actually.
I think I might be having a heart attack.
Which reminds me of that age-old question: What music would you like to be listening to when you’re experiencing myocardial infarction (or, as they call it on the East Coast, Hellmann’s)?
It’s a tricky question because you want something that will keep your spirits up as you endure the occlusion of your coronary artery following the rupture of a vulnerable atherosclerotic plaque, but you don’t want anything too loud and jarring when an unstable collection of lipids and macrophages ruptures the wall of your artery. Plus, it should be catchy. Anything that meanders like, say, late Scott Walker or Laura Nyro is going to annoy your nurses every time. Nurses hate Laura Nyro when they’re working. Also they don’t like it when you call them “mommy”.
“My pain scale is a 5, Mommy,” is all you have to say and they’ll shoot you a look so cold you’d think you were in the E.R. for hypothermia. It doesn’t matter that you’re trying to make things more cozy and homey. Ask them “Why are you hurting me with that needle, Mommy?” and forget about it. No good pills for you. (This is different if the nurse is male, however, in which case they not only think it’s cute that you call them “mommy” but will often scribble their personal home phone number on your electrocardiogram.)
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