If one has spent any amount of time in Europe, say Ibiza or Mykonos they will tell you that the fancy of youth and the misbegotten is house, that is electric house. As much as it the rage of the nubile jet set of petite baguettes it is also the desired and envied accolade of a certain distinct New York crowd.
A recent Friday had SCV thumping alongside some Europeans but mostly flamboyant New Yorkers at the Tribeca Grand Hotel to the monthly party hosted by the Indie label “Modular Recordings.” Surrounded by the beautiful as they too were surrounded by me. I got the distinct impression everyone here, and not just the DJ’s (JDH and his partner Dave P of the infamous Studio B party set) were all stars in the making. Triumphed by good will and chiseled cheek bones I set out to ask the quintessential question – “What makes a star?”
My first respondent an acknowledged ‘bobo,’ (short for bohemian bourgeois) hailing from the world center of bourgeois predisposition – Paris, France could barely stop fishing for his Gauloise smokes.
SCV; “Your name ?”
.
Reveler; “Pierre of course.”
SCV; “You’re French?”
Reveler; “Why not?”
SCV; “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Reveler; “Yeah, it’s okay, I want to meet the 8 out of 10.”
SCV; “Tell me Pierre, why do you come here? For the music?”
Reveler; “For the 8 out of 10.”
SCV; “Tell me what do you think makes a star?”
Reveler; “Me.”
SCV; “Why do you think society is so fascinated by stars?”
Reveler; “Because they represent the ego, the dream. ”
Catching the amorphous transgressions of a slinky femme fatale by the name of Melanie on the dance floor, an obvious fashion model in wanton abandon making strident love to the dance floor.
SCV; “Tell me, what’s your name?”
Melanie; “Melanie.”
SCV; “Would you mind answering some questions for Scallywag and Vagabond?”
At this moment the French man sensing an opportunity introduced himself to the cover girl of every playboy’s wet dream.
Reveler; “Hello darling.”
Melanie; “Who’s he? Your boss?”
SCV; “No, I’m afraid not. Tell me Melanie what do you think makes a star? Is it the charm, manners, good breeding, the high cheek bones….?”
Melanie; “Attitude” she said, to which the French man was wildly
nodding his head, illegal lit Gauloise in his mouth.
SCV; “Can you further explain?”
Melanie; “Which tv station did you say you were from?
SCV; “I’m not. SCV’s an online magazine.“
Melanie; “Oh? What type of an online mag?”
Reveler; “Yes,” the Frenchman also demanded to know.
SCV; “The witty version of the New Yorker,” I fumbled.
Melanie; “Ahh,….in that case, She then began to tell me how wonderful the scene used to be before the clinger ons took over. Parlaying my DJ ecstasy moves on the floor I then came across the dandy Myer.
SCV; “What makes a star?”
Myer; “Ambition of course. Hard work as well.”
SCV; “So it’s just not a natural phenomena…?”
Myer; “That’s the trick, they want you to think it’s all natural and effortless ……but it’s not.” Swiveling to the other side of the dance floor I came across the genteel Jen Amadio of “Modular Recordings” whose party she was hosting in concert with Studio B and Crooked Disco.
SCV;“What makes a star?”
Jen; “Talent.”
SCV; “Ahh!” I replied as if forcibly averted to the meaning of life. “And why the fascination with stardom?”
Jen; “Because everyone needs a hero.”
SCV; “Please explain?”
And before she could respond her cell phone went off, or was it mine? Turning to the tall, dashingly handsome man bopping next to me I proceeded on my inquisition.
SCV; “Your name please,”
Dashing actor; “Robert Welsh.”
SCV; “Model, actor?”
Dashing actor; “Yeah, I do whatever I need to survive.”
Survive indeed I thought. At this juncture the Frenchman came up to me to tell me he thought I was super cool and that he had bought me a glass of champagne, if that was okay. Charmed I accepted as Robert drank from his smuggled flask containing Jack Bourbon, (I think at one stage I gave him my drink and proceeded to drink from his flask).
SCV; “What makes a star Rob?” Dashing actor; “A whole lot of heat and a whole lot of darkness. Because out of darkness comes light.” Reminiscing Anton Chekov I proceeded.
SCV; “Does that qualify you or exempt you?”
Dashing actor; “Qualify baby, qualify.”
SCV; “Is the dj a star?”
Dashing actor; “A shooting star!” The dj finished, I got him to field some questions.
SCV; “So what makes a star, JDH?”
JDH; “I don’t know, we’re not that style. We don’t think about it. We play to have fun, to express ourselves, to turn a crowd on. You know what I mean?”
SCV; “Well maybe that’s what makes a star. The ability to turn on a crowd.”
JDH; “Yeah, I think so. It sounds good to me.”
SCV; “Well you sure sound good to me too JDH.”
Leaving that evening as the ‘clinger ons’ were piling the velvet ropes I thought to myself what really makes a star? And as I looked into the sky I wondered about shooting stars. If a star is a source of energy 10 000 years away from us but already dead and all we’re seeing is its reflection or brilliance then maybe that’s what stars are about is transcendence. As I hailed my cab I couldn’t care less because thanks to Rob, the slinky Melanie, and my new friend Pierre I found myself catapulted to the electric beat of disco and the idea we could become heroes.
