Guyatus: The New Sexual Revolution

Abort operation manhunt and stop wasting your time.

NYC is notorious. It’s the city that never sleeps and the city where dreams are made; yet lo and behold the vast concrete jungle that set forth as the perfect playground for adults. It doesn’t take long before a single gal to comes face-to-face with the ruthless city of one-night stands. Single women of New York, I urge you to take a Guyatus.

The idea is simple. Take a break from men and do it now. Focus on yourself and good things will follow suit. Elizabeth Payne, 26 had given up on men completely before she found the hunk of her dreams. “I was broken,” Payne confessed, “but I refused to let my happiness be dictated by having a man in my life.” Single women know this old wives tale all too well. Falling back into old behavioral patterns and repeating the same mistakes. “It was a challenge,” Payne said, “but obviously you can’t be upset forever.”

Guyatus means empowerment, because you call the shots. 23-year-old Brooklyn artist, Jesse Lackowitz, has recently sworn off men and claims to have never felt better about herself. “When its all over, you feel kind of used,” she admits. Now, Lackowitz boasts that her newfound sexual freedom has enabled her to be happy on a consistent basis. “He couldn’t ever make enough time for me”, she said, “so I had to move on even though I liked him.”

Happiness aside, Guyatus can also bring personal fulfillment through professional enrichment if you so choose. Former model, Dee Matthews, 28, showed up sans beauty rest for an US Weekly photo shoot after an infamous New York one-nighter that she thought seemed like a good idea at the time. “He’s only going to distract you and get in the way,” she revealed. “You’ll be on the couch cuddling instead of focusing on your career.” Matthews believes that women are but a mere conquest for men. As soon as they’ve won us over, they get bored and move on. So why waste our time trying? Matthews mentality has changed and now, she’s moved on.

“Why is it that we always have to change for them?” Andrea Senyitko, 24, asked. “Its not like they ever change for us!” Senyitko humbly admits that she continues to pursue the hunt and be succumbed by the chase because she wants a relationship. After all, what woman doesn’t? She also knows that at the current rate, its not going to get any better or be any different. “I’m just looking for that connection, but each time I find it, I get hurt again”. Senyitko came to New York looking for love, but found it in all the wrong places. The vicious cycle repeats itself as the surplus of single women in the city is recycled over and over again.

“In New York, there’s just too many options,” states Ikuko Mizutsubo, 27. “Whether its restaurants or women.” And like any good New York restaurant, there’s another good-lookin’ New York woman right around the corner — likely at the next bar down the block. And with five women for every one man in this city, this makes our predator weak to commit and hungrier for his next victim. “I think the problem might be NYC,” she adds, “everybody is constantly looking for something better.”

True, the Big Apple attracts the big dreamers. Those who take the big plunge to swim with the big fishes and hit it big are probably a bit different than small town U.S.A. suburban settlers. Its possible that those of us who dream bigger, climb higher and aspire for more could be of the same breed who may also trade up for something or someone a little better. New Yorkers are busy-bodies, too. While we trust our man that its work-related, we can’t help but wonder its unsanctioned relations. Whatever the case, no one man or woman wants to find themselves on the other side of the spectrum, left behind in their lover’s dust.

Perhaps its not entirely New York’s fault either. From the dozen or so women interviewed for this article, none of them were older than 30. “Call me crazy, but I’m convinced it’s a generational thing,” explained Amy Winter, 27 — a product of swingin’ parents from London. “My folks grew up in the ‘60s and ‘70s when the idea of free love was engrained in everyone around them.” Interesting. So who do we point the finger at now? Do we mom and dad for being too easy on the boys?

If the act of chivalry is dying and dating has become obsolete, is there hope for single women? “It’s a horrible cliché,” Winter adds, “but when you least expect it you really do meet someone.” Winter speaks of the end result of her own Guyatus — proof that love isn’t found only in fairy tales. However, don’t necessarily sit around waiting for Prince Charming to show up, and certainly don’t go out looking for him either.

This is not another tragic New York love story, and no, I am not Carrie Bradshaw. These are true accounts of no more sex in the city with promising end results. With the hype of said blockbuster faded and the series embedded in our memories as reruns, women must face the real reality of being single, and its not-so-fabulous side effects.

Some pointers? Never question if it’s a date or not. If you’re on Guyatus, a romantic dinner for two counts, while meeting for drinks at a bar past midnight does not. A true Guyatus will allow you recognize the old jerks with a clear head, and restrain you repeating old mistakes. If you claim you’re on Guyatus and meet someone new, and are convinced that this one is different, then you’ve likely fallen off the Guyatus wagon. Bear in mind that many New Yorkers (namely men) are not looking for long term relationships. Flings are instant gratification — a characteristic intrinsically common to the nature of this beast.

Your Guyatus begins when you leave the bar alone at 4 a.m. and proves effective when being single no longer means feeling lonely. Jump on the Guyatus bandwagon and join the revolution — trust me ladies, you’ll be glad you did. ***

The Stills get back to their Brooklyn roots

September 18, 2008, at Williamsburg Music Hall

Vive le Quebec! French Canadian new wavers the Stills have a soft spot for the ‘burg. It was here the band recorded their first record and played their earliest gigs. “This song’s about Williamsburg,” guitar/vocalist Dave Hamelin said beaming midway through their set, “It’s called ‘Being Here’.” And here I had thought they just wanted to make us feel special. The uplifting power-pop track may have been written for the likes of the hipster elite but still, the Stills are no Interpol and no, they don’t wear suits.

The Montreal rockers flaunted a stage presence strikingly reminiscent to the Clash. It’s no wonder an encounter with Joe Strummer was the second best day of their lives (the first being a recent Quebec City gig where they opened for Paul McCartney). It was obvious the five-piece entourage pride themselves on being true musicians and I always find it refreshing to see a live act sans the laptop — especially in Williamsburg. Two Gibson guitars, a Fender Jazz bass, a mean set of keys and massive hypnotic drum lines made for the kind of aesthetic that we oftentimes find missing from live shows today.

Musicianship continued when Hamelin put down his guitar and busted out a snare was for the brooding Floydian track “Snakecharming the Masses”, another track off their newly released album Oceans Will Rise (Arts & Crafts). Mesmerized, the hipsters were almost dead silent by the end of the song. “It’s awfully quiet in here,” smirked frontman Tim Fletcher as he attempted to wake the crowd from its daze. The combination of soft glowing gold microphone stands, rotating white star lights, and a skull on the face of the drum kit only added to the effect.

Under the spell of the Stills and fully succumbed, I was dancing to the notoriously wicked rock stomp single, “Still in Love” before I even knew it. “Je t’aime!” I joked like a teenager as they delved into “Retour a Vega” a little number en Français of course. Who would have thought French Canadians could be so friendly. The Stills were all smiles — interacting with the crowd and articulating their wit, all the while astounding us with their prowess. “Thank you New York, you guys are always the most beautiful people,” Fletcher flattered us with his charismatic French accent. Aw, shucks. “See you Saturday at Bowery Ballroom!” The band is set to play another New York gig at one of their favorite venues.

The show finished with “Hands on Fire” another track expressing the symbolic and political nature of their new record. “This is a song about guilt and I know you guys are all guilty people,” Fletcher teased, “ and so am I.” Not so political were the opening bands. The Kiss Off kicked off the night sounding a little more on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs side than revolutionaries — although they did encourage us to register to vote after their set. Chief was the band of brothers for blue collar ‘70s throwback rock. True working class heroes indeed. The Stills quality show rendered the missing link and proved they’ve still got it. Merci beaucoup, au revoir!

***

The Dandy Warhols do the Time Warp Again

September 17, 2008 Terminal 5, NYC

Probing into new material from Earth to the Dandy Warhols (Beat the World) at Terminal 5 left Courtney (self-proclaimed) Taylor-Taylor no choice but to stop a few bars into the single “Mission Control”. “Sorry, I forgot my glasses,” he sneered. Luckily Taylor-Taylor was always a charmer-charmer. It’s always easy to forgive a minor slip-up when psychedelic Goth pulls you into its vortex. Taylor-Taylor’s vocals took on deep-seated Peter Murphy (Bauhaus) baritone as the crowd was lured over to the dark side of the cosmos and into a trance.

Although keyboardist Zia McCabe kept her shirt on the entire set, the Dandy Warhol’s music (both old and new alike) stayed true to its classic fusion of ‘60s and ‘70s inspired hippie rock. The Dandy’s have come along way since their notorious reputation with The Brian Jonestown Massacre, particularly the 2004 documentary, DIG — a skeleton the band would prefer remain locked in the closet for good. Matured from the earlier heavily drug induced heydays, the Dandy’s are doin’ just fine and dandy thank you very much. Boasting their first release as an independent label and a show packed with electro-charged LED visuals – the band is thrilled about the current tour.

Amidst the lightshow of circuitry illusion and television static that conquered the foreground, a colossal navy flag sporting a gold-lettered Dandy Warhols logo (eagle, pirate ship, VW bus, snow-capped mountains, pine trees and moose) completed the backdrop. The crest was only visible in its full entirety when heavy strobes somehow managed to put it all into focus. Taylor-Taylor busted out the bongos and a vast sea of hands twirled the air in belly dancer fashion underneath the stars cast by an oversized shiny disco ball. Crashing cymbals and thunderous guitar distortion flooded the atmosphere, drowning out any and all sense of normalcy. The pungent smell of grass resonated throughout the three-level labyrinth of a venue. “What —‘Lou Weed’?” Taylor-Taylor asked the audience for requests during the opportune moment. All that was missing was the sitar.

The crowd was as eclectic a mix as the sprawling set list, spawning anywhere from the young and old — to the hip, grunge and Goth. Taylor-Taylor’s vocals ranged as far up as they could down and old favorites were on frequent rotation in the psychedelic shack. “Bohemian Like You” and “Last Junkie on Earth” amongst more obscure tracks like “Horse Pills”, made for the perfect mix of stoner-shoegazer meets rockabilly jam-band. Opening acts were chosen by the Dandy’s themselves. Fellow Portlanders and proud product of the Dandy Warhol’s label, The Upsidedowns were like The Stooges in training, while Darker My Love, hailing from California, displayed a sort of ‘Black Rebel Lumberjack Club’ type imagery. The reverb-heavy evening may have called for earplugs but unlike heroine, simple chorded garage rock is not so passé.

***

drea sings the blues...

with laptops and LED lights and sound engineers galore, where has the original essense of music gone? without naming specifics, i can tell you this: when the great apocolypse hits, its the Top 40 that will miss. picture a world without electricity. no stage, no frills, gimmicks. just a musician and a guitar. total blackout. when we're all left in the dark and singin' our own blues, who's left to play for us then? thats who i'm trying to discover.

a true musician will tell you the origin of music lies in the blues. think back -- way back. remember Sammy Hagar, Hank Williams, Miles DDavis and Muddy Waters? i hope so. the problem here is that the masses do not. successful so-called artists are topping the pop charts without the roots. it doesn't make sense. its all about electro-rock production. aren't we all tired of seeing those laptops on stage?

how is it that so many true and talented artists struggle for their entire lifetime, some never able to cut a record deal -- while others produce the same sound that we've been tired of hearing since The Strokes created it all those years ago. don't get me wrong. its not all bad. i'm just tired of it. i want to hear true blues. i want real rock and roll.

and its not completely missing from our culture, either. who's got it? Wilco's got it. Ryan Adams has got it. Neil Young and Bob Dylan still got it. John Lennon had it. And Bruce Springstein, well, he's the King of Got It. as for everyone else. hipsters, emo et al -- i urge you... find your soul. discover your roots. it is there that the origin of music can be ressurrected.

as a society on the brink of major social change its only natural that music too, must change. the thing is that it must change for everyone, not just for the few-and-far between above average aware. as we move into an age of collective thought, one thing rings true for every race, gender and age. its not the digital era that connects us. music that comes straight from the heart is universal. its real, its powerful and it doesn't require any translation.

***

Comeback Queen Juliana Hatfield Comes up Rosey

Aside from suffering Big Apple anxiety, Juliana Hatfield managed to pull it together for us at Bowery Ballroom Friday night, boasting a return to the music scene and a new book to come in a few weeks. During sound check I had the pleasure of asking Ms. Hatfield a few questions about her newfound author status glory. “Its more of an intellectual release than anything,” she explained, “I’d definitely like to write another novel in the future.” The book, “When I Grow Up: A Memoir” isn’t about getting older, but taking a break from music.

By the sound of the new album, When I Walk Away (Ye Olde Records) - Hafield’s first release on her own label - the hiatus did her justice. “If I don’t mention the new album, my record company will be mad at me,” Hatfield joked and waited for a response from the audience. “Nobody got that joke the other night either,” she laughed, “I’m the record company!” At that moment she took it upon herself to delve into some new material.

Her voice polished and matured from the cooing little girl we first met about 20 years ago as a former Lemonhead and member of the Blake Babies, Ms. Hatfield did more than razzle-dazzle the die-hards that night. “I don’t know why I always get so nervous in New York,” she said after a few songs, “Its because I have a crush on you.” As more pink rose petals were thrown at her feet, the crowd cheered, “We love you Juliana” (more than once) as several esteemed fans waved advanced rush copies of her book in the air. More rose petals soared upon an Obama shout-out – Hatfield sported a campaign sticker on her guitar and bragged about her drummer who had served as a volunteer.

A perfect blend of old and new, mixed up with a few covers like “Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence Clearwater Revival - the show was a trip to the 90s and back. When the set concluded, Hatfield returned alone sans backup for a few soft solo tracks (“My Sister” included) from the good ole days. The band returned for a big finish with their own rendition of Justin Timberlake’s “What Goes Around”. Having watched the experiment begin to take flight during sound check, I was impressed that she had managed to learn all the words so quickly (with a mean falsetto, too).

As I made my exit I bumped into Hayden, the solo folk rock artist from Toronto who scored the opening slot for Hatfield. Enamored by his devout following, he informed me that he’d been playing in New York for the past 12 years. No kidding, eh? The overall turnout was high (in both numbers and age) but the high lofty ceilings and balcony made the experience cozy and tranquil, without that feeling of being packed like a sardine.

It was obvious that much of her following had trailed her like the Grateful Dead for some time, no doubt through all Ms. Hatfield’s ups and downs, like her struggles with depression and anorexia. Skin tight jeans and high heeled motorcycle ankle boots accentuated her still thin-as-a-rail figure, but one thing’s for sure – Hatfield is a lot less lonely and a little more grown up.