by BOY GEORGE´ EXPRESS COLUMN
Portraits of an exotic eccentric
OOPS, I did it again – to quote Britney Spears. Only days after I dissed Lady Bamford after DJing for her son George's birthday I received a thank-you from the good lady to express her gratitude.
That doesn't excuse a thank-you in person but nonetheless I jumped the gun a bit. So I apologise. It has been a week of dramas and fraught phone calls. This week, the Institute of Contemporary Art opened an exhibition of photos of Leigh Bowery which runs until September 8 and is a must for anyone studying fashion or photography.
No one could go wrong with a model like Leigh and some of the looks captured are out of this world. However, a huge drama ensued because my good friend Philip was trying to get the ICA to allow a sculpture made by his sister of myself as Leigh into the exhibition but both snapper and those who reign supreme at the ICA said no. I can't help thinking that their collective attitude was rather disingenuous, especially as I got out of bed at some hateful hour to be painted and trussed into costume to promote Fergus Greer's book. I later discovered that it wasn't the ICA but the photographer who was against it.
The important thing is that we are all working to the same end. That is immortalising the most exotic and self-parodying creature ever to grace London's nightclub scene. I haven't seen the finished sculpture but it will add to my ever blooming collection of Bowery artefacts.
Anyway, the ICA was full of all the old freaks. It was I like a New Romantic renaissance. The highlight of the night was top stylist Judy Blame booing the band. "Oh," he said, "I wish more people were misbehaving." The exhibition is fabulous and proves that true art moves. When I saw Leigh's life-size portraits I was overcome with sadness. The question is what happened to London? Maybe Leigh was the final gasp of eccentricity. Hope not!
ALL IS not lost. Johnny Slut, as he loves to be known, has started a kind of retro, new age, electro night called Nag, Nag, Nag and is attracting a whole new batch of young weirdos. It takes place in a small venue behind London's Astoria Theatre every Wednesday and it's a blast. Even more bizarre is the website, us;oocities.com/theblitzkids. Every last freak is accounted for and it was shocking to see old pictures of moi, DJing in full drag in the late Seventies.
Maybe there is a yearning among the young for something avant garde. Those behind this site must be congratulated for their research. I only wish I could have got one of the pictures posted of myself and Kirk Brandon, who took me to court for telling the world we were lovers. If I had got hold of this photo – which is very intimate and provocative – I might have saved a fortune in court bills.
EVEN more bizarre was the troupe of anarchists with a sense of humour who blocked off my road with a huge float and a posse of characters out of your worst nightmares. They called it Plotto – the People's Lotto – and the prize included a gold Mini, all the beer you can carry and tickets for next year's Wimbledon final. Talk about thinking ahead. I only wish my neighbour was in because he would have blown a fuse. I left them lying in the gutter, drunk as skunks, for the safety of my Gothic pile.
The guy who is the brains behind this loopy venture had been filming in my house the day before. We were shooting a video for one of Taboo's songs and he was as straight as a die, proving that all of us have an alter ego. Talking of alter egos, I return to the chaos, that is Taboo on August 5. See ya there.