Circuit Party Leaves Fire Island Pines, Joins Boycott Of Manhattan Hoteliers

Edge Media reports:

The drama in Fire Island Pines now officially spans two continents. The Ascension Party, a staple of the circuit scene for nine years, is packing up and leaving Fire Island Pines and traveling to Mykonos this August, citing the recent boycott against OUTpost Fire Island Pines properties as the impetus for the move. The announcement marks the second time the Ascension Party has changed dates and venues for its 2015 edition. Prior to the move to Mykonos, Ascension's producers announced that the party, long held in the middle of August, would be moved to Labor Day weekend. The move angered fans of the party, many of whom arranged for their house share weekends to coincide with the original date.

Although there was immediate speculation surrounding the motivation behind the move to Mykonos, suspicions were put to rest Friday morning when Ascension's producer, Eric Von Kuersteiner announced his reasons for moving the party via post on the closed Facebook group "Free" Fire Island Pines. In the post, Von Kuersteiner cites the recent boycott of the OUTpost Fire Island Pines properties that arose when one of its partners, Ian Reisner, co-hosted an ersatz fund raising party for anti-gay GOP hopeful Ted Cruz at his Manhattan home in June. "I thought that the Boycott would have convinced Ian (Reisner) to do the right thing and sell (he's had offers since I withdrew mine) unfortunately however he has not," Von Kuersteiner wrote, previously citing the economic boom the Ascension Party gives to the Fire Island Pines commercial district each year.

(Tipped by JMG reader TJ)

SAN FRANCISCO: Venue Owner Responds To Party Protest By "Gay Shame"

Last Saturday about 150 members of the activist group Gay Shame protested outside a prison-themed circuit party in San Francisco. Several members of the group were arrested. On Friday the owner of the party's venue issued a video statement. Via SFist;

Kink CEO Peter Acworth has released a video statement giving his side of the events, and expressing regrets that anyone had to be arrested. He makes clear that Kink is not looking to press any charges against anyone. But in the video, it is clear that some protesters were more in search of a fight than others. The video above shows protesters moving metal barricades that had been set up to corral arriving partygoers in an entry line, and several barricades being moved into 14th Street in order to block oncoming car traffic. In one moment, you can hear someone shout, "We're here, we're queer, we will fuck you up!" There is, however, no footage of anything being thrown or any guards being assaulted — Acworth says that one of the guards was punched and one of the protesters arrested, Prisca Carpenter, was arrested on suspicion of assault with a deadly weapon and criminal threats against a life, as well as resisting arrest.

SAN FRANCISCO: "Gay Shame" Activists Arrested At Prison-Themed Circuit Party

About 150 members of the activist group Gay Shame protested outside of the Prison Of Love circuit party in San Francisco on Saturday night, where some partygoers were reportedly pelted with fruits and vegetables. According to Gay Shame, a prison-themed party eroticizes the issue of prison rape and trivializes the treatment of transwomen in male prisons. The protest briefly closed down the entrance of the event and several protesters were arrested when the tense situation turned violent. Via SF Weekly:

In a press release, Gay Shame says three protesters, Rebecca Ruiz-Lichter, Prisca Carpenter, and Sarai Robles-Mendez, remain in custody "on trumped up charges." According to Gay Shame, the arrests occurred after the protest had dispersed, when a security guard from Shaw Security Management, Kink's security contractor, followed several protesters to the 16th Street Mission BART station and confronted them. The organization also alleges that protesters were clubbed, tackled, bloodied, and beaten during the protest. John Viola, a legal observer for the National Lawyers Guild, was among those arrested. The National Lawyers Guild says Ruiz-Lichter, Carpenter, and Robles-Mendez are being held on felony lynching charges. (Under California law, "lynching" refers to protesters or rioters who attempt to remove an individual from police custody.) Ruiz-Lichter and Robles-Mendez's bail is set at $50,000 each; Carpenter's bail is $78,000. Rachel Lederman, an attorney with the National Lawyers Guild, says "We are concerned that Viola was arrested to intimidate us against monitoring the police and giving out legal information," Lederman said.

According to a spokesman for Kink.com, the host and a co-sponsor of the event, their security guards "did not retaliate in any way." More from the Bay Guardian:

Though a statement from Gay Shame said the protesters were arrested “without provocation,” [SFPD spokesman Albie] Esparza told us they stemmed from alleged assaults on the security guards at the party by protesters. According to an account of the protest compiled by Armory facilities manager Andrew Harvill and provided by Kink.com CEO and Armory owner Peter Acworth, “protesters were largely peaceful, though unruly. Having said that, at least a dozen were highly militant.” Witnesses recalled seeing a Kink.com security guard follow protesters to 16th Street roughly 30 minutes after the protest ended and begin “targeting people who were casually standing on the sidewalk getting ready to go home.” According to the witnesses, “the arrests and police violence were reportedly in retaliation for the night’s protest.” Esparza confirmed that a security guard followed the protesters down to the plaza, though for the purpose of identifying the offenders when the police arrived. One protester reportedly threw a metal object and made threats toward a security guard during the protest, both of which are being charged as felonies, while another allegedly threw an egg and spit on a security guard.

The party had an estimated 3000 attendees.

(Tipped by JMG reader John)

Porno Pete: The Hot Bods On Those Juicy Muscular Circuit Boys Are Simply Ridic!

(Via Towleroad)

Mary J. Blige At Palm Springs White Party

Winter Party 2011

Yesterday Father Tony and I were joined by my dear Orlando friend Thomas for the 16th annual Winter Party on South Beach. This (I think) was my 11th time attending and once again the National Gay & Lesbian Task Force and their volunteer staff delivered a flawless event. Huge kudos to Task Force head Rea Carey, Winter Party event chair Chad Richter, and their army of smiley helpful volunteers. And we loved the trampoline stunt show.

I was especially pleased (of course) by the high turnout of bears this year and made it point to get some of their photos for those who complained yesterday about the smooth aesthetic of Saturday's pool party. Hit the slideshow at the bottom of this post for photos of many, many hotties of all ages, races, body types, and fur distributions. Full-screen versions here.

SLIDESHOW: Under One Sun

Yesterday Father Tony and I spent the afternoon at the Winter Party Festival's Under One Sun event at Miami Beach's Surfcomber Hotel. As you can see, it was quite the festive mob scene, so I spent much of the party comfortably removed in one of the poolside balcony cabanas. And I still got sunburned.
SLIDESHOW: Many hotties within. Full-screen images here.

Midweek Morning Mix - DJ David Knapp

Kick off your hump day with a brand new mix from circuit superstar DJ David Knapp. Setlist. Facebook page. Upcoming gigs: Krave @ Karma Minneapolis, Friday, April 23rd. Spunk-y Pool Party @ Gay Days Orlando, Sunday June 6th.

PREVIOUSLY ON JMG: DJ Corey Craig, DJ Dave Huge.

Less Gay Days: One Mighty Weekend Booted From Disney World

One of the nation's most popular and longest-running series of circuit party events, One Mighty Weekend, will not take place on Disney World property during Gay Days this year in a financial dispute between events producer Johnny Chisolm and the theme park giant. But the details of the dispute are, uh, disputed by two warring circuit party websites. Via South Florida Blade:

Tony Hayden, founder of TheCircuitDog.com and self-proclaimed “watchdog” of the circuit scene, said that Chisholm is not allowed to throw his parties at Disney this year after failing to come up with the necessary cash to make a deposit to hold the venue. “His parties are insulting to the original reputation of the people who founded the circuit parties so many years ago,” Hayden said. “He got all the pieces to the puzzle and within five years completely desecrated the entire franchise.” Hayden said this is not the first year that Chisholm has encountered problems with Disney. [snip] Hayden has also reported on his website about Chisholm’s previous problems with investors, include a $2.8 million lawsuit against him for an event in Paris.

JustCircuit.com, a sponsor of One Mighty Party, says differently:

Victor Mauro, owner Just Circuit, which is a sponsor of One Might Weekend, gave a different story: he said that Disney tried to charge Chisholm additional fees this year that he said were unjustified given the amount of money the theme park has made off the GLBT community over the last two decades. “For all the money that is spent during the Gay Day’s week, Disney has not once given back to the community,” he said.

For his part, events producer Chisolm is now suing (PDF) Tony Hayden (the owner of The Circuit Dog) for $15,000, claiming the site defamed him and published unsubstantiated reports that One Mighty Weekend would not go on as in previous years, which appears to be what will happen after all. (Disclosure: I've known Hayden personally for about 25 years.)

The circuit party scene, which originally developed in the '80s as a series of local AIDS fundraisers at a time when a collective celebration of gay culture was desperately needed, morphed in the '90s into a massive for-profit national juggernaut widely (and often, properly) criticized for drug excesses.

In the 21st century we've seen the end of many of the most popular events for a broad array of reasons, although noted fundraisers such as the Winter Party and Fire Island's Ascension Party, for example, remain very popular. One Mighty Weekend, the big boy on a shrinking commercial party block, will continue at non-Disney venues this year and 150,000 homos are expected to attend the various Gay Days events. But the above news may indeed signal a coming final gasp of the for-profit circuit party scene.

Winter Party 2009: Spend Your Money Where It Does Our Community Good

About twenty years ago, gay pride in major cities and the circuit party scene began to explode from single-day events to a stamina-testing series of parties stretched over long weekends, as glinty-eyed promoters swooped in to take advantage of a captive and restless audience.

While the unprecedented successes of these events offered attendees a long menu of party destinations on each day, attendance often suffered at the very namesake event for which these thousands of revelers had ostensibly traveled. How could you get up for the pride parade when you'd only left the club at 10am? Why would you actually go to the Magic Kingdom during Gay Days and stand in lines for rides when there were half a dozen mammoth pool parties at nearby host hotels? I think I first observed this phenomenon in the late 80's when it became apparent how few attendees of the Hotlanta River Expo actually made it to the banks of the Chattahoochee.

This has always been an annoyance to me, not only for the illogic of flying thousands of miles to not attend the namesake event, but also (and much more importantly), because that title event is often a benefit for a vital LGBT charity which then suffers because outside promoters have descended with big name DJs and performers to siphon away the business. At this month's Winter Party Festival in Miami Beach, the daytime title event on the beach is happily unchallenged, other than by the fatigue of attendees who were out late the night before. Yay!

But the WPF's benefit closing party later that night, which is a huge source of revenue for the organizers, is facing a rival for-profit event with a curious history.

Via Steve Rothaus at the Miami Herald:

Popular DJ Peter Rauhofer enraged local gay activists last fall when he produced a South Beach "Main Event" dance party in direct competition with White Party Week's Noche Blanca AIDS fundraiser. Now, national gay activists are angry with Rauhofer: He is reprising his Main Event party at Mansion on March 1 opposite the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force's Winter Party Orbit fundraiser at Cameo. "It hurts the community. That's what it comes down to,'' said Chad Richter of Miami Beach, festival chairman of this year's Winter Party. "We have volunteers who are working hard all year long. To have someone who is also gay and is doing a competing event, it's almost hard for a lot of people to believe."

While this practicing of dropping monster unofficial parties into an existing event has gone on for at least two decades, this one really pisses me off even though it doesn't compete with the title event. Peter Rauhofer, who is arguably the most popular DJ in the country, is going up against the fundraiser closing party with a for-profit event that may leech an enormous amount of money away the Winter Party's beneficiary, the Dade Community Foundation's GLBT Community Project Fund.

Last year the Winter Party Festival, which is run by the National Gay & Lesbian Task Force, contributed $180,000 to the fund, money that went to local LGBT youth services and to SAVE, Miami-Dade County's gay rights group. Even the name of Rauhofer's party, "The Main Event", seem designed to confuse attendees into thinking they are contributing to the cause.

And just to add some alleged shadiness to the Rauhofer story, some are saying that while his event throttled attendance at the AIDS fundraiser for Care Resource last fall during the White Party, he did it with flyers claiming that his event was sanctioned by and would be making a donation to the Elton John AIDS Foundation. From a letter to the South Florida Blade:

Dear Editor,

There was a fundraiser for the Elton John AIDS Foundation during White Party Weekend, at the nightclub Mansion in South Beach. Peter Rauhofer and Tracy Moran were DJs. I heard it was not a fundraiser—they were just using the Elton John AIDS Foundation name to compete with The White Party, a fundraiser for Care Resource. My friends went to the party because they thought it was for charity. Do you have information on this situation?

Editor’s note: It is true Peter Rauhofer planned a party, called “The Main Event,” the same weekend as The White Party. On his MySpace blog, he voiced grievances with Care Resource, but said he was producing the event at Mansion “with no malicious intent.” He also said he would “donate proceeds” to the Elton John AIDS Foundation, in as his party was in competition with another AIDS fundraiser. However, EJAF representatives say they did not agree to participating in this event, and they did not have an agreement on donations from Peter Rauhofer. They would not choose to compete with a fundraising event for a local HIV/AIDS organization such as Care Resource, and they did not authorize the use of their name in advertisements for Rauhofer’s party. Blade staff attempted to contact Rauhofer for a statement, but he did not respond.

If the above is true, I'd say that's fucking unforgivable. And I say that not only as a devoted attendee of the Winter Party Festival and as a friend of many of its tireless volunteers, but as a very longtime fan of Peter Rauhofer himself. I probably own more than a dozen of his CDs and have patronized many of his parties.

So please, if you're traveling to Miami Beach at the end of the month to soak up some well-deserved sun and enjoy the wide variety of events offered by the Winter Party Festival, DO PAY ATTENTION to who is behind that party you are interested in. The official, volunteer-run, 100% benefit event on Sunday night is at Orbit (also known as the Cameo Theater), where world famous DJs Tony Moran and Chus & Ceballos will rock the house from 8pm - 5am. Spend your hard-earned money where it does the community good. That, gentle readers, is the true "main event."

Folsom Europe 2008

It took a few days to get my photos off of Aaron's laptop, but I've finally posted a gallery of some of my pics from Berlin and Folsom Europe. There's a small slideshow at the bottom of this post, but since a few of the pics are NSFW, you'll probably want to view the full-screen versions on your home machine. (Hence this weekend posting.) Click on the "slideshow" button at the above link for full embiggening and captions.

Below are a couple of shots of the fair. As you can see, it was a comparatively civilized event, held on a lovely tree-shaded street flanked by dozens of tables with umbrellas. Complete nudity and public sex was forbidden, unlike at San Francisco's Folsom. Which was a good thing, because also unlike SF (and NYC), the fair takes place in the middle of a quite nice residential area. We noticed a number of bemused locals weaving their way through the crowds carrying laundry and groceries, but they and their kids saw nothing more notable than the occasional bare ass in chaps. Wait, I guess the guys in full-body rubber suits and gas masks were probably somewhat more memorable.Saturday night we attended the charmingly named PiG Party, the official dance, which was held at a massive old factory way out in das boondocks of East Berlin. The cavernous space probably could have held two Roseland Ballrooms (site of the Saint Black Party), although I'm told attendance was about half of the Black Party. While it got very crowded, it was never felt uncomfortably so.

The place had no restrooms, so folks had to tramp into a field next door where several big trailers were parked. Not a big deal, really, except that the continuous light rain rendered the field into gelatinous grey muck very quickly. Some guys were not happy about ruining their "show" boots. The coat check was also outside, about a hundred feet past the trailers, so some of the nakeder guys arrived shivery and wet.

As tends to be the case these days, I wasn't crazy about the music of DJ Jack Chang, who played a trancier take on typical circuit tribal without a single vocal for the 6.5 hours I was there. (You can download Chang's set here.) Still, he did throw in a number of beautiful swirly dropouts, which I love, but are the bane of America's teeth-grinding party boys. The sound was pretty good for such a big bare room - not overloud, but strong enough to rattle a harness on the dance floor. One nice bonus of such a large space - the temperature stayed a perfect 75 the entire time. On the downside, the ceiling (about 70-80 feet high) was made entirely of glass, so the morning light seemed to dampen spirits a bit by around 6am.

Peering over a rail into a basement space around 2am, I spied what I thought was the usual American-style party boy resuscitation food area - fruit, cookies, etc. But much later in the party I wandered down to find it was a full restaurant, including a crepe station. A crepe station, at a leather dance. That still kills me.

I met a few JMG readers at the party, so "Hallo" to: Ken (the cute bearded cub from Milan), Jeffrey (the hilarious Brit), Alex from Moscow, Brantt from Berlin, Henri from Paris, and the big bear thruple from San Francisco. Below is a one-minute clip of the view from the balcony, but I'm not sure it gives you an idea of just how big the space was. I'd definitely visit Folsom Europe again, including the PiG Party, only next time I'll try to get out of Schoenburg (one of the gayborhoods) a bit more. Although we did get some sightseeing done, the bulk of our trip was kind of like visiting NYC for Pride and hardly leaving Christopher Street. Next time.

DJ Cary Stringfellow, 36

Renowned circuit party DJ Cary Stringfellow was found dead on Saturday after he failed to appear for his headlining performance at California's IndepenDance party in Long Beach. Last weekend Stringfellow headlined at San Francisco Pride's Saturday night event, Frisco Disco. I'm told that Stringfellow committed suicide and left a note.

If You Don't Love Me, I Will Know

I've been on an early '90s kick for the last few days, so here's a great track from England's Prefab Sprout, If You Don't Love Me, which hit #3 on the Billboard dance chart in 1992. I have a beautiful (if slightly foggy) memory of hearing this song at some giant circuit party around then (maybe in Atlanta), where the DJ (maybe Susan Morabito) worked the bridge of the song over and over again on two turntables, finally allowing the song to climax as thousands of men roared in approval. Some guy standing at the balcony rail with me leaned over and said, "Wow! Who has more fun than us?" Indeed.

Black Party 2008 Recap

Once again I failed to delay my arrival at the Black Party to an hour more amenable to sustaining my energy until the close of the event, an accomplishment I have only made four or five times in fifteen attendances, of which this year's was my eleventh consecutive. Boo me.

But as I had many out of town friends visiting, there was once again the pre-party gathering at a Times Square hotel, this time at the decidedly undeluxe Milford Plaza, where The Thruple hosted myself, my houseguest, Chris, Little Tom, and my buddy Leif and his trio of fellow SFers. (Downside: ten gay men, one bathroom mirror.) Everybody arrived at the hotel at midnight, already in full gear, much to the amusement of the hotel staff. After a couple of hours of beer drinking, gossiping, and recountings of previous Black Parties, the anticipation got to be too much for some of the boys and reluctantly I followed them out the door. Here's how things went.

2AM: A short line at the door, a very quick ticket pick-up, then an amazingly efficient experience at the coat check (10 minutes!). We thought we were seeing the first drug collapse of the evening when a guy in the coat check line fell to the floor with his eyes closed and twitched about, but he was just pranking his friends. Oh, hilarious. Up on the dance floor there were probably four thousand guys already in the room, a bit surprising considering our relatively early arrival. Opening DJ Stephan Grondin was four hours into his set, which seemed to be going over well. I was pleased to hear Yello's 1980 classic Bostich and an updating of Cole & Clivilles' Do It Properly, although it was so altered I couldn't tell if it was a cover or the remix of the original.

2:15AM: We establish "Lost Children", a technique of setting a specific location in the room where at least some of our group can always be found again by those who have wandered off to explore. This year our home base was on the northwest corner of the dance floor and Lost Children worked pretty well to keep our guys together (when they wanted to be). Despite this, my houseguest and Little Tom are not seen again for the duration of the party. Dr. Jeff and Matt find us quickly.

2:30AM: The placement of a pool table in the lobby bar is explained when I encounter a porn star crouched on it as he's sodomized with the fat end of a pool cue. When the other guy starts shoving billiard balls in the porn star's ass, I move along. Seen that party trick already. On the way back from the bar I notice that the porn star's ass is now being filled with the contents of a beer bottle. Judging by the horrified shrieks that I hear as I leave the room, I guess that some spectators regret standing within spray distance.

4:00AM: Headliner DJ Jonathan Peters takes over. The dance area is much more crowded, but surprisingly we have little difficulty navigating the crowds to get to the bar in time for last call. Back at Lost Children, our family has grown to 20 or 30 friends and friends of friends. Lots of chat-dancing.

4:30AM: I make my only tour of the balcony area on my way to the upstairs restroom. On a stage a man is being hung with hooks through his back. Oh, the blood. Move along, Joe. Nearby, men are entering a large tent, which seems far too brightly lit inside for the kind of shenanigans I can see going on. At the other end of the balcony, I'm tempted to enter the long dark back room, something I've never done. I know that DJ Gustavo is way in the back, spinning for the huddled masses. I can hear his music, but I decide that it's not worth the trouble to push back there to see him. Mistaking my uncertainty, a perky young man stationed at the door shoves condoms, lube, and a tiny flashlight into my hands. I return the items to him, saying, "Maybe later," but I never make it back upstairs. In the bathroom, the snap breaks on my decades-old leather belt. Dammit.

5:00AM: Another sex show on the pool table. A young woman with short blond hair is dressed as a park ranger/zoo keeper as she is interviewed by a fake TV crew. Or maybe a real one. Who knows? A group of bare-breasted women wearing strap-ons proceed to "overcome" the park ranger and pillage her on the pool table. Were the other women supposed to be wild animals meting out justice on their cruel captor? Who knows? Not wanting to risk the sight of va-jay-jay, I move away quickly.

5:30AM: The main stage on the dance floor is a three-story mountain with a cave in the middle of the rocks. In the cave, an enormously obese woman wearing a giant pig head is lying in a sling over a roaring (fake) fire. OK, whatever. I go back to Lost Children and send some of our crew to see her. Minutes later the distinct smell of cooking bacon wafts over the dance floor, where it will linger for the next hour. Black Party, now in Odorama! A damn funny touch.

6:30AM: In anticipation of Little David's performance in the main show, we herd our group in front of the stage. The fat woman in the pig head is still in the sling when the music changes abruptly to the slow intro of a dance version of Stairway To Heaven. The crowd surges forward. One by one, very young men slathered with war paint climb onto the stage from the audience. I think they're dressed as school boys, maybe from one of those schools where the students are extremely ripped and don't wear shirts. Simultaneously, a chain is lowered over the dance floor and two very muscular young men ascend the chain by hand and begin to perform one of those aerialist acts that became a somewhat common feature of late 90's circuit parties. They are very, very good. On the stage, the boys wrestle Pig-head Woman from the sling and slap her around before their leader produces a butcher knife and slits her throat. Oh, the blood. Again. Fake blood this time, but still. Pig-Head Woman is decapitated and the leader of the boys holds the dripping head over his face as the blood pours down. I look around to see that the scene is being recorded by a dozen or more iPhones. So much for the "no cameras" rule. On the second tier of the mountain, two guys are using metal grinders to shoot up brilliant arcs of orange sparks. A man in rock-climbing gear begins to hoist himself up the mountain over the cave entrance, but when he reaches head-level, one of the war boys shoves a dildo in his ass. You don't see that at Crunch! Probably. Dr. Jeff and I cannot decide if any of the painted boys are Little David, but as we later find out, he and four other men are performing nude yoga poses on the top level of the mountain, out of our sight from the front of the stage. He did tell us we'd need to stand back to see him, but I'd forgotten. Sorry, David! On the cave level, additional buckets of blood appear and all the boys on the stage douse each other with it and generally writhe around. The end. Somebody suggests to me that the entire performance may have been meant to be evocative of Lord Of The Flies, but the metaphors of performance art have often eluded me. I've seen dozens of Black Party shows and this one baffles me most.

7:30AM: "Hello Black Party 2008! Woooo!" With that, a woman in a ginormous white afro and a floor-length white coat emerges from the cave on the stage and launches into a dance number. She sounds pretty good, but I couldn't catch enough of the lyrics to figure out the title of her song. At least ten people ask me who it is. Nobody knows. I worry that she'll slip on the blood. She finishes and disappears back into the cave with another "Black Party! Woooo!"

8AM: I'm kind of "meh" on Jonathan Peters thus far, but he does drop in a few of my favorites over the next couple of hours. Skatt Bros. Walk The Night. Donna Summer's new single I'm A Fire and I Feel Love. ABBA's The Visitors and Lay All Your Love On Me. Depeche Mode's Enjoy The Silence. Madonna's Like A Prayer. Bonnie Pointer's Heaven Must Have Sent You. John Paul Young's Love Is In The Air, during which people start looking around saying, "Morning Music already?" But the good stuff was few and far between. Just when we'd get a groove going, we'd be back in bang, crash, kaboom-land. Cruelly, Peters teases us with a only a snippet of the Saint standard, Hills Of Katmandu by Tantra. Dammit.

8:30AM: I'm dancing in a group that includes just-arrived Matt Foreman, his husband Frank, Rollerina, and rainbow flag creator Gilbert Baker, who is spectacularly attired in a mirror/rhinestone-flecked outfit. I think, "Holy crap, I'm dancing right in the middle of GAY HISTORY here!" Very, very cool moment. Matt, Gilbert, and I retire to the bleachers to yak about San Francisco politics: Mark Leno, Carole Migden, etc. Back on the dance floor, I find frequent JMG participant Freddy, he of P-Town, who is only wearing a jock and boots. And I would too if I had his body. Several of my friends inquire breathlessly, "How do you know HIM?" I just smile mysteriously. But not drunkenly, because the bar has now been closed for four hours. Dammit.

10:00AM: The party has thinned noticeably and is at perhaps one-third of its roughly 8000 participant max. My friends who are planning to attend Alegria or Susan Morobito's party at Splash begin to make warnings of departure. Dr. Jeff and Matt are done too, clocking an amazing ten hours at their first Black Party. I'm impressed. My pants are now so sweat-sodden that without a belt I must hold them up. Just as well, as closing DJ Joe Gauthreaux is due to begin and I need to change into sneakers and fresh jeans for the Morning Music. At the coat check I retrieve my backpack and strip naked to change, much to the interest of nobody. Can't say I blame them, there is far far better nakedness still on the dance floor. Dammit.

10:30AM: Joe Gauthreaux takes over and immediately takes the music up to top speed. Some of his stuff is OK, we dance, but knowing my love of Morning Music, everybody brings their complaints to me. "Where is the pretty?" "Where is the FLUFFY?" Even the dozen or so flaggers, who normally look completely blissed out, are shooting each other concerned looks. Matt Foreman sprinkles baby powder on the dance floor, a Saint tradition, but his dusting fails to evoke the Gods Of Fluffy And Pretty and the music remains mostly Ugly and Hard. Just like the guys upstairs! Rimshot! Just like the guys upstairs! I kid, I kid. There are enough porn stars and other beauties still here to fill the Titan float at SF Pride.

11:30AM: Still ugly. Still hard. Very very not happy about that, but there are so many friends around that even if the DJ were playing a long set of death metal, I'd still be pleasantly diverted. Maybe. I run into an old acquaintance sitting in the bleachers and ask him about his husband, who was quite ill when I last saw them a couple of years ago. Mistake. The husband has passed away. In fact, this morning is the one year anniversary of his death. My friend says he came to the party at 6am so that he wouldn't think about it all day. It also happens to be my friend's birthday. His husband died on his birthday. This revelation immediately brings me to tears, but at that moment Freddy wanders up and I recover by making introductions. After Freddy leaves, my friend also complains about the music. "I can't believe people paid so much money to endure THIS." I try not to think about it. I cuddle him in the bleachers while wanting to kick myself for bringing up his husband, who obviously would have been there if he were well. Would it have been worse not to ask at all? Dammit.

12:30PM: Two hours of DJ Joe Gauthreaux and still no hint of Saint classics. No Souvenirs. No Black Celebration. No Where Love Lives. I see some of the older guys who arrived after 8am, specifically for the Morning Music, beginning to leave in disappointment. I follow them downstairs, retrieve my coat and bag, then make a round of the main floor to make my good-byes to those waiting it out. I have no idea whether the Morning Music ever arrived, but after two hours of waiting I was too tired to find out. For the sake of those who stayed, I hope it did. My earliest Black Party departure ever. Dammit.

SUMMARY: My usual music selection issues aside, I had a fairly good time. Not the Best! Black Party! Ever! - but still OK. The presence of a couple of dozen very good friends and numerous acquaintances from around the country helped a lot. The sound system was clear and not overly loud, it never got unbearably hot, the staff was pleasant, and the entire operation from the front door to the bar was super-efficient. I didn't see any party-negatizing behavior from the patrons and the one incident I did hear about (a young man who injured himself rather grievously when he slipped on the marble staircase) was apparently handled very well. Overall, I'm giving Black Party 2008 two and half out of four stars. And I will return next year.

RELATED: Five Black Party virgins have blogged about their experience.

-Where HAVE You Been, Son?, from Dr. Jeff, author of Cynically Optimistic, who left in "awe of the spectacle of the thing."
- Black Out Party, from Scott, author of Ready, Set, Go. Scott won the Swag Tuesday ticket giveaway and had a rather adventure-filled evening.
- It's Like The Eagle On Steroids, from Rey, author of Donuts In Heaven. Rey tries not to judge. Especially his friends.
-Black Party Report, from Little David, author of Someone In A Tree. Little David enjoyed performing naked for thousands of men. And for somebody who loathes dance clubs, he had a surprisingly nice time.
-My First Black Party, from Gawker contributor Jory. Watersports! Celebrity sightings! And with Gawker's volume of readership, the city may be prompted to look into that there Black Party thing.

UPDATE: I'm told that after I left, DJ Joe Gauthreaux did play a few Saint standards, including a couple mentioned above and in the comments: Pet Shop Boys' Left To My Own Devices and Alison Limerick's Where Love Lives. Gauthreaux closed the party at 2pm (a bit early by Black Party standards) with I Hear Talk by Bucks Fizz, one of my all-time favorite songs. Argh. I'm more sorry now that I couldn't manage the final 90 minutes of the event, even though I'm told less than 200 people remained at closing. By then however, I was sound asleep. Still, I should give props to Gauthreaux for not completely ignoring the Saint canon.

UPDATE II, Mystery Vocalist: I've updated my Black Party 2008 review to add that promoters have informed me that the unannounced 7:30am performer was Katreese Barnes, the musical director of Saturday Night Live, who sang her new single Alright, Alright to general acclaim from party attendees. And that's a tough crowd right there, people. Barnes is the co-writer of SNL's smash viral video Dick In A Box, for which she shared a songwriting Emmy with Justin Timberlake and Andy Samberg. Barnes' songs have been recorded by Diana Ross, Roberta Flack, Chaka Khan, Luther Vandross and many others.

Alright, Alright was produced by Black Party headliner DJ Jonathan Peters and is available for streaming and download on Masterbeat.com, where it is currently #1 on their chart, thanks, no doubt, to Black Party attendees more in the musical know that I am. A murky clip of Barnes' performance has already surfaced on YouTube, but like the dozen or so other clips from this year's Black Party, it's almost unwatchable. I wasn't digging Alright, Alright so much at the party, but after a few listens on Masterbeat, I had to download it. There's always one tune that I hear for the first time at Black Party that comes to represent the event for me in years to come. This one is it.

Black By Popular Demand

Personal cameras are strictly verboten, so for the 11th year noted Gotham photographer Robert Zash will be taking portraits of Black Party attendees in all their leathery glory. Mention JMG for a $5 discount! Since the portrait area is on the lower level, right next to the coat check, I recommend herding your cats over to Robert's lens as soon as you arrive. While everybody still looks "fresh", you know. It's always amusing to observe Robert's subjects grrring up their best Cruel Daddy Master for the camera.

Also appearing at tomorrow's party will be frequent JMG commenter and fellow blogger, our own Little David, who will be performing onstage with his Hot Nude Yoga crew. Details are sketchy on how Hot Nude Yoga is being worked into the show, but I'm guessing there will be a lot of Downward Dog. Arf, Daddy! Stop tugging my leash! David's performance is set to begin sometime around 6:30am.

RELATED: For a flashback to the other legendary gay disco, hop over to also legendary DJ Bobby Viteritti's site, where he is selling his complete Black Party 1979 set, recorded at San Francisco's Trocadero Transfer. Tata Vega! Fern Kinney! Groove me, baby.

Winter Party 2008

Winter Party: Circuit Survivor

The ad for the Winter Party that appears on this and many other blogs this month has been nagging me to mention that despite the recent spate of stories about the dwindling of gay nightlife, the Winter Party Festival continues to thrive. This March will see the 15th annual Winter Party, an event I've attended more times than any other event in my life, nine times in all, making regular treks back to South Florida after I moved to San Francisco, and twice since I've been in New York.

Nationwide, the circuit scene is quickly winding down. As Steve Weinstein noted in an Out Magazine article titled Save The Last Dance, "Where an earlier generation saw the drug-fueled all-night dances as liberating, those in their 20s are as likely to view them as archaic throwbacks that bear little relationship to the way they live their lives." So as the original circuit party boys "age out" of the scene, younger gays have scant interest in replacing them. And the parties are closing up shop in droves.

Weinstein:

The party graveyard includes huge marathons like Hotlanta, Saint at Large’s original White Party, and Chicago’s Fireball as well as regional events like Pittsburgh’s Steel party, Detroit’s Motorball, and Columbus, Ohio’s Red Party (considered the nation’s first circuit party). Even legendary man magnets like the Miami and Palm Springs editions of the White Party and Montreal’s Black and Blue—once North America’s largest circuit party—are suffering greatly reduced attendance.

Others struggle to survive, like Philadelphia’s Blue Ball, which moved from January to May, and Washington, D.C.’s Cherry, which keeps changing sponsors and venues.

So why, in the face of all this (generally agreed to be good) change in the way young gay men socialize, does the Winter Party buck the trends and continue to thrive? Obviously, their hugest draw is that while the rest of the country shivers, the main Winter Party event (the largest beach party in the country) takes place in toasty subtropical weather and plays out against the gorgeous backdrop of South Beach's Art Deco District.

But now run by the National Gay & Lesbian Task Force, the Winter Party has morphed over recent years from that single perfect beach party to include a week-long series of events with broad appeal to those both in and out of the circuit scene. This year there's an LGBT family picnic, a fundraiser for the South Beach AIDS Project, a fashion show, a lesbian jazz brunch, a dinner party to support the transgender community, and the unveiling of the Gay American Heroes exhibit, a "traveling memorial that honors LGBT persons who have been murdered because of their sexual orientation or gender identity."

Unlike those events listed in Weinstein's "party graveyard", somehow the Winter Party organizers saw the writing on the wall and reacted. I asked Task Force head Matt Foreman about the changes his organization have brought to the Winter Party:

"We’re extremely proud that over the four years the Task Force has been responsible for the Winter Party Festival we’ve broadened its reach by adding programs for people of faith, young people, transgender people, and women. We’re proud that the festival continues to be 100% of, by and for our community with 100% of its proceeds staying in our community. In fact, so far we’ve generated nearly $650,000 to support local organizations serving Miami-Dade’s LGBT community. And finally, we’re proud to be preserving and building a family of events that celebrates our sexuality, our diversity, and our community."

Since its beginning, the Winter Party has raised over $1.6M with two-thirds of that staying in Miami-Dade County to benefit a broad array of local LGBT charities. I've always contended that the volunteer-run charity parties are somehow the most fun. It's just a general vibe that I get. (Another example would be Folsom Street Fair's fantastic Real Bad party.)

The hot-bod scene is there at the Winter Party dance events (see the photo at the top of this post), but the recent inclusiveness of those outside of or uninterested in that milieu is surely at the core of their continued success.

As I've got friends that have been tirelessly toiling for the Winter Party for many years, I'm happy to pimp their good work on this here website thingy. Just don't deluge me with requests to pimp your party. This one is, happily, very personal.

Review: Saint NYE Party (And Some Rambling Navel Gazing)

[UPDATE: You'll probably want to view the below video with the sound off. My lil digicam can't handle nightclub subwoofers. I shot the clip before much of the crowd arrived.]

As I made my preparations for the Saint-At-Large's New Year's Eve party in Times Square late Monday night, I repeatedly reminded myself of my New Year's resolution to banish any conceit that for it to be considered a success or "good", a party should have to conform to my narrowly-defined and archaic checklist of acceptable gay dance party benchmarks.

I have no right, I repeated to myself in the shower, at age 48, to expect that the massive gay dance parties of today should cater to my musical tastes, my preferences for venues, my ideals regarding sound systems, light shows, DJs, or live performers. And more importantly, I have no right to pass judgment on the attendees. They're not there for me, they're there for each other. The vast majority of gay men that attend these spectacles are now 15, 20, 25 years younger than I am. It's their party, far more than mine, and for me to drip acidic attitude into the party's punch bowl is as rude and fruitless as critiquing the menu at somebody else's dinner party. Even if you're right, you're wrong.

Years ago I began my slow and (hopefully) gracious retreat from being an ubiquitous presence (as it felt to me) on the circuit scene. I began slowly ticking parties off my annual must-do list. "Yes, ten Winter Parties is enough, I think. No, not doing Sundance this year. And I think I'll end my run at Alegria at a meager five appearances." Most of the other events soon similarly fell into the not-entirely-ruled-out, but definitely unlikely-to-repeat category.

The watershed moment in my surrender, my epiphany if you will, came five or six years ago in South Beach. Standing on the balcony at Crobar, I was wrenching my face at the melody-free circuit hit of the moment, that song that sounds exactly likes horseshoes tumbling in dumpsters going over Niagara Falls for nineteen uninterrupted minutes. For the tenth time in as many minutes, I shouted to my friends, "This music SUCKS!" And that's when somebody clamped down on my elbow and dragged me the balcony rail. "Do you see 3000 men down there? Do you SEE 6000 arms in the air? THEY are having a fantastic time. The DJ is doing a VERY good job! The music doesn't suck, YOU don't like it."

Yeah, ouch. And duh, Joe. If you don't enjoy it anymore, why do you still go?

But wait, a twist approaches.

Armed with my new philosophy, I walked into the Nokia Theatre with Chris at 1:30am. For various reasons, most of our friends had decided against going to the party,with some refusing to battle what they'd predicted would be a nightmarish human gridlock for many blocks around Times Square. Not so. Our taxi let us out at 44th & 10th and we rather enjoyed our ten-minute walk through several hundred exhausted members of the NYPD.

Outside the Nokia, we were greeted politely by security, who actually smiled as they steered us to Gazelle (right), the clipboard-toting door drag. Gazelle was charming, quite contrary to the ice queens who often she-man the ropes at these things. One minute later, our tickets were scanned at the door and I paused in expectation of the traditional full body-cavity search. "Just down the escalator on the right, sir," said the ticket taker. Oh! Sweet.

There was a lengthy line at the coat check, but it seemed petty to complain at that point. Plus, the bar was right next to the line. Budweiser was $6, a decent price for Manhattan on any night, much less on New Year's Eve in Times Square. And somehow, the bar remained open until 8am. Not sure how they swung that, but I was grateful. I hate Red Bull and would much rather nurse a tepid beer in the waning hours of a party. (Plus, the breakfast beer is often the best beer of the day.) The coat check staff and the bartenders were as pleasant as the door staff. I'd hire any of them to work in a gay bar.

I found the Nokia a perfect venue for the party. One large-ish room on three levels, the Nokia has a large stage at the west end of the room, which that night hosted the DJ and lighting booths. Since the joint is now a concert venue, the large standing-room area in front of the stage served as the dance floor. Above the dance floor is a good-sized open level, occupied for the evening by three large boxes, atop which writhed the impossibly hot dancers imported for the evening from Montreal. Watching them dance, a patron mused to me, "I don't even feel like I'm of the same species as those guys." Seconded.

But the best part of the Nokia, for me, is the eastern end of the room (above), which is a huge stadium-style seating area furnished with hundreds of plush seats with cupholder (beerholder) armrests. I have always contended that gay dance parties should install viewing areas with seating, so I was very pleased to be able to take multiple breaks from the dance floor, yet still feel part of the action. Two large black scrims blocked the view from left and right sides of the seating area, so most took seats in the center section. The effect was very much like watching a Broadway show or a movie. A movie about hot go-go boys. Going up the center aisle, I had the oddest feeling that an usher should be handing out Playbills.

Surrounding the main room on three sides are large hallways with bars and seating areas. The restrooms are nicely decorated and massive, built to accommodate concert attendees all leaving at the same time. There was never a line to use the bathroom, a very special treat for beer drinkers like me who have spent many agonized minutes waiting at circuit parties.

Heading back to the main room, we also didn't experience the usual annoying doorway clusterfuck that is often the hallmark of gay dance parties, as the Nokia features six exit doors on each side of the dance floor. The sound system, brought in for the party by the Saint, was crisp, clear, and appropriately shirt-rattlingly loud, but not so loud as to have me wishing I'd brought earplugs. In fact, you could actually hold a conversation twenty feet away from the dance floor without resorting to American Sign Language.

The first song we heard as we arrived was Britney Spears' Gimme, Gimme, but mindful of my new credo, I just bounced along. Then DJ Demarko played the horseshoes song and I had to laugh at myself. I'm not sure when Manny Lehman took over but he played a lot of stuff that I knew and liked, albeit usually they were tribaled-up remixes of the originals. Here's a short list of Lehman's tracks that I scribbled in strobe-addled Sanskrit on my notepad:

Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of These)
Ralph Falcon - I Need You
Crystal Waters - Destination Unknown
ABBA - S.O.S
Rozalla - Everybody's Free
Mary J. Blige - Be Without You
Robin S- Show Me Love
Shakira - Beautiful Liar
Depeche Mode - Just Can't Get Enough
Depeche Mode - Enjoy The Silence
Sylvester - You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)
Sharon Redd - In The Name Of Love

Also heard: a slamming techno remix of Chris Crocker screaming, "Leave Britney Spears alooooone!" Predictable, yes. But it still made me laugh.

Towards the end of the party, I ran into long-time Saint photographer Robert Zash, who was kind enough to tour me backstage to meet DJ Manny Lehman. I was quite pleased when Lehman plotzed over my Donna Summer Love To Love You, Baby t-shirt, which features the artwork from the original 1975 12-inch. I should have told him that I wore the shirt in honor of Donna's birthday, which is New Year's Eve. Yes, I know Donna Summer's birthday. Bite me. (BELOW: Lehman and Zash.)Zash also introduced me to his friend, Rev. R. Craig Bustrim, a long-time Episcopal priest from Scottsdale, Arizona. That was an odd coincidence, since I had just posted about the schism in his church. Bustrim quickly schooled me about the truly accepting attitude of most congregations, and I felt doubly guilty for not making that point in my post.

Back on the dance floor, Zash intro'd me to tuxedoed Saint owner Steve Pevner, who interrupted Zash's intro with, "Oh, I know who YOU are." Yeah, awkward, considering the pan I gave this year's Black Party here on JMG. I found Pevner a complete sweetie and when I asked him for a photo, he responded, "Only if you dance with me." After the song ended, he was swept away by fans and I never got the pic. Pevner is also a busy actor and owns a literary management agency.

Over the course of the evening I heard some minor kvetching that party was under-attended, due in part no doubt to the Times Square issue and the previous evening's bacchanal at Alegria, where the volume is as crushing as the number of bodies. The room could have held a few hundred more people and never quite hit that eruptive critical mass that many circuit parties do, which doubtlessly disappointed the hardcore circuiteers. But I thought the attendance was fine. The dance floor was mobbed for several hours, yet you could move easily throughout the rest of the venue.

The patrons were a delightfully atypical melange (for these sorts of things) of age-ranges, ethicities, and body types. Yes, the usual body-glittered, hot-pants wearing gaysian club kids were in the house, as well as lots of guys who probably drink Human Growth Hormone at every meal. But there were also art-fags, hipsters, oldsters (like me) and more than the usual handful of RGs. On the other hand, there were only a handful of bears or anybody with facial hair. Aw, well. Also seen were some bold-face names like Carson Kressley, whose smokin' hot date was wearing a "Starfucker" t-shirt. Cute. (ABOVE LEFT:Hottie gives props for Mel Cheren. (ABOVE RIGHT: Party hotties Alan, Erik, and Franco.)

Around 8am, Manny Lehman ended the party with Amy Winehouse's Rehab, appropriate, considering the mechanism by which most patrons were still awake. After the applause died down, Lehman encored with Madonna's strangely beautiful, yet spooky Isaac, which perfectly set the tone for my departure from Nokia into the grey and empty Times Square.

In summary (finally, you say), I thought the Saint pulled off a next-flawless event. For me. Quite ironic to come to that conclusion, really, considering the mind-set I'd so carefully prepared before arriving. While some may bad-mouth the attendance, once word gets out how easy it was to get in and how delightful the house staff was, next year's event, should it return to the Nokia, should be even better. These days I reserve my rare dance party-going to the events that truly cater to and program for my age demo and musical taste. Blowoff. Real Bad. Black Party. The Trocadero reunions. I plan on continuing to shake my non-buff booty at those parties until they too are no longer fun for me. Looks like I'll have to add another party to that list.
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Special Saintly NYE Swag

Courtesy of the Saint-At-Large, I've got two tickets to give away for their New Year's Eve party and go-go extravamanza in Times Square.

Join The Saint At Large, gaydom's premier dance party for over 28 years, as it delivers the euphoric rush of the beginnings of a new year in Times Square right into the heart of a gay dance party. Switching it up from last year's memorable concert debut of Jennifer Hudson at the Hammerstein Ballroom, the first party of the New Year begins moments AFTER THE BALL has dropped-- in the 11 million dollar, sparkling new Nokia Theatre.

AFTER THE BALL, the raunchy quality of Times Square will be recreated with a GAIETY NIGHTCLUB-like atmosphere with the naughty spectacle of Les Go-Go Bleu de Montreal and 42nd Street side show antics. The unchallenged leader of upbeat dance music, DJ Manny Lehman, takes the crowd on a journey of excitement and optimism for a new year. Add to this mix, the Enchanted elements of the opening stylings of NYC's favorite couple- CANDIS CAYNE & DJ MARCO and lighting brilliance from Saint At Large's GUY SMITH.

The party begins at 12:30AM, after the NYPD has swept out the expected two million revelers who will crowd Times Square to see the ball drop. Tickets are $70 through 12/31, $80 at the door (if available.) Buy tickets in person at Nasty Pig, Screaming Mimi's, Wear Me Out, or online at SaintAtLarge.com.

Enter to win the tickets by commenting on this post. Only comment once and please remember to leave your email address. As I have written many times, the Saint goes all-out with their parties. And from what I've read, the Nokia has fantastic sound. (The venue was formerly the Loews Astor Plaza, one of the largest single-screen theatres in NYC.) Go here for more on the party from Steve Weinstein.

GHB Wreaking Havoc On Fire Island

Having been out of town the last few weekends, I'm only just now hearing the tragic news of this year's Fire Island Pines Party, during which 16 partygoers overdosed on GHB. And August 18th, a 31 year-old man died of a GHB overdose in his Pines rental home, allegedly after his physician roommate recommended he be allowed to "sleep it off".

Calling the number of overdoses "unprecedented", Dr. Ed Schulhafer of the Pines Care Center, said, " [T]here is a strong likelihood that the GHB being distributed in the community is particularly toxic and dangerous. We circulate this information to encourage all Pines and Grove residents to stay away from any GHB. Of course it is better not to take any illegal drugs as there are no known ways to reverse their side effects. But all the overdoses we have seen in the last four weeks have included GHB."

You may recall that the famous Fire Island Morning Party, a huge annual fund-raiser for Gay Men's Health Crisis for 16 years, was cancelled in 1999 after a GHB-related death forced GMHC to withdraw their involvement. I imagine that the Pines Party may go the same way.

Just seven weeks ago, leaving the Pier Dance, my friends and I all marveled that we'd seen no overdoses, something that had been an all-too common sight at circuit parties in years past. It seemed to us at the time that gay men were finally dropping GHB from their party menu, but since none of us attend these events more than once or twice a year, we were only hopeful. I guess we have our answer.