Our chalet was kitted out with a vast array of lights, candles, streamers, screamers, pineapple chunks on sticks, cheezy wotzits and girlies in black cocktail dresses when we arrived back from Autolux. Go the party organisers! Tom and Luke got kitted out in formal fin de siecle gear as well. Queenie sat on a chair outside the chalet and vetted the guests. Krossie and the doctor sneaked off to Buck 65. Who is Canadian, from Nova Scotia!
The people in the chalet across the way were also having a party, but they were cheating by having a free bar. There were three of them – they used to be members of some famous dancing troupe that Queenie hadn’t ever heard of. They did one of their routines on the lawn for their guests and got a big round of applause. It was hilarious – one of them looked like a character from The Incredibles and dressed in a spin off superman outfit – all blue and red with strange pointy boots. They were very nice, even though they won the ‘the most party guests’ competition by bribing people. We directed our guests over to partake too – no point not sharing the love around.
As a consequence of being mannerly enough to attend her own chalet party, Queenie missed Buck 65, which she shouldn’t have done, as he was very good. But she got to hear the cd on the way back to Gatwick and he’s playing the Village soon, so maybe she’ll get another chance.
Much later, after all the cheezy wotsits and chocolate cake had been trodden into the floor, and mixed with the tinsel that was going to have to be removed the next day, the kids went onwards and upwards into the madness and the frenetic buzz that is Saturday night at ATP. We went downstairs (on the left, beside the bar) to see Sean Lennon with Vincent Gallo. And sat on the manky carpet and waited. And sat through a thirty eight minute sound check. After which nothing happened. Queenie suddenly realised the sound check had been the gig. Oh, right. Maybe Sunday night gig would be better.
Seriously, though, guys, very disappointing.
Queenie noticed that a serious percentage of this year's crowd had a John Holmes 1970s oobit look going on. She wasn’t sure if this was a trend, but someone told her it was the same in ATP 2004. If it is a trend, it is a very scary one, as it might mean that the chief occupant of Queenie’s mancupboard might not shave off the oobit he grew for his current film. Which will of course result in him getting flung out of said cupboard.
Pirate scarf and leather jacket she can handle. Oobit – only if it's absolutely integral to the plot and it must be gone the day after the wrap party.
Queenie met up with a group of English blokes who looked as if they’d strayed off the set of Wonderland and proceeded to the second part of ATP Saturday, which is the bit of the weekend where she normally gets chatted up. This is one of her favourite bits of ATP. The blokes are usually from Halifax, or Wigan, or Glasgow and really nice. (Although ATP was very Londoner-oriented this year). They chat to you about stuff. They don’t slag you off. They don’t assume you want to sleep with/ marry/ go psycho on/ manipulate them. They do assume you are here to see the music and have some fun.
Due to the high oobit factor, Queenie spent her time convincing them they should go into the porn business. They bought the drinks and she pitched plots to them. Then she got bored and they parted company. Probably not such a good idea. Queenie stayed on downstairs for John Frusciante and during the gig got shouted at for being a fucking paddy by some random English bloke. She can’t remember why. The Pauls think it might be her overwhelming sense of Irish superiority getting her into trouble again. Probably. Whatever.
By the time it was time to go upstairs to listen to Polly Jean, it was time to calm down, sit against the wall and listen quietly to the gig. The queen of wail didn’t disappoint, even though it was her first solo gig in many years.
PJ thanked VG profusely for believing in her and convincing her to do a solo gig. In fact, loads of acts thanked him profusely. So either he’s really nice and helpful and kind and the racist, sexist, homophobic ranting on his website is just some terribly clever NYC pisstake that us lesser mortals don’t get. Or he has them all bribed/ drugged/ brainwashed into thinking he’s great.
Either way, he got what he wanted as everyone at ATP spent all weekend talking about him.
Queenie had to crash around eleventy three and went for a nap during Brown Bunny (in my bed in the chalet), then got up at 3am and went to DJ Ellen Allien for a while.
Why?
Because she is an eejit. That's why.
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