Archive for March, 2003

After moving to the city and losing my infatuation with bad eighties synth-pop (which was a good thing, considering it was now the nineties), I discovered nightclubs and began a new infatuation with dance music. I went out four nights a week in baggy jeans and a hooded t-shirt, flailing my arms wildly as I bounced around on podiums, hoping to be discovered and made famous, like my idol, Martika. If only I could rise to the superstar heights of this spook-jawed chanteuse. If only I could stop falling off the podiums when attempting to do the ‘running man’.

Eventually, I made friends with a girl (I won’t use her real name, let’s just call her Bitchface) who had the same dreams of global super stardom. We were a perfect combination – talented, good looking, fresh and ambitious. And we knew all the words to ‘Vogue’, as well as three of the dance moves. Our only problem was the way we looked on stage together, owing to the fact that I was six foot four and she was five foot one. But we didn’t let that stop us.

I was seeing a fashion designer at the time, who encouraged us to create a ‘performance project’ with himself and a makeup artist friend styling our look. This meant writing a couple of songs, and a live performance. Just like Martika. I felt the earth move.

After much deliberation, a packet of chocolate biscuits and one huge tantrum (over the last biscuit), we decided to call ourselves ‘Lurex Groove’. It was quite fitting, in retrospect, as lurex is one of the tackiest fabrics known to man.

We then wrote a signature song, complete with clever drug reference, called ‘L-U-R-E-Xtasy’, set to a pounding techno beat. It featured an introductory rap from me, followed by Bitchface caterwauling ‘Can you feel it? Can YOU feel it? Can you feel IT? Can yooooooou FEEEEEEEL it?’ until the breakdown when I rapped again (this time in a ragga style) followed by more cat torturing and a bit of banshee wailing from Bitchface until the end.

A friend (who smirked the entire time) recorded the backing track in his home studio for us, along with another, slower song that Bitchface wrote, called ‘I’ll Be Missing You’. We were almost ready for global super stardom. I didn’t sleep for a week as I fielded imaginary questions from doting ‘Smash Hits’ journalists, and practiced my ‘zany/reflective’ face for future cover shoots.

Finding a venue that wanted us to perform was actually really easy, as Bitchface had shagged the promoter of the hottest nightclub in town, who was all too happy to have us perform at an upcoming event. As I soon learned, it’s not what you know, it’s who you do.

In the weeks leading up to the big night, we recruited two male dancers, two backup singers and a set designer, who made us a giant pair of gold lurex doors, which were to swing open at the beginning of our performance, revealing all of us in our techno-pop-rap-vixen-thingy glory.

My boyfriend outfitted us all in black and white vinyl – hotpants and boob tubes for the girls, sleeveless vests and pants for the boys. Our set was amazing, our dancers gorgeous, and our outfits cutting edge….If you were Judy Jetson.

Finally the day of the performance arrived. The event was called ‘The Fun And Love Carnival’, and the street in front of the club had been sectioned off and filled with carnival rides. I laughed to myself as I imagined all the drugged out clubbers rattling like pill bottles on the dodgems. I stopped laughing when I found out that we’d be performing inside to approximately a thousand people. Bitchface must have been a terrific lay to score this gig. I shuddered at the thought.

Backstage, we talcum powdered our way into our outfits, as the backing singers and Bitchface did vocal warm ups. They hit some notes that I was pretty sure weren’t actually notes. I winced and continued lacing up my boots. Bitchface was especially nervous, and paced up and down, scowling. One of the girls suggested she have a good scream to loosen up, and to give her voice a huskier edge. Bitchface complied. Extremely loudly. Moments later, we were ushered onstage, taking our positions behind the giant gold doors.

The lights went down, and a huge roar came from the crowd. As I made a mental escape route (down the steps and though the tiny window in the backstage toilets), the lights came up and the opening chords of ‘L-U-R-E-Xtasy’ blasted through the speakers. The giant gold doors swung open, revealing us in gangsta-style poses, all of us looking about as streetwise as Debbie Gibson. The crowd went ballistic. I stepped out with a dancer either side, slammed a few synchronised moves, and let rip with my rap. This was great. A true superstar moment. I finished my part, and moved aside, as the two dancers picked up Bitchface on their shoulders, and carried her, Madonna style, to the front. The crowd roared, the spotlight swung to highlight her perfectly made up face, she raised the microphone to her ruby-red lips and…..

Nothing came out. She took a deep breath and tried again. This time came a sound, kind of like a chicken being forcibly ironed. She had ruptured her vocal chords screaming backstage. She spent the rest of the verse squawking into the mic and trying to trip up one of the backing singers, who had done the professional thing and stepped up to take over Bitchface’s part. The singer responded to this by elbowing Bitchface in the breast.

At this point, it was time for my second rap, but just as I had drawn breath and managed to get a ‘Ca……!’ out, Bitchface grabbed my mic and stormed offstage. I stood there stupified for a moment before moving into some more dance moves, finishing with a half hearted attempt at the running man, which confused the hell out of the dancers. The poor backing singers, being the only ones left with microphones, ad libbed furiously until the end of the track. They mostly shouted ‘Make some noise!!’ and ‘Hardcore!!’, but it seemed to do the trick.

The horror over, we all froze again in gangsta position as the lights went down. Half the crowd attempted some form of clapping, the other half made plans to beat us up for ruining their drugs. We didn’t dare attempt a second song.

Needless to say, when we got backstage, the promoter was not happy. According to her, our career was over, and we would never perform as a group again. She would see to it personally. Ultimately this was not a bad thing, because we really sucked.

…And where exactly is Martika these days, anyway?

**All of the names have been changed to protect those who’d rather forget that fateful night. Except for Martika, who is probably quite glad of the publicity.**