Foreigner Plays For The Beautiful People – Checkitnsee

With an onslaught of press releases and invites, I have the humble luck of being highly selective with my night time activities. That being said, I can seem to be quite the jaded gal, a retired hipster – party girl, interrupted.

How many open bar/energy drink special/free t shirt/ipod dj events can one succumb to until you slowly numb out and freeze to death right in the middle of Cauhenga Boulevard? My Facebook event inbox tips well over into the hundreds which I barely read any more. I’m not showing off…I’m just protesting the glut of white noise.

Sometimes it takes something extra to motivate me to cover an event, find an angle, do the interview, write the article, put on the push up bra…unless it’s free champagne and FOREIGNER. Stop the presses.

I do love my indie rock. I appreciate the singer songwriters. I love my atmospheric sweeping geniused gems. I love my dirty bluesy garage rock. I love punk ditties. BUT, classic rock and hair metal will stop me in my tracks. I’ll admit it. When I am in my car, I’m a radio flipper. I don’t use the ipod. I scan…and I find myself bored a lot with the new music stations. I often keep going back to the classic rock of KLOS. Perhaps I’m becoming an old curmudgeon. Perhaps I am just in a Zep phase…but I just want to be comforted by people who wrote their own songs, who play their own guitars, who seduce you with a solo, and who never used auto tune, even if they can’t quite hit those high notes.

I love some of these KLOS bands, not in an ironic way. Def Leppard? It’s no Mysteria why. Scorpions? What’s wrong with a night of sin? Foreigner? I’m not shy (and I used to get around).

Most of the people attending the I Heart Ronson/JC Penny event last night were there to toast Charlotte Ronson’s t shirt line for the huge department chain, or flaunt their fashionista wares, or gawk and stare at the fabulous kids who sell People Magazine.

I went to see Foreigner. Not ironically.

Mick Jones of Foreigner is the step father of designer Charlotte, music producer/scenester Mark Ronson who DJed, and DJ/scenester Samantha Ronson who, ahem, sang an opening set.

Moving through an acoustic set of hits like Double Vision, Dirty White Boy, and I Want To Know What Love Is, Foreigner then debuted a new song that Micks’ step son Mark produced. The band then ended with a spirited rendition of Hot Blooded, which even the teenage models and disaffected reality celebutantes, seemed to recognize. Maybe because it’s the anthem of making it ok to be a groupie?

Many of the well dressed lookliloos stayed on hand to sample the over abundance of free junk food and open bar cocktails and to hear Samantha spin, but with Foreigner leaving the stage, my interest plummeted.

It’s about the music.

This Sex Was On Fire

When a major landmark or institution closes or is destroyed, it’s common for a mourning period to follow. The passing of monument will be an elegiac era of super size proportions which will break hearts and hard ons across the world…yes, early this morning, a fire gutted The Body Shop in Los Angeles.

photo credit: Al Seib

There are four men in particular who are probably at this moment, dabbing their eyes with black lacy g-strings. These are the stalwart citizens who immortalized the establishment in their song, Girls, Girls, Girls. In a way, Motley Crue are both artists and patrons of the arts. For their tribute to dancing girls undoubtedly raised the profile of the oft scorned art of totally nude strip dancing.

The Body Shop has graced the Sunset Strip since the 40s where it once was a burlesque club. Luckily, it was transformed into an all nude dancing theater just in time for the hair metal stampede down the Sunset Strip. It even paid the rent of many budding, hungry ‘actresses’, Courtney Love being one. I never had the pleasure of frequenting this particular establishment. When I was researching the art of stripping for a play I had written, my cast mates and I kept to Crazy Girls and Cheetahs, which was titilating enough to mess with our heads in a method acting sorta way. So, I can’t properly relate to the loss of this mecca of culture, but I realize the pain is deep.

Theater of the absurd

There is no exact word on how the fire started, though my money is on someone ‘smokin in the boys room’ (sorry, had to). There are plans to rebuild the Shop, but it will remain shuttered until those renovations are done. Where, o where, will these generous men go to appreciate bodies in motion? Where will they find long legs, burgundy lips, red lips and fingertips? How will they keep fledgling models ‘over-employed’? Where can these doctors go to feel good?

model/actress/nameless

These patrons need to look no further than the dulcet tones of Vince Neil’s humble suggestions. How about a trip to sunny Florida? The Dollhouse in Fort Lauderdale could cure your blues. If humidity isn’t your bag, Hotlanta has Tattletails AND a Waffle House. Two treats in one! If you’re up for a ski lift, Vancouver’s Marble Arc will fill your need for tats and ass. Gay Paree seems like nothing of the sort, if you take in the double ‘D’s at the Crazy Horse. Or in French, Le Cheval Fou.

benjamins and booty

Of course Los Angeles is a veritable cornucopia of sin dens. There’s Jumbo’s Clown Room. That is the premiere place to watch greasy hipsters watch a broken anorexic sadly strip to Radiohead’s Karma Police. Cheetahs is more of the rockabilly girls scarred with cigarette burns, vibe. And the Crazy Girls are all about the benjamins waiting to lap dance a benefactor. I’m sure if Vince and Tommy are in town you can still find them raising ‘hail’ (hell) at the Seventh Vail.

Too fast for love

I know, I know…they’re just not the same as the infamous Body Shop. Again, my heart leaps out of my 34 C chest for all of these philandering philanthropists. These are tough times. They are times of change. They are times of joining hands and helping your fellow man.

I suggest that all ladies out there be kind to their fellow man. In fact, you can help your favorite fellow man, just by doing a strip tease in the comfort of your own home. Think of it as a form of physical therapy to get him through the night…and the many nights to come, without the Body Shop.