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BOY CULTURE REVIEW: ***1/2 out of **** stars

My friend Michael invited me to An Evening with Lucie Arnaz at the Brooklyn Center for the Performing Arts on Flatbush Avenue in Brooklyn last night. My first thought had been, "I wonder how expensive flights are to Brooklyn?" But I went anyway, joining him, Greg and Tom for a long ride on the 2 and a trip down memory carril.

The court in front of the theater looked a little bit like Night of the Living Dead, which I say affectionately; some of Ms. Arnaz's (Mrs. Luckinbill's—she's been married to Boys in the Band actor Laurence Luckinbill for 33 years) fans were inherited from her late parents, Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz, so are not as mobile in their seventies and beyond as Arnaz is at 61.

The queen's throat

Last night, we attended Michael Musto's Disco Extravaganza at 54 Below, a heart-filled effort to revive the disco era decades after its death under mysterious circumstances. (Did it die out naturally like the dinosaurs, or did those "disco sucks" schmucks commit foul play?) It was a lot of fun, even if the prominent stage in such an intimate space confused some attendees about whether they should be dannnncing, yeah!, or watching the performers. Holding it on the site of the original studio 54 was as good a way as any to conjure up the ghost of Disco Sally.

Orfeh was the opposite of "meh"

The evening began on point, with the bow-tied doorman bluntly but amusingly informing those who'd arrived with extra plus ones—even the esteemed photographer Patrick McMullan—that there was no way they were getting in. He was a one-man velvet rope!

Musto said he was fulfilling his dream of bringing people together to appreciate disco

Inside, McMullan and others were snapping photos of those attendees who'd arrived in '70s wear. For anyone keeping score, the main drawback to polyester boogie shirts that haven't been worn since 1978 would be the smell. 

Musto celebrating Halloween at Studio 54  in 1979

Nobody was giving blowjobs in the corner, coke dust wasn't raining from the roof and we didn't find any money hidden in the walls, but the 90-minute set list was satisfying, featuring the cruise-ship-ready stylings of Elektrik Company (great singers, great at shaming us for not dancing), the incomparable Orfeh (who blew us all away with her "Come to Me" and "Don't Leave Me This Way") and a rockin' and ramblin' "Y.M.C.A." by original Village People person Randy Jones.

Randy said the glitzy setting made him feel like Liza, "...only younger!"

Musto himself, did a carbs-in-cheek, fatphobic (wait, that's an anachronism if we're back in the '70s) send-up of "I Will Survive" but was singing, seriously singing, on "Macho Man" and "Last Dance" (he noted he'd be a disco queen like Donna Summer, except gay-friendly, then asked, "Too soon?"). I'm not saying his vocals were a revelation, but he sounded better than Ethel Merman on her disco album.

Hey, you guys!!! It's the Elektrik Company...

It was cool enough hearing those songs performed live, and then Tish & Snooky—original backing singers from Blondie and Downtown legends who were in the Drop-Outs and the Sic F*cks before opening Manic Panic—really lit a fire under us with their "Freak Out."

C'est chic to "Freak Out" with Tisk & Snooky ("the one with no STDs," Musto clarified)

Steve Rubell would've been proud. And horny. And in need of some blow. After the fold, check out some of the musical highlights...

Kenneth noses around The Skivvies!

Justin Smith is one "Big Man"

Last night was the Broadway Bares installment "Winter Burlesque," a pastiche of past numbers and new naughtiness that blew hot and hotter on a cold New York night. And to think, it was all to benefit a good cause—Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS.

Plenty of cock 'n' tail for the two-cocktail minimum

Not saying I stole this life-sized Guto Bittencourt poster, just saying it disappeared

I arrived less than an hour early and was still one of the first in the house, the house being XL on W. 42nd across the street from my apartment. I planted myself directly in front of the catwalk's end, just behind the section of the club that had been roped off for higher-paying guests who wanted to watch the show from a seated position like civilized perverts. (I got to snap another photo of XL's hottest server, at left, waiting on some.)

Matt Anctil & furry friend were swapping gropes for raffle ticket sales

NOTE: Low-res videos of some of the show's hottest numbers are here. Hi-res and ultra-dirty photos from the show that I am not allowed to reveal on my blog are or will soon be available here. (Follow my tumblr, please.)

I was next to the house videographer and some guys who shyly confessed to being Bares-backers for many years—they own all of the official DVDs and know many of the dancers' names. If only they knew my own past with the show, they'd have realized they were in good company.

And baby got back

The show started with a bang—stunning Judah Gavra emerged, let his coat slip away to reveal his naked ass and then gestured to the title card revealing that the show's first number was to be "Burlesque is Back".

Little Ang

Angie Schworer sang the number, a saucy celebration of the art of getting naked on a stage, with the right amount of humor and bawdy sexiness. She reminded me of Wendi McLendon-Covey meets Jane Krakowski. And speaking of crack, she and her bevy of beauties didn't skimp on the skimpy outfits.

Wenslawski's "Big Hunk o' Love"

"Fringe Benefits," a classic Bares number with an Elvis theme, may have been performed before, but lead dancer Steven Wenslawski made it his own and made the audience his bitches while he was at it. When he shook his butt at us, it was with all the confidence of someone who knows that while beauty is only skin deep, it's still awfully nice to have it.

Kerli's cue

I was invited to cover the NYC debut of British-Irish girl group The Saturdays at the Highline last night, but wasn't sure I'd go. They're pretty and all, but without being familiar with their stuff, I didn't feel like it was a make-or-break event.

Still, I went. And I'm glad I went. They're perfectly named because they're as fun as a weekend and just about as deep. That's no insult; they're striving for escapism, except "striving" implies too unattractive an effort. They're simply, organically, as enjoyable as a smile.

First out was opener KERLI, whose "The Lucky Ones" and other dance hits were delivered with a Skipper-Doll-come-to-life exuberance by the barely-clad singer. (She was wearing fluorescent streamers over a fluorescent onesie under which a G-string and nothing else was visible.) Pumping her fists, she seduced the audience (especially the first few rows) with her blond audition.

The Saturdays—Frankie Sandford, Una Healy, Vanessa White, Rochelle Humes and Mollie King—came out and lined up, an abbreviated beauty contest and karaoke girls'-night-out in one. They're each different types but all easy on the eyes, and had the unique bonus of a member sporting a massive baby bump. (Humes, who would later toast her pregnancy with...soda.)

Hands-on-hips-sters

The ladies reminded me very much of a female version of The Wanted (they predate the boys, but the boys crossed paths with me first)—they shimmy on the stage and deliver easy grins and even easier-to-appreciate, pure-pop happy pills. Songs like "Up" and "Issues" (nonchalantly sung a cappella after a mix-up with a track that had a different girl's voice on it) make it clear why they're popular over there, and the success of the aforementioned The Wanted and also One Direction makes it clear why they'd now be pushing for popularity over here.

The most noteworthy thing about the night, though, was being surrounded by 17-year-olds and by 24-year-olds who feel like 17-year-olds. I honestly felt like the grandfather of the boy next to me, who breathlessly (and tipsily) discussed the group with his girlfriends, all the while flaunting his tat sleeves and taking pictures of random audience members who resembled their friends.

I felt like an "eldergay," a term some very-likely-unattractive young person used on a forum when discussing how my recent list of guys in porn was hopelessly prehistoric.

But I also remembered what it was like to be seeing a favorite band live for the first time; the crowd's enthusiasm, like KERLI and The Saturdays' poptastic energy, was contagious.

Check out The Saturdays' "What About Us" and KERLI's "The Lucky Ones".

Selling cigarettes to benefit cancer research feels...odd.

Eric Cantor's walk of shame.

Some MI schools close due to Apocalypse threat.

One Direction members get all tatted up.

Could Anne Hathaway be Oscar-snubbed?

Who's really in the NRA?

Madonna's MDNA: 13th best pop CD of 2012.

Watching porn = supporting marriage equality?

Ukrainian lawmaker slurs Mila Kunis.

Pope: Marriage equality robs humanity of dignity.

John Kerry to be nominated as Secretary of State.

The new issue of Dorian is out, filled with sexiness:

Centerfold material

José and I were lucky enough to be invited by a wonderful blog reader to Maureen McGovern's Christmas-themed cabaret show Home for the Holidays at 54 Below (254 W. 54th)—and we left with our stockings stuffed with McGovern's lovely voice, great food and another delightful story of how horrible people can be.

I'd never been to 54 Below, which is the cellar part of the old Studio 54 nightclub. As such, it was exciting to be ushered in with no velvet-rope hassles. Eat your heart out, Bianca Jagger.

We had a prime seat right off the stage, which gave us a spectacular view of McGovern in front of us as well as of an over-the-hill strumpet behind us. The strumpet brought enough cheek filler to share with the class and spent the entire evening loudly chatting with/macking on her even further over-the-hill mark, who looked like a straight Roy Cohn. They were near enough that we could hear their every comment and disturbing slurp, but too far away for me to effectively shush them, so we just had to shut them out. Nobody else in the room made a peep all night.

But enough about them.

McGovern drowned them out with her command of the stage. I'd been expecting a staid Christmas program but we got anything but that—the 63-year-old diva was able to swing back and forth between expected standards (an a cappella "I'll Be Home for Christmas") to lesser known gems (José and I suspect a few others teared up over the powerful, religious-themed "Mary, Did You Know?") and right on over to charmingly goofy novelties like Tom Lehrer's "Hanukkah in Santa Monica".

 

Above, a gallery of the night's pro-gay glitterati

BOY CULTURE REVIEW: *** OUT OF ****

Last night was Home for the Holidays, what's becoming an annual event hosted by Cyndi Lauper ("& Friends") to raise money for her True Colors Fund, which benefits homeless LGBT youth. While the night also offered Lauper ample opportunity to remind us of her beloved music catalogue, her upcoming Broadway show Kinky Boots and WE reality series Still So Unusual (even her underrated 1988 movie Vibes got a shout-out!), there's no questioning that her heart's in the right place, nor would you get very far if you attempted to convince anyone her charm or vocal skills are on any kind of decline.

Together, we watched what happened—live

The show started right on time and spanned three hours, including brief appearances by Whoopi Goldberg (a bit discombobulated), Andy Cohen (studly in plaid and denim) and Carson Kressley (game for anything, including jokes about Grindr that Cohen could be seen having to lean over and explain to Rosie O'Donnell), not to mention a pretty hysterical stand-up spot by Rosie.

 

Longtime readers of Boy Culture may be surprised that I made it out to Rihanna's 777 gig last night at Webster Hall; I haven't exactly written of my undying affection for the Barbadian bad girl.

But while I haven't been able to relate to her reaction to her Chris Brown beat-down, I have to admit she has a string of hit songs, many of which feel like indelible classics. Is it really so hard to imagine people listening to and loving "Only Girl (In the World)", "Don't Stop the Music", "We Found Love" or "Umbrella" decades from now? Speaking of which, with her new single "Diamonds" hitting #1, she ties Madonna and The Supremes with 12 pole-positioners, putting her behind only Michael Jackson, Mariah Carey and The Beatles for most #1 hits. And she's only 24...the same age Madonna was when she released her very first single. (Yes, yes, I know—Rihanna has had guests, Rihanna has benefited from iTunes. But it's still fucking impressive.

The gimmick of Rihanna's (tumultuous!) 777 is that the surprise gigs are free and first-come-first-served. She was traveling with press and superfans to complete 7 gigs in 7 countries in 7 days. With New York the last stop, I felt lucky to be invited so showed up at 7:30. Doors were at 7, my contact told me she was expected at 9. Famous last words.

Inside, I was three to four people back from the stage. The gatekeepers made sure that the venue was only about 1/4 full until 9...people seemed to be trickling in. As soon as I found my spot, a brassy twentysomething girl, hanging on her hot boyfriend, asked me to take their picture, which I happily did. Much to my dismay, she became my arch-nemesis, pushing hard against me as she danced wildly to the endless warm-up music, hours before Rihanna graced us with her presence. Finally, she asked if I could move over slightly. I did so. She took up that space and continued. I was at a loss...we really weren't even packed in yet.

You can call me Royale

Keep reading to see all eight performances from Wednesday's XL event, starring Latrice Royale, Manila Luzon, Pandora Boxx, Mimi Imfurst/XELLE, Tammie Brown, Shannel, Yara Sofia and Alexis Mateo...