by D. Reed

What’s a stripper do with her asshole before she goes to work? Drops him off at band practice. An old bar joke... truth for struggling musicians and exotic dancers struggling with their rocker boyfriends. Give me an Indian head nickel for every time a dancer has said “I’m never datin’ another free loadin’’ asshole musician!” or a muso’s “I’m done fuckin’ psycho strippers” , I could buy back half the Native American’s land and build more government funded casino’s... disguised as cultural centers, of course. So why ask for the abuse? These relationships are rarely smooth sailing. Two people in similar lines of work, always a red flag. Both enjoy that relaxing 4 AM bedtime, both keep the sex and drug industry in fashion, or like to think they do. Both parade around on dirty stages in front of complete strangers for money. Deepak Chopra could have a field day on the wisdom of this relationship, not to mention Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan wouldn’t even read the fuckin’ script... the stereotype lives. Here you thought sex, drugs and R&R went down the road with White Snake and Winger, but don’t believe the hype. There’s more “dancing video babes” turning on the set in ‘98 then in all the 80’s combined. Instead of whoring that one special “face” to carry the weak ass music, it’s quantity now, Fly Girls partyin’ in the background, groovin’ to the funk or meandering aimlessly in the artcore vid. Or in the case of the Spice Girls and Fiona Apple it’s the artists who are the sexy chicks keeping us glued to the tube... smart women. Sex sells music. Music sells sex. Picture a strip joint with no sound but the ding of the video poker machines, a rack being broke at the pool table and the dancer’s skin squeaking on the brass pole... “Brilliant... it just might work!”. Is it me or has the cheerleaders performances at the pro basketball games become an example of a gigantic poorly lit all ages strip club gone wrong? Meanwhile you get sued in the 9 to 5 scene for commenting on the firmness of your female colleague’s calf muscle.

The point is– opposites attract, but not in this case. It’s an incestuous form of yin and yang, heaven and hell, rocker and stripper. “Rocker” because this may not apply to Kenny G and Yanni, but it’s likely even they have been touched by an angel in the skin trade. Perhaps Traci Lords, who is respectable nowadays, even has a singing career in the techno-dance world. A woman who was busted for performing underage sex in pornos. Shocking! Outrageous! How do we react but to elevate her to the standing of America’s sweetheart. It’s because we feel sorry for her, right? Not because we’d like to do the same things all those filthy bastards did to her... not us, we’re Americans, damn it. The moral leader of the English-speaking world. Some day the whole planet will willfully practice our ways, even if we have to kill em’.

However, there will always be a new pack of dancers and musicians graduating from the senior prom into the club scene, looking for questions, for their “soulmate”. Why not rummage with someone who can relate to the ever rising price of weed, hair products, guitar strings, drumsticks, and new shoes... where one can find sympathy for sore feet and hoarse singing voices. Two pained cynical romantics who have seen and heard it all, playing roles that fascinate, inspire, and disgust the god-fearing folks who dare not involve themselves with the volatile life of fast money and dirty sex. “They’re not in the business... they are the business.” The Romeo and Juliet of capitalism... they like the nightlife... they like to boogie. In a time where kids need to wear bulletproof vests to school, you can die from fucking, and our presidents’ approval rating rises every time his dick does... the relationships of musicians and exotic dancers makes perfect sense. So let’s stop the cruel jokes. These tumultuous affairs need our love and support, not ridicule. Just think Traci Lords... Traci Lords... and the road towards compassion will present itself. Amen.