already have two rolling stones (mick & keith) and a bowie print at home, but i really like the neon green/pink/yellow combined with bold black. clockwise from left: bowie, the clash, debbie harry, new york dolls, john lydon and iggy pop have always fascinated me. just off the top of my head i'd add sex pistols, joan jett, wendy williams and axl rose, and im sure my boyfriend would want metallica, megadeth and any number of obscure death metal bands
keith and mick in our living room
bowie hanging above my boyfriend's spray paints, sketch pinboard
and DIY desk legs (can't you tell he's a graphic designer?)
the reopening of one of nicosia's coolest clubs: klubd. had a great time: music by a berlin dj and we were wowed by the led lights in the ceiling... had a bit of a headache today (and sore knees, dancing in heels can do that!) but it was so worth it!
Like a young Mick Jagger, the singer is shirtless and skinny, ugly and pretty. He strolls across the stage holding a microphone, then grabs a noticeably drugged-out backup dancer and kisses her on the mouth. He shoves her hard across the stage, and she stumbles in her heels and falls forward onto the floor, legs splayed apart in her short dress, eyes closed the whole time. “Mickey . . .”
The singer’s head dips and bobs to a pounding beat emanating from the club’s sound system. His friend, also shirtless, stands next to him, leaning out over the crowd and pouring tequila into opened mouths as if delivering a communion. Raising the microphone to a face adorned with glittery, half-smeared makeup, the singer surveys the scene before him. Screaming girls? Uh-huh. Jealous and sexually confused boys? Sure. Sold-out show at the legendary Roxy? Okay.
The singer tosses his longish hair back and begins to rap. There’s a certain disconnect, yet strangely it works. His voice is a slightly effeminate drawl, teasing out the words . . .