Lydia Lunch: Thank You And Goodnight.
Lydia Lunch Performance
By Allen Whitman
The chill wind scythes through the open front door of Slim's in San
Francisco, bringing with it the cafe racing motorcycle roar of 11th St,
downtown, after dark. It's time for the main event of Readings from
the Erotic Salon. Lydia Lunch approaches the mic. After a brief look
at the crowd says: "This is from Paradoxia - A Predators'
And we're off.
beat poet short black dress and black tights and expressive face framed
by red, red rock and roll hair. her voice is dry and sandy but smooth,
wet sand, with a little occasional squeak musical voice, meter rhythm,
street pain, she stands, holding the mic and bouncing and waving her
free arm...gritty, sandy voice stacatto syllabic strafing.
she talks until dry, and beyond...to breaking voice and has to stop
cold to open a bottle of water. wet, she continues into the
description of quaaludes and murder. her head wanders on her neck like
a snake. the audience laughs. but no one believes her. after a while
no one laughs. after all the truth leaked off of the stage earlier
this fictional stream of consciousness out of a David Lynch nightmare
turns attention inward. Lydia Lunch cocks her jaw after a particularly
heated narrative, pulling her face back from the mic, winding up for
another salvo at the riveted audience. practiced poses and waved
"fear is the greatest aphrodisiac," she says. No, I think. "honesty
is the greatest aphrodisiac..." and you're not telling the truth. it's
good, it's mean, but it's not REAL.
she's the dark Stevie Nicks...plotting witchy death mask expressions
and breathing spells of noisome corpselight, illuminating the "boost of
someone else's fear" to give her and her repulsive paramour an
opportunity to draw ditches of pain and decay in the skin of helpless
"hunting for hitchhikers." she says, Clint Eastwood inflection coloring
"blood sucking murder junkie," she says.
relentless psychosis she's "scaring the shit out of us with the
vitality of her power source"
and she's done with the phrase: "sucking up the filthy remnants that
trail fears shadow."
Thank you, good night.
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