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He’s very funny, for one thing, a sort of blur of Andy Rooney and Cher. Looking around the room at the Bowery Ballroom, it’s clear that Bond has a nearly shamanistic hold on his crowd. Bond began to think that perhaps he should just become Kiki all the time-perhaps that would be easier, just to merge with this raucous, much-admired self. Kiki the show was the success Kiki the character always wanted to be. Bond and Mellman took the act from a lounge in San Francisco back in 1993, when they often performed it on hallucinogens, all the way to Carnegie Hall. Kiki was constantly humiliated for her delusions. Things like “I wish I had cancer, I really do … you can’t be a celebrity without some sort of life-threatening illness” and “If you weren’t molested as a child, you must’ve been an ugly kid.” Or, with imperious want: “If I could love, I would love you all.”Īnd the audience did love him, for creating a baroquely imagined world out of abjection and tenacity. Onstage, as Kiki-the glittery frozen tear of a rhinestone glued under each eye-Bond would bray the unsayable in between songs.
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Along with her compliant piano accompanist Herb, played by Bond’s longtime collaborator Kenny Mellman, his hair sprayed gray, she was on a never-say-die comeback tear. A stage persona developed out of the inchoate anger of the AIDS-plague years, Kiki was a vociferous, alcoholic septuagenarian lounge singer with jarring mid-century hair and crudely drawn-on wrinkles. To the extent that Bond is something like a superstar-which he is in this particular circle his close friend Hilton Als wrote in The New Yorker that he’s “the best cabaret artist of his generation”-it’s largely owed to an alter ego he’s tried very hard to leave behind: Kiki DuRane. He tells this story by way of introducing his version of the song, which is on the album. His audience-mostly gay men who have followed him for years and formed something of an understanding of themselves through his spinning self-invention-laughs at his grade-school grandiosity and possibly theirs. Bond is a cross-dressing cabaret singer and raconteur of the gay condition who’s become, in his phrase, “a world-class artist to a very boutique audience.” The Bowery show is to celebrate the release of Bond’s first solo album, Dendrophile, as in someone who gets an erotic charge out of trees. Nearly 40 years later, Bond, dressed in a silky black cocktail dress, is telling this story from the stage at the Bowery Ballroom, recounting how he realized his mistake when he heard the song again on the radio and was “mortified”-he drawls the word with arch, old-Hollywood soundstage grandeur. At school the next day, he told his teacher he wanted to sing a song he’d composed. He’d heard, maybe in the family car, Karen Carpenter singing “Long ago, and oh so far away, I fell in love with you before the second show,” and he so identified with the mordant heartache of a groupie singing about a rock star she’d slept with that he dreamt about it that night. The first time Justin Vivian Bond sang a song he thought he’d written was in the second grade in Hagerstown, Maryland.
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Hair and Makeup by Roberto Morelli for NARS at Link NYLA.