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My eyes are closed and I'm pretending I'm eight again. Not ten, but two long years off. But I'm in my office--bells are ringing, calls are being missed, emails bounce up and down. But they're not, really. I'm elsewhere--summer synapses firing. Sandy, salty, sunburned. Elsewhere an elixir. Did the air move? Only a little.
I dreamed of space aliens last night. Androgynous ones. With operatic tenors. And new wave leanings.
Trouser Press: One of the 1980s' most profoundly bizarre characters to emerge through rock music, the late Klaus Nomi specialized in unexpected mixes of vocal styles in anomalous settings. The Bavarian-born singer's awesome falsetto and dramatic tenor were equally applied to classical music and rock'n'roll, producing startling records that ramble wildly from high-pitched operatic vocals accompanied by a synthesized orchestra to ultra-stylized pop and warped interpretations of rock oldies. Nomi's records stretch from hauntingly beautiful (Purcell's stunning "Cold Song") to hysterically funny (a somber reading of "Can't Help Falling in Love," a languid dissection of "The Twist") to straightforward Sparks-like big band rock ("Simple Man"). His final album, a compilation that also includes a live performance, is the one to get, an utterly unique creation that defies you not to fall under its wonderful spell.
TVD screened The Nomi Song last night and obviously it's still on my mind. A story of pure self-invention on a scale I've never encountered. KISS comes off the stage, removes the make up, and they're a bunch of guys from New York. Nomi was something ...else ...entirely. And that voice--simultaneously angelic, ethereal, otherworldly...yet, camp.