Answered on Quora.
The best definition of an androgynous man is a man who has strong masculine and strong feminine characteristics going at the same time. Remember glam rock back in the 1970’s? Many of those male rockers were quite androgynous, and most of them were very heterosexual or at least leaned straight.
Another definition of androgynous means a man who looks and acts so much like a woman that you can’t tell if he is a man or a woman. Or the opposite in a woman. Almost all if not all such cases of extremely feminine men who appear to be women and extremely masculine women who seem to be men that I have studied are in fact homosexuals. In fact they are very gay.
Now if you include men like Prince as androgynes, there are indeed some straight men like this, as Prince was completely heterosexual.
Honestly we straight men had a lot more leeway in terms of true androgyny back in the 70’s. A straight man could wear scarves, velvet pants, silk shirts, short kimonos, smoking jackets, tight jeans, dancing shoes, and four inch blue platform heels without most people suggesting you were gay. People would just say you were “styling it.” You can act a lot softer, gentler, or more androgynous. You could have a strong feminine side, especially if you matched it with a strong masculine side.
Back then, people were assumed straight until proven otherwise, and there were not many out gays anyways. Accusing a man of being gay was a very serious matter, as this was seen as a horrible insult if he was straight. So most men were simply assumed, correctly, to be straight until proven otherwise. If you wanted to accuse a man of being gay, you had better have had some pretty damn good evidence to back it up.
I am actually nostalgic for those days. I had so much more freedom back then in terms of both clothing and behavior.
Now that gays are so out, we straight men can no longer wear those wild clothes I talked about above nor can we act the way I did back then. If I tried to wear any of that stuff now that I wore back then, people would automatically assume that I was gay or bi. If I told them I was straight, no one would believe me, and they would all accuse me of lying. Compared to back then, acceptable behavior and garb for straight men has become dramatically restricted.
It’s not been a positive change. We have gone backwards in a huge way.
Suzi Quatro! From 1973! Oh Hell yeah!
Suzi Quatro was one of the first female lead singers and guitarists of a real rock and roll band. She was the queen of leather rock! She also plays a mean bass guitar. I can’t help thinking this is actually punk rock. But it’s only 1973. This is really pre-punk like the New York Dolls. It’s all coming from the same place. Let’s face it, glam was pre-punk, and Suzi Quatro is glam rock!
Similar acts from around the same time are Sweet and Slade. Sweet is downgraded nowadays but I really liked them back in the day. Slade is also very underrated. Sort of a glam AC/DC.
None of these songs mean much of anything. They’re just silly, dumb songs to rock and roll too. But rock and roll was never intellectual.
Real rock and roll (not prog, folk, country or metal) is sensual and experiential. It’s the music of the pure ID.
Music to fuck to. Fucking music.
There’s a reason for that beat. It’s the beat of sexual intercourse. BAM BAM BAM BAM. The early haters of rock and roll figured this out quickly,and that was one of the main reasons why rock was hated so much all the way back to Elvis Presley.
Back in the 1970’s all the mafia produced porn back then had hard rock soundtracks going on through all the fucking and sucking. There’s a reason for that.
It’s because it’s fucking music, music to fuck by.
Or in the case of punk rock, music for people who like to fuck and fight!
Sparks from 1981! I saw them at the Whisky a Go Go right around this time, in 1981 or 1982. Ron and Russel Mael are both Jewish. They were born in Pacific Palisades, so this is a real LA band.
From the very start, they were very controversial and polarizing. You either loved them or hated them. A critic for the LA Times raved about them, and that, among other things, made him very unpopular. I knew people who absolutely hated them along with David Bowie, the New York Dolls, Lou Reed, Kiss, T. Rex and Mott the Hoople. All of those more or less glam bands were considered to be decadent, depraved or gay back in those days.
A very weird version of Angst in My Pants from the Plagiarism album of 1997 in which they recorded odd versions of their own songs, often in conjunction with other bands.
Ron Mael has always had a little Charlie Chaplin or Hitler mustache, however you would like to see it. The lead singer Russell Mael sings in a very high falsetto voice. This band has always been weird as Hell. Considering they are Jewish and some of the early band members were Jews, I doubt if he is imitating Hitler.
Almost nothing is known about either Russell or Ron Mael, as they are notoriously reclusive and refuse to give interviews. A recent book about the band admitted that little is known about the brothers. One thing is for sure: neither one is gay. The brothers have always been said to have been dedicated artists who spend most of their time in the studio.
This is often thought to be a UK band. They are from LA, and were raised on the LA club scene of the late 1960’s centering around the Whisky a Go Go with the Doors, Love, etc. They relocated to London for four years from 1972 to 1976, but then they moved back to LA. However, they do perform a lot in London.
Unfortunately, this band never got very popular. They are still releasing albums 40 years on. Absolutely incredible. This is one of the great highbrow rock and roll bands, perfect for this site. Great songs and photos down through the years.
Lyrics for Angst in My Pants about a situation familiar to many males:
I hope it doesn’t show
It’ll go away
It’s just a passing phase
It’ll go away
You can dress nautical
Learn to tie knots
Take lots of Dramamine
Out on your yacht
But when you’re all alone
And nothing bites
You’ll wish you’d stayed at home
With someone nice
But when you think you’ve made it disappear
It comes again – “Hello, I’m here!”
And you’ve got angst in your pants
You can be smart as hell, know how to add
Know how to figure things on yellow pads,
Answer so no one knows what you just said
But when you’re all alone, you and your head
What’s the computer say? It’s mumbling now
It says “Hey, Joe”, it’s spelled it out
And you’ve got angst in your pants
You’ve got angst in your pants!
But when you think you’ve made it disappear
You’re sure you’ve made it disappear
And you’ve still got angst in your pants
I hope it doesn’t show, it’ll go away
It’s just a passing phase, it’ll go away
I hope it doesn’t show, it’ll go away
Give it a hundred years, it won’t go away!
And I’ve got angst in my pants!
I’ve got angst in my pants!
I’ve got angst in my pants!
I’ve got angst in my pants!
I’ve got angst in my pants!
I’ve got angst in my pants!
I’ve got angst in my pants!
Wow, this is really great! Black guy who was part of the glitter punk or glam punk movement along from 1968-1979 with David Bowie, T Rex, Iggy Pop and the Stooges, Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers, the New York Dolls, Hanoi Rocks, Jayne County and the Electric Chairs, Lou Reed, the Runaways, and Ultravox.
He was present at the Chelsea Hotel with Sid Vicious on the night that Nancy Spungen was killed. Neon Leon is often offered up as a suspect, but he doesn’t really seem like the type. Another man named Rockets Redglare is also often offered up as a suspect, but looking through a lot of pictures of his face and reading about how he lived his life, I do not think he is capable of criminal homicide (yes I can figure out people’s personalities pretty well if I read a bit about them and see some photos of their face, the more photos the better).
Either Sid killed her himself or she killed herself somehow, or they had a drugged out knife fight and she somehow got stabbed in the process.
Neon Leon had a blonde stripper girlfriend – apparently Honi O’Rourke in this video. Gino Guintallino on drums and John Coiro on guitar. Coiro’s Facebook page is here. Neon Leon has now reinvented himself as the Lion King, has moved to Europe and is apparently still making a living as a performer.
Your description of your youth – hippie, glam, disco, punk, goth etc – doesn’t strike me as ‘not normal’ or ‘fucked in the head’. Not an outsider, a reject or outcast.
Rather, it is the trajectory of the Ultra-Conformist, always clinging to the dominant cultural strand. What is called culture and ‘counter-culture’ are like the twin strands of DNA revolving around each other. If you can’t escape that, then you are cattle. You say you followed and adopted each culture, but then say ‘I never want to fit in, be normal or be accepted.’ That’s exactly what you wanted.
Allow me to differ here.
As far as hippies, OK, we had a group, but straight society treated us like serious shit, the older generation especially. I seem to recall I lost a number of jobs over being a longhair and suspected doper, and there was no end of warfare with my folks, all of their friends and all of my older relatives. It was generational war, but we had to get jobs from these older assholes, and they seemed to delight in firing us just for who we were.
There was no way to be a member of serious, normal, straight society when you looked like that. It was like one rejection after another, especially in the workplace.
I refer especially to dope. There was never a time when dope was accepted by straight or mainstream society, especially older folks. It did get close there for a bit around thirty years ago, but then Reagan came in, the War on Drugs hit, and it was out in the biggest way.
I can’t tell you how much endless rejection, hassle and general crap I got for being a doper, and all I was was a pot smoker. Vast numbers of people, even my own age, were just flat out not into it. Especially as you got to the university and then into good high-paying jobs in offices and whatnot.
Nowadays, dope is more condemned than ever. The honeymoon is over. A lot of kids hate all dope, and the older generation truly despises it.
A very large # of folks even my age never got into it and seriously look down on you if you did, even if it was years ago. God forbid if you still get high. This is especially true in the medical and psychiatry fields. Doctors won’t tolerate pot at all, and therapists and p-docs will all try to blame all your problems on it, even if it was 30 years in the past. It’s like a guilt trip that never goes away.
At this point, straight society seriously rejects dope in all forms, and I do include pot. I’m not talking the working class here. I’m talking older folks, and especially once you get into proper and respectable society, older folks who dress up for work, wear jackets and ties, make good money, work in an office, etc.
All dope is seriously out with that crowd, even past use. If you talk to most folks like that, even my age, they deny all current use and as far as the past, well, they smoked a joint once.
You can’t discuss dope at all in public (you’re liable to get tossed out of the establishment) other than to condemn it. You can’t even mention past use. At work, it’s pretty much off the table and it’s probably reason for firing.
Even a past history of drug use is thought to make you unqualified for many jobs. I speak in particular of education, as I was a teacher for years. If any of us told our classes that we so much as took a hit off a joint once, legions of parents would march down to the office and we would probably be fired.
The glam scene was not popular at all at the time and people who were into it were really treated like shit by most ppl for it. It was a fringe thing.
Disco was popular, but walking around with 4-inch blue platforms, velvet pants and silk scarves was not. People who did that really got hammered a lot, mostly people calling them queer.
Sure, punk is pretty normal now, but back then we were really outsiders and rejects. Most everyone really hated it. As an example, almost all of my old friends hated punk and weren’t impressed that I was into it. Punks got treated like serious shit all the time. It was serious fringe stuff. We also got called queer a lot.
I don’t remember the goth scene well, but in the early days, it wasn’t really normal to be into that stuff. Just one more reason for most everyone to think you were a fucking weirdo.
Furthermore, all of these were countercultural movements that were at odds with mainstream society in a serious way – but disco much, much less so. If you were into them and it was obvious, you got stared at a lot, pointed to a lot, and got treated like a general freak. You got called names like weird, strange, creep, etc all the time.
You had your sanity questioned all the time and it was just assumed that you must be mentally ill in some way. In most cases, you also got called faggot a lot for some reason. I guess to the macho straight society idiots, any nonconformist is automatically a “fag”.
I recall my father nearly punching my lights out one time for having long hair that according to him made me look like a fag.
No sane person went into any of this stuff to be accepted. Sure you got some acceptance by the scene people, but even for all of these, they were a serious minority. They’d be like 5% of the people, and the others (mostly haters) would be like 95%. You’d have to be a moron to go into most of these things to make gain acceptance. It was like hitching a ride on the Rejection Express.
And none of these things was “the dominant cultural strand” at the time. It’s not like nowadays, when punk, goth, hippie and whatnot are all mainstream aspects of youth culture. In the beginning of all these things (except disco), the first people really were outsiders.
More importantly, all of us got used to constantly being called weird, strange, bizarre, freaks, not normal, creepy, crazy, nuts, psycho and all that stuff. So if someone calls me something like that, that’s like a compliment.
Now how many normal society types get called stuff like that all time? And how many of them take it as a compliment to be called something like that?
I get a lot of questions about what kind of music I am into. Basically, I came out of the rock and roll scene in the 1970’s. Heavy metal, folk-rock, space rock, electronic music, glam, the works. In particular, glam, which was very much hated back in those days. I heard the second New York Dolls album in 1974 and saw God. This stuff was very underground back than. From there, to punk rock, on to Gothic and whatnot.
The New York Dolls doing Personality Crisis, Looking for a Kiss and Trash from 1973.
With David Johanson on vocals (still alive and looking fantastic at age 60), Sylvain Sylvain guitar, bass, piano (still alive at not looking nearly so good – or like a normal 59 yr old at 59), Johnny Thunders, guitar, vocals, (Dead! Heroin overdose at age 39), Jerry Nolan, drums (Dead! Bacterial pneumonia and bacterial meningitis at age 46), Arthur Kane, bass (Dead! Leukemia at age 55).
By the time of their first album, their first drummer, Billy Murcia, was already dead at age 21, barely a man yet, overdosed on booze and drugs at a party, forcefed coffee to revive him, suffocated on the coffee, dead in a bathtub. David Bowie’s song Time on Aladdin Sane is about Billy Murcia.
The second album was aptly titled Too Much, Too Soon. As might be expected, soon after its release, the band was already broken up. Too much high and fast living had caused their implosion.
Look at how great he looks at age 40 here. I saw him in 1981, or yesterday, at the Palladium in Los Angeles. I’d been drinking, smoking dope and sniffing coke, and I was high as a fucking kite. There were beautiful women and young chicks everywhere, real friendly too.
The concert opened rather suddenly. I was with a friend of mine, or my worst enemy, or someone…
I was working as an editor of a magazine at the time. I told some of the girls in the office that I was going to see Iggy Pop, and one girl wanted to go with me. She asked if she could go with me.
Then she took it back, “No way. My boyfriend will kill me.” He was a redneck macho fucker with a great big truck. The office girl was hot, 24, big tits, nice looking. Her best friend was screwing the magazine artist, F. They would go out for two-hour lunches every day and come back with big smiles on their faces.
My boss was a faggot who kept trying to fuck me. He kept buying me lunches all the time. I got my paycheck and tried to pay him back, and he flipped out and started screaming and yelling. “I didn’t buy you those lunches so you could pay me back!” I guess he wanted me to pay him back on my knees or something. The perverted asshole eventually fired me because I wouldn’t suck his dick or whatever he wanted me to do to.
He was sure I was queer for some stupid reason. It was sort of my fault for doing the Mick Jagger (No wait! Iggy Pop-androgynous) thing I guess. If he had eyes, he could have figured out I wasn’t.
Fags don’t look at women. This is the dead giveaway for queers everywhere. There were all these beautiful women in the office hanging coming around my cubicle all the time for this and that. The queer acted like they were part of the walls or the floor or the furniture. They may as well have not even been there. Furthermore, the fag looked at me like I was a Filet Mignon medium rare.
There was another guy in the office, from Europe, macho but sort of faggy in some weird way. He acted like he would screw anything if he was loaded enough. He was dating some Black chick. Sometimes he was my best friend, sometimes he was tearing me up and insulting me to my face. In other words, a typical hyper-competitive super-aggressive young male weenie. He used to trash-talk me for being a pothead. Then he would come buy pot off me. What an ass.
One time in the lunchroom he took me aside and told me the best high of all was speed, injected directly into your arm, preferably after 9 or 10 drinks. This guy wore a jacket and tie to work in an office every time. I tell ya, dopers are everywhere. This guy shoots fucking speed after drinking himself under the table, but I’m a loser for smoking dope.
As you can see, young males are sort of hopeless, so, assuming chicks like you, just shine on the Y chromosomes and hang with the ladies.
After a while, I quit eating with the fag and the other idiot males in the office and just ate lunch with the office girls every day. Back in those days, I was said to be very good looking (male model type). Now I’m old and ugly, but it was fun at the time.
If you’re a guy and you look that good, and if you’re very pretty, most people just assume you’re a fag anyway. You can try to screw your way out of your public image, but even after scores of hot chicks, it’s kind of useless. Usually you get this wonderful consolation prize called, “Wow! Now we know you’re bisexual and we really love you for that!” Damn. I will return that prize, thank you.
Back in those days, a lot of guys always seemed like they either wanted to have sex with me or kick my ass, or a lot of times, oddly enough, both at the same time. I’m telling you, we’re Cavemen. Strip off the Calvin Kleins, give us a bearskin and a club, and we’re the same.
If you’re like that, you may as well learn to love women (They’re not that bad after all) and just hang around chicks all the time. Young men are idiots anyway. All they want to do is fight and fuck, and they often aren’t getting enough. Just hang around chicks all the time, and pretty soon, the less idiotic of the guys will try to make friends with you just so they can join you hanging with the chicks.
What could go wrong hanging around with chicks all the time? Nothing really.
Only a couple of things you need to know. One, make the ground rules clear. No woman, not one, is ever safe with you, not even for one minute. You’re a million times better than her faggot friends who she loves for their harmlessness. In order to differentiate yourself from them, you must be dangerous. Sexually dangerous. At all times. And don’t ever let em forget it.
In addition, I would be mysterious. If you’re out of luck, don’t ever let them know you aren’t getting any. Just be Mr. Mystery With a History. As soon as they find out you aren’t getting any, none of them will want you. If they ask, say, “None of your Goddamned business,” and laugh at them. Say, “Well, I’m not a virgin,” “There’s usually a woman or two in my life. Sometimes one, sometimes more than one, sometimes none. Life is interesting.”
If they ask why you don’t talk about your dates, say, “I’m a secretive guy. I don’t talk about that stuff.” Then when you start dating someone, don’t tell them. Just act the same as ever. If you have a good history of good game, talk about it in the past tense, as if you are talking about drinking water or something, very calm and non-bragging, as if you are embarrassed.
You just need to learn how to act around chicks. You can even talk dirty to them, touch them, grab them. But you need to learn to read body language. Know when the lights are red, yellow, green and changing, and act accordingly.
…It was November 1981, or long ago in another world, and I was wasted at the Palladium. There were all these hot, barely legal rock and roll chickies in Spandex and not wearing a lot of anything. It wasn’t exactly a punk crowd. It was more of a Runaways crowd.
Suddenly there was movement on the stage. Spiderman! Spiderman was running around the stage with a mike, singing something. Who the fuck was that? No one knew.
“That’s him!” I shouted to my friend, who was way more wasted than I was, and was also just starting to recover from the throes of a violent manic-depressive psychosis…
…A few months earlier, he had burned holes in his arm with a cigarette.
“Don’t do that!” I had screamed.
“I can’t feel pain. I feel no pain,.” he had shrugged, shaking the shaggy, puppy-dog hair out of his eyes.
I had accompanied my buddy to a meeting with his psychiatrist. He wanted some moral support.
“I live off hate,” I said. It was the punk era, and that was a cool thing to say. “I love hate. It gives me energy. It makes me live. Makes me get up in the morning. Gets me right out of bed. Gimme some of that hate! It’s life juice!” I almost leaped up in the shrink’s office. The shrink was looking at me like I was seriously disturbed.
My friend jumped up. “See? Even my friends are sick! Look at how sick they are! And they call me sick!” He pointed to me: “He worships the Devil!” Then he jumped out off the couch and ran out of the mental health center and across six lanes of heavy traffic at 3 PM, dodging cars all the way.
The shink looked at me with these eyes, like wells, with thousands of years of sadness in them. Neither of us knew what to say.
I told the shrink I had a Kabbalah Tree of Life on my wall and black candles on the shelves. Weirdest thing about that Tree of Life. Everyone who walked into the room stopped in their tracks and stared at it.
I got my buddies together and chanted evil curses against my enemies and carried magic talismans, like amulets, ankhs and crosses, in my pocket. I rubbed them all the time, took them out and flashed them in chicks’ eyes to freak them out and spellbind them, to spread the magick around, brainwash chicks and try to get laid.
“I’m not nuts. I’m just into magick. Is that ok?” The shrink nodded his head solemnly.
The diagnosis of my friend was “manic depression with schizophrenic overtones.” This was the era of “Family Systems Therapy,” and the family was making my friend nuts. Really the guy’s brain was having some sort of a brownout or hard drive crash. Either that or there was spaghetti code in his brain that needed a serious rewrite.
A month earlier my buddy had smashed a bathroom window at his parent’s house and climbed in the window. He was bleeding and wrote Helter Skelter on the mirror as a joke to freak out his folks.
His folks called me, alarmed. I told them it was a joke. They didn’t believe me. Cops were getting called all the time. There were wild fights in the living room. Hell, it must have been a barrel of laughs at that place!…
…”No way! That’s Spiderman!”
“That’s him! That’s Iggy Pop! Iggy Pop is Spiderman!” I was laughing so hard I almost fell over.
Indeed, the maniac was running around the stage, dressed in a Goddamned Spiderman suit. It was Iggy Pop! This was the Party tour, and Iggy was 34 years old. I don’t remember much else about it, but the show was great.
Back then, Iggy Pop was still extremely underground. No one had really heard of him all that much. He was pretty subversive, underground, druggy and forbidden.
Metallic K.O. is insane; it’s a total mess. You can hear beer bottles flying and all sorts of insane stuff. It’s pretty cool though in a bizarre way. The Stooges were extremely underground, even in the early 1980’s. They were always one of those love em or hate em bands. Most people had just never heard of em.
At 60, Pop has several injuries in his body. He dislocated his shoulder and has lost a lot of cartilage in his hip. Both knees are near shot. He was cramped on economy air flights all the time, and then he took a fall dancing on a fucking amplifier. Now his spine is twisted.
The drug days are in the past. When the Stooges were being formed, around 1969, the 22 year old Pop and the rest of the band was frying on acid all the time. It was the era, you know. Later, in the mid-Seventies, Pop was on heroin, as was the rest of the band. So he spent much of his 20’s on heroin, from 1970-1975 at least.
The drug days mostly ended 20 years ago, around age 40. By age 51, in 1998, he had snorted his last line of coke and smoked his last jay. The heroin was over by age 36, in 1983.
He has an exotic light-skinned Black model babe for girlfriend like his old friend David Bowie. She’s half his age of course. He lives in Miami Beach where he tools around in a Rolls Royce. He’s got life dicked, as my surfer-stoner friends used to say, growing up on the beach.
In an interview at age 56, his model-babe girlfriend was 31, and he was fucking her 10 times a week. Hell with this “dirty old man” shit! Down with Viagra jokes. You tell em, Iggy!
Iggy met his girlfriend 12 years ago in Miami Beach, in 1998. He was tooling along, and he saw her with a friend, both knockouts. The went into a pizza joint and Iggy went into the joint next door to look at them. Iggy admits he has no game when it comes to picking up chicks. He can only get them once they figure out who he is, then they all line and take numbers up to fuck the big hot shot rock star.
Iggy was in his car and they came out of the pizza joint, and he asked them if they wanted a ride. They’ve been together ever since.
He was 48 and she was 23. You see, if an ordinary 48 year old guy makes a play for a 23 year old woman, United Cunts of America, millions of cunts strong, stands up and screams that he’s a pervert, a creep, a weirdo and a dirty old man.
But if Iggy Pop does it, it’s suddenly ok because he’s a millionaire. In which case, I guess a lot of the legions of United Cunts of America seamlessly morphs into United Whores of America and lines up to screw the Ig.
Iggy has a great big huge dick, not that I’m interested. It was legendary. He wore pants that showed off the boa constrictor as part of his image. He used to whip it out on stage for various reasons and non-reasons. Once he laid it on top of an amplifier and let the amp vibrate it. Another time a fan leaped up on stage during a show and gave him a blowjob. The stories never end.
Back in the day, Iggy needed a stick to fight them off. After a typical show, Iggy would have five girls with him heading back to his place. He would call women up, give them a time to come over. They would show up, he would have sex with them, and he would tell them to leave. They would leave, smiling. Some guys have it tough.
The Pedophile Mass Hysteria Losers may be interested to know that of course Iggy is a Pedo too, like many fine upstanding citizens. At age 21, he married a 14 year old girl. Then he knocked her up and had a kid with her. Nowadays, that qualifies for Pedophile.
A bit before that, maybe around age 18-19, he had a 13 year old girlfriend, and yes it was consummated. Now he’s a fucking Pedo for sure! Iggy gets the Roman Polanski Seal of Approval for that starring role.
Despite what you think of rock stars, Iggy was frequently Impotent during much of the 1980’s and 1990’s. He doesn’t give a reason. Interesting that even famous guys often Can’t get it up.
Pop has published an article in a journal of classical scholarship, Classics Ireland (1995). I always knew he was a brain. Just like Mick Jagger and David Bowie, you just know those guys have high IQ’s.
One more thing! Anti-Semites, this means you! Iggy Pop is not Jewish. Old legend, due to his name, James Osterberg. He’s actually Norwegian.