Status
Available
Call number
Publication
Simon & Schuster (2003), Edition: Reprint, 288 pages
Description
Set in the post Warhol 1980s clubland, Disco Bloodbath tells of the fabulous and the bizarre through the astonishing tale of the 'king of the club kids', flamboyant Michael Alig. The world of crazed hedonism becomes the scene for murder.
User reviews
LibraryThing member pinkybear
The book is hysterically funny, making you laugh at some of its most sordid moments. A lot of kids seem to worship Micahel Alig without knowing who or what they are idolizing. The real deal was not very charming and few people I know have anything nice to say about him. It is a documentary of the
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times, when parties would spring up at a moments notice and the most commonplace could become a happening. The creativity and fun drained out as the drugs took over. The glamour had faded and it became messy, inchoherent and just plain sad. Still, James St. James manages to tell it all, honestly and with a sense of elan. Since the death of "Downtow" there has never been a thing to ever replace it. It was a time and a place that so many cling to though media representations. You had to be there or you will have never understood it. Show Less
LibraryThing member george.d.ross
A fabulously lurid tale, and Mr. St James is an able and entertaining writer. Club Kid New York is painted here in bright, gaudy colors, and I was even seduced by the amoral scoundrels who inhabited that strange, surreal world. Unfortunately the author's writing voice occasionally tends toward the
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screechy (note: using caps, bold, and italics does not, in fact, make a story more exciting), but nevertheless, well worth the read. Show Less
LibraryThing member Erikayumi
James St. James is GENIUS. This story is smart, witty and shockingly TRUE. There was a time when the club kids were essential to the New York party scene, and people actually read Michael Musto's column in THE VILLAGE VOICE. They are hardly relevant anymore, but that doesn't mean you can't relive
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all their glory. Step into this world of Impromptu parties, DRUGS, fame, money, jealousy, and murder! It's a quick read and incredibly entertaining. Show Less
LibraryThing member oddbooks
I no longer review "norm" books but this one straddled the line between norm true crime and truly odd true crime. So I won't review it, but because it was such a fantastic book, I'll share some of the best quotes. St. James really does have a fascinating capacity to be glibly deep and deeply
"There is no mystery to death. No complicated pattern, nothing difficult. They are no special. It could happen again. Anytime. Anywhere. Of course. A slight miscalculation, a simple mistake - it didn't take a special kind of person. Death was easy. A piece of pie. That is the true horror."
"If somebody asks you for a quote about your mortal enemy, simply drip with sincerity as you gush: "I worship him." And leave it at that. IF YOU ARE CORNERED AND YOU HAVE TO TELL THE TRUTH, AND THE TRUTH IS, WELL, SLIGHTLY BITCH, put a positive spin on it, then quickly follow it up by giving three reasons why you're even worse. FOR EXAMPLE: "Sure, Michael is a monster - but look at that flawless eyeliner. How many monsters do you know that can wield liquid liner LIKE THAT? Besides, I have anal fissures. And I just love Captain Lou Albano. Oh, do I have bad breath? Here, smell..." Works like a charm."
"But it's those seemingly normal exteriors (the beehive hairdo, the pennyroyal house dress, the stubble beneath the pancake...) that hide TRULY DERANGED minds. Watch out for the average - they're usual hiding something big."
"Suddenly Jenny did what Jenny was sometimes prone to do in those days: she ran out of the house, in a blind panic, into the cold autumn night without a jacket. She was just lost in the sauce, poor dear. Of course, it broke the monotony and everybody ran after her to give her the attention she was demanding. She might end up at the Russian Tea Room or she might end up in a crack den, who knew? Jenny's freak-outs were periodic, intense, and always anybody's guess.
These incidents were important, in that they showed her and us that the drugs were secondary, that we were a family first and foremost, and we would be there for each other, always.
She wasn't really craving butter beans that night in the trash can. She needed to know that we cared enough to drop the torch and find her a can opener...stop the madness and look for her shoes,,,thank her for her money and her support...
Give her a big kiss."
"But before the curtain falls, let me leave you with one question - ponder it as the events unfold, then riddle me this:
If one day, Mother Teresa was out weed whacking and accidentally chopped odd Hitler's head - WOULD THAT NECESSARILY BE SUCH A BAD THING?
I mean...if a person commits a crime and no one cares - can we all just adjust our lip liner?
Look, I'm just being honest here. I think that the whole point of my story is that nobody ever implicated Dorothy in the double witch homicides of Oz because, well... you know... She's Judy Garland, for God's sakes, and Louis B. Mayer forced her into a life of drugs at such a young age, poor thing..."
"I needed my K. My lightly toasted animal tranquilizer. My own personalized Prozac, if you will. (I'd have tried the actual stuff, but Prozac is SO, like, '91.) Oh, I needed that K badly, no doubt about it.
And nothing could be right until I got it. And God help the poor roommate or friend who didn't move heaven and earth on my behalf. I made Nancy Reagan seem positively CUDDLY in comparison.
"SOMEBODY FIND SOME GODDAMN K FOR ME! I DON'T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO SUCK IT OUT OF A SICK CAT'S ASS AND PUT IT THROUGH A DISTILLERY! Just... do it"
"Funny, that no matter where you are in the world, there's always someone eager to help you destroy yourself."
"But you failed.
You had so much inside of you and yet you threw it away. You hadn't finished changing the world, yet. You should be plotting corporate takeovers, making million-dollar deals, directing feature films, starting your own religion - not sitting in some overcrowded prison cell!
And if YOU failed, how on earth are the rest if us supposed to succeed?
What are we all supposed to do now?"
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glib."There is no mystery to death. No complicated pattern, nothing difficult. They are no special. It could happen again. Anytime. Anywhere. Of course. A slight miscalculation, a simple mistake - it didn't take a special kind of person. Death was easy. A piece of pie. That is the true horror."
"If somebody asks you for a quote about your mortal enemy, simply drip with sincerity as you gush: "I worship him." And leave it at that. IF YOU ARE CORNERED AND YOU HAVE TO TELL THE TRUTH, AND THE TRUTH IS, WELL, SLIGHTLY BITCH, put a positive spin on it, then quickly follow it up by giving three reasons why you're even worse. FOR EXAMPLE: "Sure, Michael is a monster - but look at that flawless eyeliner. How many monsters do you know that can wield liquid liner LIKE THAT? Besides, I have anal fissures. And I just love Captain Lou Albano. Oh, do I have bad breath? Here, smell..." Works like a charm."
"But it's those seemingly normal exteriors (the beehive hairdo, the pennyroyal house dress, the stubble beneath the pancake...) that hide TRULY DERANGED minds. Watch out for the average - they're usual hiding something big."
"Suddenly Jenny did what Jenny was sometimes prone to do in those days: she ran out of the house, in a blind panic, into the cold autumn night without a jacket. She was just lost in the sauce, poor dear. Of course, it broke the monotony and everybody ran after her to give her the attention she was demanding. She might end up at the Russian Tea Room or she might end up in a crack den, who knew? Jenny's freak-outs were periodic, intense, and always anybody's guess.
These incidents were important, in that they showed her and us that the drugs were secondary, that we were a family first and foremost, and we would be there for each other, always.
She wasn't really craving butter beans that night in the trash can. She needed to know that we cared enough to drop the torch and find her a can opener...stop the madness and look for her shoes,,,thank her for her money and her support...
Give her a big kiss."
"But before the curtain falls, let me leave you with one question - ponder it as the events unfold, then riddle me this:
If one day, Mother Teresa was out weed whacking and accidentally chopped odd Hitler's head - WOULD THAT NECESSARILY BE SUCH A BAD THING?
I mean...if a person commits a crime and no one cares - can we all just adjust our lip liner?
Look, I'm just being honest here. I think that the whole point of my story is that nobody ever implicated Dorothy in the double witch homicides of Oz because, well... you know... She's Judy Garland, for God's sakes, and Louis B. Mayer forced her into a life of drugs at such a young age, poor thing..."
"I needed my K. My lightly toasted animal tranquilizer. My own personalized Prozac, if you will. (I'd have tried the actual stuff, but Prozac is SO, like, '91.) Oh, I needed that K badly, no doubt about it.
And nothing could be right until I got it. And God help the poor roommate or friend who didn't move heaven and earth on my behalf. I made Nancy Reagan seem positively CUDDLY in comparison.
"SOMEBODY FIND SOME GODDAMN K FOR ME! I DON'T CARE IF YOU HAVE TO SUCK IT OUT OF A SICK CAT'S ASS AND PUT IT THROUGH A DISTILLERY! Just... do it"
"Funny, that no matter where you are in the world, there's always someone eager to help you destroy yourself."
"But you failed.
You had so much inside of you and yet you threw it away. You hadn't finished changing the world, yet. You should be plotting corporate takeovers, making million-dollar deals, directing feature films, starting your own religion - not sitting in some overcrowded prison cell!
And if YOU failed, how on earth are the rest if us supposed to succeed?
What are we all supposed to do now?"
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LibraryThing member Amellia_Fiske
I've been fascinated by the 90's New York Club Kid scene: how can so many 20-somethings live with such reckless abandon? How do they even afford to live in NYC and party all the time and go to school? It's a world that I can't relate to, but reading James St. James' book definitely threw me in to
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the depths of it all. James' writing swirls and flourishes...I loved every minute. I later came to find out that he was still on drugs (speed or perhaps Special K) at the time of writing the book, but it worked for this story. I can't say that I walked away feeling sorry for Michael Alig, but it definitely led me to think more deeply about shared experiences and how living on the fringe can be both horrifying and fabulous. Show Less
LibraryThing member lydia1879
... so, I just remembered this book existed, and I just realised I probably read it when I was way, way too young. Oops.
This reads like a fiction novel. I can almost guarantee that it will be unlike any other crime memoir you've ever read in your life.
I loved reading it at the time. I'm honestly
... but! James St. James is actually a really good and consistent writer. Do I condone anything he did in the book? Not at all. I do not condone drug use or any of his outlandish behaviour that he calls partying, but man this guy can write.
I still remember his monologue about taking Ketamine and reciting Hamlet after all these years of reading it.
So if you like William S. Burroughs, if you like Irvine Welsh, if you like Herbert Selby Jr, you might really enjoy this book.
This is Andy Warhol on speed, this is a hangover, a celebration of life and sexuality and taking ownership of a very, very chequered past. Despite this book's many, many flaws I can't help but still feel some sort of vague connection to it.
Take care when you read it, it's an absolute trip.
(tw: oh, god, all the things. Underaged sex, possibly nonconsensual sex, excessive drug use, gore? I can't remember all of them, I'm so sorry!)
This reads like a fiction novel. I can almost guarantee that it will be unlike any other crime memoir you've ever read in your life.
I loved reading it at the time. I'm honestly
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not sure how I would feel about it now, but at the time, I was trying to figure out who I was and I was absolutely starved for any LGBTIQA fiction. So, reading this was sort of like a lifeline for me, and this book could've been the worst book ever written and it would still hold a special place in my heart because of the themes.... but! James St. James is actually a really good and consistent writer. Do I condone anything he did in the book? Not at all. I do not condone drug use or any of his outlandish behaviour that he calls partying, but man this guy can write.
I still remember his monologue about taking Ketamine and reciting Hamlet after all these years of reading it.
So if you like William S. Burroughs, if you like Irvine Welsh, if you like Herbert Selby Jr, you might really enjoy this book.
This is Andy Warhol on speed, this is a hangover, a celebration of life and sexuality and taking ownership of a very, very chequered past. Despite this book's many, many flaws I can't help but still feel some sort of vague connection to it.
Take care when you read it, it's an absolute trip.
(tw: oh, god, all the things. Underaged sex, possibly nonconsensual sex, excessive drug use, gore? I can't remember all of them, I'm so sorry!)
Show Less
Subjects
Awards
Edgar Award (Nominee — Fact Crime — 2000)
Language
Original language
English
Original publication date
1999-08-11
Physical description
288 p.; 5.5 inches
ISBN
0743259823 / 9780743259828