ZoukOut 2005

I nearly didn't go to ZoukOut 2005. It's getting almost impossible to find people who have the time, energy or inclination to go dancing. Hell, I didn't feel like going either at first. Only Miss C's intervention and a sudden, glorious vision of skanking it out along with some gloriously hot half-naked bodies and feeling the night sea breeze on my skin and watching the sun come up while I lounged on the beach in a teeny bikini saved me from being a boring old git. God was sending me a message, and He wanted me to party.

There's only so long before we all get too damned old to do the things we should have done after all.

Nevertheless, I was nearly distracted from re-attending ZoukOut 2005 from my recent re-discovery of Heroes of Might and Magic IV and was happily engrossed in trying to figure out how to eliminate the orange player with my army of faerie and black dragons, unicorns, elves and pixies when I realized what time it was and freaked out.

Bikini Heaven

Like Miss C, I faced the dilemma of what exactly to wear.

It could have been Party Island Princess (the little white bikini (red flower printed strategically across one boob and one ass cheek) with the white matching sarong, and island shell necklace).

Or maybe Sporty Sass (the green and white striped bikini with the little white flared boho skirt with dangly earrings).

Or even Sex On the Beach (the scandalous 'duct tape' black bikini and hotpants).

In the end, a compromise between tart and tease was found, and I settled on the mocha Bond-style bikini with cheerleader red-and-brown flippy skirt, accessorized with a bronze cuff, Mayan necklace and as much cinnamon-scented shimmer cream and hair defrizzer that I could slap on. I also went crazy with the green and gold smokey eyes (courtesy of Kevin Aucoin). What the hell, you're only young once.

The good people at Zouk didn't get everything right, but they had a great live rock lineup. Save for Tiramisu (more on that later), the performances were a joy to watch. Concave Scream played a beautifully tight set, even if I wasn't impressed by Sean Lam. They were a good opening act which set the tone for the rest of the night. But the highlight was definitely Electrico, (we had gone to the live rock tent no less than four times that night to see if they were playing yet, each time inspiring more suppressed mad lust from Miss C.)

Feeding the Guitar Fetish


Photo is from Electrico's webpage

I admit, I'm not a fan of their sound, being more pop than it is rock, and I wouldn't buy their album for its listening value. But they put on an incredible live show. David Tan doesn't look as dissolute or as knicker-droppingly-hot as I had hoped, but the man knows his showmanship, and has enough Lead Vocalist Syndrome to be a hot-as-hell rock star without going overboard and becoming convinced he is God's Gift to Rock ("It's ART, damnit"), unlike some. After a wicked grin (and a shoutout to Slowjaxx Does Dallas for getting them drunk as skunks backstage), Electrico launched into the first song of their set with a killer energy and he played to the crowd with undeniable charm. David Tan's got a smokey sort of voice with quite a bit of alley-cat yowl and alcoholic drawl, and when he crooned the titular line from U2's "Sunday bloody Sunday" with a laconic grin, it was close enough to make me a fangirl, even if during the course of the performance he hit a couple of off notes.

Then there was Daniel Sassoon (cue screaming by Miss C), who, even though he wasn't my type, was a pretty good rhythm guitarist (thus permanently gaining a zillion brownie points instantly who played with that gratifying intensity which makes me wish said guitarist were covered in cream so I could lick him clean. I love that look guitarists get when they're playing so that you know all they hear is their music, eyes half-closed in concentration, brow furrowed in the sexiest frown, the hint of a snarl gracing their lips and their jaws clenched tight as their fingers dance in an almost sexual display of digital prowess across the frets. (cue more screaming from Miss C)

I love, love, love that look when their shoulders bunch tight with muscle and tension and they jump and spin and just rock out, hair in their faces, sweat flying, silhouetted against the stage lights, their eyes shut tight as they listen to the thump and roar of the music, like a giant heartbeat. To his credit (and Miss C's edification), Daniel Sassoon did all that, and played some good guitar to boot, so he's got the Slinky stamp of approval.

In all, Electrico played one hell of a tight set, and I was one of those screaming my head off while they played. It may have helped that Miss C, intent on getting as close as possible to Sassoon, was practically on the stage and the fantastic subwoofers were making my heart beat in time to the bass. Or it may have been Sassoon doing scissor kicks and David Tan's sex-me-up voice when he sings. Or maybe even Amanda Ling looking like a rather pretty but predatory spider, all skeletal limbs and intense focus and fantastic eye makeup. Oh, and Desmond Goh wearing that crazy octopus headgear and rocking his skinny little heart out. Whatever it was, they were almost good enough to distract me from the hairy-chested, drunk-as-fuck ang moh hordes who felt the inexplicable drunken urge to grind my toes into red mush into the sand. (the WORST part about getting my tootsies mooshed by ang moh men is that they are BIGGER than Asian men and have an alarming tendency to wear ridge-soled slippers, hence it HURTS MORE. Plus, they were so drunk they didn't know what planet they were on and increasingly violent requests for them to remove their offending feet from my person were usually met with infuriatingly blank stares and dull, bovine blinks. I WILL hurt you, fuckers.)

In between we ran from the Velvet tent to the Mambo Jambo tent, the latter only picking up late into the night where they were playing Nirvana's "Smells Like Teen Spirit" and I was up there screaming that they 'entertain us' and jumping up and down like the rest of the crowd, who was old enough to know who Nirvana was. Then it was up on the platform with Miss C, resplendent in tiny Daisy Dukes and a red-hot bikini, and feeling the music pound through my body as it swayed and whipped to the beat.

I loved ZoukOut. I loved the laid-back party vibe, and the feeling of sand beneath my feet, and being able to dance near-naked and feeling the ocean breeze against my skin. I liked that there were 18,000 people there and yet it didn't feel crowded. I liked the fact that I didn't have to drink anything or smoke anything and yet felt like I was high. I liked the free Cosmopolitan we got, and the smell of the coean even as we did the bump and grind. I liked being able to lie on the sand while I was crowded and not have anyone step on me. I liked the buff guys in kilts dancing on the platform. I liked having those sweaty six-pac male dancers as a backdrop when me and and Miss C were strutting our stuff on the platform. I liked the trannies in their bikinis, silicone breasts proud and defying physics in lycra. I liked the free rides and the fact that it wasn't a meat market.

What I Didn't Like:

* Tiramisu. I know MFC auditioned for them, but I cannot imagine why he'd do something so stupid. One of the guitarists came on stage with someone white and feathery-looking glued to the side of his head. It looked like a giant brain tumor which had gone so horribly out of control that it had burst through his skull. We thought that was bad, but that was before we saw the lead singer. He wore this strange headdress with black rubbery floppy spines all over it, like someone had glued skinny spiky rubber dildos onto a swim cap. "Maybe it's supposed to be an aquatic theme," I said doubtfully to Miss C. Giant dead sea urchin headdress. Not terribly glam rock, but whatever.

Then they started playing. Oh God. The lead singer was execrable. There was an ENTIRE SONG where the only words were "Do your little daaaaaaaaaaance", sung with great angst and pathos by the horrible lead singer. It started off as a slow sort of moaning chant then he injected more pain and angst into it, and it became "Dooooo your little DAAAAAAANCE!" and then he started screaming it over and over again. It was like watching a foreign art movie without subtitles. Halfway through the dildo cap / dead sea urchin fell off his head.

* The girl who peed in the shower cubicle. She is the reason I never, ever take off my slippers in a public shower. I don't care how bad you have to go. You do NOT cut the queue to run to the shower cubicle in a public restroom and then come out, announcing proudly to your friends that "it's cleaner than the toilet cubicle". That is just nasty. You’re lucky I didn't take a picture of you and post it up.

* Drunk ang moh guys playing frantic air guitar. It's not cool. It was never cool. Stop it.

* Getting rained on at 4 in the morning. I don't care if I'm wearing clothing designed to get wet. It wasn't made to cope with gale force winds, or they would have used more material. And possibly a parachute.

* Huddling under the only shelter on the beach, feeling like a hurricane refugee and some fat, cold, wet Indonesian chick with mild B.O trying to huddle against my warm dry leg for warmth.

* Everyone smoking shitty Marlboros. For god's sakes, if you're gonna smoke, smoke something good. Marlboros smell like chemical effluent.

* The person who stole our photo off the Sony board. I, like Miss C, hope like hell that it has not become wank material.



We left at 5:30 in the morning, spirites dampened somewhat by the rain, and took a bus back. I walked home in the early dawn with the sky coloring that gorgeous shade of purple-blue and feeling rain patter down on me. I spent the rest of the day high as kite.

Anyone wanna go to ZoukOut next year?