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Scissor Sisters, Scissor Sisters
Polydor Limited U.K., February 2, 2004
Track Listing: 1. Laura, 2. Take Your Mama, 3. Comfortably Numb, 4. Mary, 5. Lovers in the Backseat, 6. Tits on the Radio, 7. Filthy/Gorgeous, 8. Music Is the Victim, 9. Better Luck, 10. It Can’t Come Quickly Enough, 11. Return to Oz
Once I finally tap into the party boy I always imagined myself to be, I plan to gather all my friends and host a major blowout. Most of the guests will meet one another for the first time because compartmentalization is an axiom of my relations. Opening up to mix and mingle coheres with a leitmotif for the night: Toss caution to the wind.
“It’s a struggle
Livin’ like a good boy oughta”
-from “Take Your Mama”
The evening will steer clear of a national holiday, a birthday or an entertainment engagement such as the Super Bowl or Oscar telecast. Distractions are uninvited. The single purpose is to have an off-the-hook time. Attendees may expect reward for years of their unwavering support and dedication.
“I’ll give you five fingers
For a one man show
Fasten those pants for the lap dance
Take a shot now this may be your last chance”
-from “Tits on the Radio”
Scoot visions of a backyard BBQ aside. Check car keys with the valet and ride the express elevator to the highest floor at the chicest downtown high-rise. Glass windows lounge above the night with glittering lights dotting the landscape like a jeweler’s showcase displaying clustered multi-colored gems set on the finest black silk. Airliners stack in the sky on descent to an outlying airport, and a steady stream of jets streak away from distant runways, quietly engulfed by envious skies over lands known only as elsewhere.
Succulent foods rest on meticulously arranged buffets, or are passed by white-gloved servers, with hardly enough time to stale, before eager hands snatch every delectable morsel. Garnished cocktails swish in delicate crystal slick with condensation from primitive heat clinging to the refreshing chill of ice. A sweets table tempts those who usually resist indulgence. Handmade chocolates, fresh fruits and pastries melt in the mouths of no. Caution to the wind, remember? Expenses are irrelevant during this decidedly tony affair.
Libations relax inhibitions, so conversations slur into flirtations. Everyone gets along famously, surpassing my wildest expectations. Intimate liaisons consummate welcoming smiles.
“You tell me that you’re mine
Are you just being kind?
Let’s not stretch our imagination”
-from “Better Luck Next Time”
What a beautiful bunch we make: flawless complexions; physiques designed for photographs in fitness magazines; tailored clothes; impeccably groomed haircuts; and leather goods by the top Italian artisans complimenting every impression. We. Are. Fabulous.
“You gotta wrap your fuzzy in a big red bow
Ain’t no sum bitch gonna treat me like a ho
I’m a classy honey kissy huggy lovey dovey ghetto princess”
-from “Filthy/Gorgeous”
The atmosphere tingles with suggestion in every glance. Possibility gyrates through pulsing bodies under a mirrored ball bursting rays of supernova brilliance. Drawn together, if not for eternity, we are one for now.
“Let the good times all roll out
And if the music ain’t good, well it’s just too bad
We’re gonna sing along no matter what”
-from “Take Your Mama”
Tramps, floozies and sexy bitches, I am indebted to you for your company over the years. Cheers! Let's also give it up for the kitchen staff, who dish with greater pizazz than Perez Hilton. Raise a glass in honor of the bartenders; your luck follows what's poured into the cup. And let's not forget the DJ, who's spinning the perfect songs. With his romping beats, this party shows no signs of winding down.
-MEG
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