Man, is that R.E.M. desperate to sell some records! First Buck gets all P Diddy in first class, now Stipey has declared himself "a queer


The Culture Bunker

Man, is that R.E.M. desperate to sell some records! First Buck gets all P Diddy in first class, now Stipey has declared himself "a queer artist." This, after years of activism tempered by coyness. Sorry, Mike, but Tyson Meade is a queer artist. Hell, Steve Friggin' Kmetko is a queer artist. You, sir, are a money-hungry phony-baloney who only outed yourself in Time to promote another stultifying R.E.M. record. Word of advice: If you guys want a hit so badly, maybe you should let Mills sing one.

Our condolences to Courtney on her miscarriage. We suspect that, somehow, it's all Lynn Hirschberg's fault, though frankly, we're just impressed she's fertile. . . . Allow us to be the first to shout it out, in print: JAMES JEFFORDS FOR VICE PRESIDENT! On the Gary Johnson ticket, of course. He's the best damn member of Congress since Edmund Ross. . . . Seen Pearl Harbor yet? Ben Affleck dies. Or Josh Hartnett does—we're not sure.

Once upon a time, when this column was young and callow and didn't know any better, we talked about how lame Friends was. Fortunately, said column was then published in Ray Gun, so nobody noticed this oversight. But now that we are old and cynical and prone to repeating ourselves, we would like to mention how lame Friends is. Fortunately, The Family Guy was already gonna be next season's non-Smackdown Thursday viewing choice. Diarrhea, Lois.

Anybody catch that appalling N.Y. Times "Week in Review" bit about other movies that could become musicals in the wake of The Producers? The final suggestion was Planet of the Apes, which means there are actually so-called "humorists" out there in the world who don't watch The Simpsons. Hell yeah, we're looking forward to more Fairuza Balk on The Sopranos, but we're sure-as-shit glad we don't have to hear any more about the show, which is no better or worse than Ed, Once and Again, or, especially, NYPD Blue. 'Twas another understated and wondrous season in the 87th—oh, wait, we mean the 15th—Precinct.

Could there be a worse song this summer than the Christina Aguilera/ Li'l Kim/Mya/Pink monstrosity? The worst part of it is, we don't even want to see any of those women wearing corsets in the video. And Nicole in one isn't going to get us to see the movie either. But we'd crawl three miles through medical waste to drink from Annabella Sciorra's toilet. Hell, we'd suck her daddy's dick just to see where she came from.

Credit-Where-Credit's-Due Department: The "daddy's dick" line was coined by Richard Pryor, though we first heard it from talentless noir hack James Ellroy, whose overwrought and overrated new novel, The Cold Six Thousand, is just out. Next time you're visiting your local bookstore, why not pick up a copy of Mick Foley's delightful new memoir, Foley Is Good? It's witty, moving, violent as all get out, and very nicely written in actual sentences—everything Ellroy's latest is not!

Alanis Morissette recently donated $150,000 of her own money to keep the B'way musical Jane Eyre from closing. Unfortunately, it was Canadian money and the show went dark in midperformance that very night. . . . Near as we can figure, Norman Lear killed Susannah McCorkle. . . . Pop quiz—do any of you readers know why the words Geena Davis and "vaginal reconstruction" belong in the same sentence? This is not a joke. We would really like to find out if you people know the answer.

Finally, it's time again for What's On the CB Turntable, featuring a whole mess of bands you've never heard of. Wales is the world's musical hot spot, as usual, what with recent records from the Manics and Terris (Record of the Year? Could be . . . ), and new sets from Catatonia, Mo Ho Bish O Pi, and Super Furry Animals coming soon (woo-hoo!). That said, the real Cambrian action is coming from young guns like Tommy & The Chauffeur, whose "Having and Wanting" single might be the best guitar pop tune ever to include scratching; or Tetra Splendour, whose "Mr. Bishi" is deliciously epic psychedelia. Moving into England—Brighton to be specific—we are loving The Soft Parade's amazing debut, "Silent to the Dark," easily the weirdest nine-minute-long MOR pop ditty performed by two teenage brothers in recent memory. Great, great stuff! Finally, coming atcha from the heavy metal heart of the West Country, there's the un-fucking-stoppable Odinist RAWK! of Brain Donor's "She Saw Me Coming"—double-neck bass, double-neck guitar, and double-bass drum kit, adding up to twice the volume, twice the hooks, twice the RAWK! That Julian, he's one Forward Thinking Mofo.

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