In this recording (speaking with Arthur Schlesinger Jr. within months of the assassination) the first lady laughingly describes turning in for the night — while bitterly hating Governor John Connally and wife Nellie's high-maintenance eccentricities.
As Jackie remembers that last night, the president sweetly encouraged her to let go of any anger — especially in Texas. Which JFK hoped would "heal" everyone.
ATX drag anarchist welcomed at Big D debut Her filthy-gorgeous dubstep triumph included a barroom brawl, an airborne buttplug and ‘jock-headed faggots’ screaming for more
SPREAD ’EM REAL WIDE: Christeene Vale (Paul Soileau) in glamorous repose at Double Wide, the Expo Park venue that hosted her first North Texas appearance. [Photo: Kusner]
By DANIEL KUSNER
On the opening day of the State Fair of Texas, Expo Park introduced Dallas to something way freakier than deep-fried beer: Christeene Vale, whose Sept. 28 gig at the Double Wide is sure to go down in the Big D history books.
Christeene’s the cracked-out drag artist whose grimy beats and skanky rapid-fire rhymes compliment instant classics, like “Fix My Dick” and “African Mayonnaise.”
Austin resident Paul Soileau is the genius who morphs into Christeene.
And for the past three years, he’s launched Christeene’s ass-shaking singles with raunchy, sidesplitting videos directed by Texas filmmaker PJ Raval, whose work on the 2009 documentary “Trouble the Water” won an Oscar nomination.
Christeene’s videos have enticed fans worldwide.
Soileau says San Francisco has more “Team Christeene” diehards than his hometown, Austin — where Christeene’s been the toast of South By Southwest for the past three years.
The viral videos are just an appetizer.
It’s Christeene’s daredevil live shows that draw comparisons to the raw energy of Peaches and the sleazy silliness of early John Waters movies.
Fans have lured Christeene to perform in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Portland, Vancouver, Toronto, Stockholm, Berlin and even Paris — where Christeene and her crew were flown to the French capital to perform for punk couturier Rick Owens during Paris Fashion Week.
As for Texas, Christeene had never booked a gig outside of Austin ... until last month, when Dallas got lucky.
On Sept. 20, Christeene announced she was making her Big D debut at Double Wide. Facebook and Twitter exploded.
To preview the gig, Dallas Observer ran a full-page Christeene profile.
On the day of the show, Gay List Daily dedicated a dispatch to “Christeene does Dallas: Live & Raw.”
Unfortunately, those who didn’t score advance tickets were out of luck because Christeene’s Double Wide gig quickly sold out.
What did y’all miss?
Music maestro J.J. Booya started the evening with a creepy instrumental lullaby as Christeene made her entrance.
Clad in hooker boots, a black-shag wig and mud-stained legs, Christeene sported a pair of soiled panties that only covered her crotch.
While presenting her bare posterior to the audience, Christeene revealed a shredded length of fabric that dangled from between her buttocks.
As she bent over to tug on the cloth, Christeene extracted a surprise — an Aneros prostate massager, which she promptly hurled into the audience, thereby receiving thunderous applause.
She kicked off her set list with the hammer-pounding scratches of “Damn’d Right,” the first track from Christeene’s recent “Waist Up, Kneez Down” album.
Barely five minutes into her show, the jam-packed Double Wide erupted into pandemonium.
At first, the nature of the chaos was hard to decipher: Were people slam-dancing?
Nope.
It was a fight.
Two sweat-stained corpulent women — with asses as big as Texas — started throwing punches.
As an eyewitness, I can attest that these heavyweights connected with hard blows.
(It was later determined that the brawl ensued because one of the chubby ladies shoved the other plus-sized chick while trying to rush the stage.)
Dirty sex-toys? Overheated bitches ready to throw down?
Christeene couldn’t have asked for a better audience.
“It smells like Nell Carter up in here — and she’s dead,” Christeene laughed in her boozy, Carol Channing-like baby voice.
Toying with an Austin vs. Dallas urban rivalry, Christeene continued, “Now this may be the first time y’all get to see what me and J.J. do. And this is definitely our first time to see how y’all prove yourselves as Dallas Texans!”
Probably referring to stereotypes of North Texans portrayed as “douche-bag label queens” in the recent string of Dallas-based reality shows, Christeene continued, “But I gotta say, all that bullshit on the TV shows got nothing to do with y’all bastards out here tonight.”
In the interest of full disclosure, this writer has been a Christeene fan since Austin’s 2009 GaybiGayGay music fest, which inspired a rave SXSW review I was commissioned to write for a Dallas publication.
Christeene dedicated the second song of the night to Yours Truly, describing me as “That stupid jock-headed faggot, who was there at the beginning — when J.J. and I started this wagon train across the United States. Daniel, I hope you enjoy this as much as you did when I first performed this three years ago."
J.J. Booya ramped up the clobbering beats to “Fix My Dick,” and it seemed like the whole crowd was shouting rhymes along to Christeene’s signature track.
During “African Mayonnaise” the floor-humping energy inside the Double Wide got more extreme. As overwhelming bass lines ripped through the sound system, Christeene crouched into a sprint position and launched herself into a stage dive. While Christeene crowd surfed, two beefy bears at the foot of the stage immediately fled to the back of the venue to avoid the overhead danger.
After the sentimental R&B-flavored ballad “Tears from My Pussy,” Christeene offered her Dallas supporters a gift — a brown onion. Scrawled across the edible bulb’s papery skin was her autograph.
Christeene explained that her onion is like an olive branch — to be regarded as a symbol of peace from “Keep Austin Weird” to “Keep Dallas Pretentious.”
She recalled that at a previous performance, she tossed the onion to an inebriated concertgoer who was so drunk, he chewed on the stanky vegetable like it was an apple.
FUNION: Christeene, olive-branch-like offered, Big D an autographed onion.
When Christeene tossed the onion her Dallas fans, it headed towards a gaggle of West Village-looking gays, all decked out in long-sleeved button-down shirts.
As it landed on one of their well-tailored shoulders, a shriek of surprise echoed across the room — which then turned into gales of delightful laughter.
Welcome to Dallas, Christeene.
[Photo: Kusner.]
QUICK QUESTION
Christeene hasn’t officially announced her next Dallas gig.
However, it’s been confirmed that the sellout Double Wide crowd included several local venue managers, who’re anxious to book her for a return engagement.
Christeene writes in a signature filthy ebonics-laced dialect.
And her answer to an email question, below, remains unedited. (FYI: “T Gravel” and “C Baby” are Christeene’s furry backup dancers.)
HOW WILL YOU SURPRISE DALLAS AT YOUR NEXT PERFORMANCE IN BIG D?
When me n JJ Booya rolled up tooo Dallas town we shurr as fuck did not expect to git da hawt mess dat yall put up on a stank platter at dat double wide ferr us.
U see iz my favorite thang too roll into town me n JJ style an drop a stank nugget, see whut da water brangs, an then git all my shit in line ferrr da next takeover on dat nay nay.
Dallas proved itself sum hungry muthafuggers an dat means dat when i cum back Im gunna be brangin a full out fuggin assault wit T Gravel an C Baby an JJ Booya throwin down a show dats gunna twurk out dat brain pain an brang in da hawt mess of it all. It aint to be reckoned with yall an if u can keep up den we will throw it da fuck down.
The anxiety pointed to a career impasse for the Dixie Chicks. They’re suffering from an identity crisis.
Are they country artists? Like a new, superstar version of the Mandrell Sisters?
Not any more.
Are they political rockers with a feminist-rebel streak?
Well, Maines is… Sometimes.
Have they been able to strike the perfect balance between the two?
Not quite.
Fans attending the American Airlines Center gig were one thing— loyal: Bona fide Texans who embody the Lone Star ethos: Texas is big enough for everyone’s freedoms.
Amid the cowboy hats and rodeo buckles were tiaras, a few feather boas and T-shirts emblazoned with “The L Word” logo. Even erotic superstar Mark Dalton was in the crowd with a female date.
So why did Maines feel the need to perform with a muzzle?
Why did she refrain from talking about President Bush?
Because the Dixie Chicks are caught in their own tug of war: traditional family-friendly entertainers vs. sing-from-your-gut lionesses. Make that lioness.
A butt-numbing 40 minutes after Pete Yorn finished his opening set, the Chicks took the stage with “Hail to the Chief” pumping over the sound system.
Maines, Martie Maguire, Emily Robison and a nine-piece band blew through three songs before they even said howdy.
Maguire and Robison both look stunning as they kick out banjo licks and fiddle flourishes. But their musicianship is hardly athletic or artistically inspiring enough to merit more than one spotlighted solo. They don’t hold a candle to Dolly Parton or Charlie Daniels’ hoedown magic.
And then there’s Maines — The Star.
Since it was the tour’s last gig, it was as if Maines was putting on her waitress uniform for the last time. Like she couldn’t wait to burn it.
Actually, her fashion choice was odd: a flowing, white jacket that looked like “Thriller”-meets-Holly Hobbie. The jacket was complimented with an ill-advised pair of pleated gabardine shorts.
The shorts did, however, show off Maines’ creamy gams. And her footwear was killer: a blinding pair of patent-leather fuck-me pumps. But in Maines’ case, they might be fuck-you pumps.
Maines made a few jokes between songs.
She gave PinkIsTheNewBlog two great plugs and encouraged everyone to check out Britney Spears’ latest crotch-flashing paparazzi shots. After some digs at K-Fed, the Chicks busted out “White Trash Wedding.”
11 songs vacillated between corny clap-along fun and newer, soulful material.
The night came to a dramatic halt as they belted out “Not Ready to Make Nice.”
Audience members unfurled banners that read “F.U.W.” and “We’re ashamed, too!”
When the song ended, there was a standing ovation. And for the first time that night, Maines smiled.
The Chicks’ musical arrangements were as straightforward as you can get. No daring musical interpretations. The concert was like listening to a mix of their albums. Except for the noticeable tension, the Dallas gig was “nice” and about as phoned in as it gets.
Maines seems ready to chase the tails of Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen. While they seem like sweet bandmates, Robison and Maguire might not fit into that mold. And except for their backup vocals, Robison and Maguire didn’t utter a single word the entire night.
How would they take their final stage bow? It was like watching a leaf break away from a tree.
For the last gig on the tour, you’d expect a victory lap with the three Chicks holding hands.
After performing a few silly-looking curtsies, Maines left the stage and walked off by herself. Robison and Maguire followed behind Maines with their arms around each other.
And just like the “Hail to the Chief” opener, there seemed to be a message when the lights came up and Elton John’s “The Bitch is Back” was cranked up.
It’s a bet and probably a safe one. But I’m predicting that Natalie Maines’ Dixie Chick days are over.
But this weekend, Elvira: Mistress of the Dark descends on Dallas as her alter ego — Cassandra Peterson — to kick off the opening of Upstaged, a new comedy club in the Lower Greenville District.
Peterson was born in Manhattan, Kan., and raised in Colorado Springs. After finishing high school, she chased her dream of becoming the next Ann-Margret and bolted to Las Vegas. There, at the age of 17, she became the youngest showgirl in the city’s history.
“Now there could be fetuses performing for all I know,” Peterson cracks with comedic flair.
In her early 20s, she fronted the rock band I Latins 80 and toured Italy, where she met director Federico Fellini, who cast Peterson in his most artistically ambitious film, “Roma.”
When she got back to the U.S., Peterson eventually settled in Los Angeles and joined the satiric improvisational troupe The Groundlings.
“I think I was always pretty much a comedian. I felt more comfortable doing comedy than anything serious. So when I saw The Groundlings, I knew that this was what I wanted to do,” she says from her home office in Los Angeles.
Alongside such notable comics as Paul Ruebens (Pee Wee Herman), Phil Hartman, Laraine Newman and Julia Sweeney, Peterson honed her skills as a writer and performer.
But it wasn’t until the early ’80s — when she unleashed her gothic wisecracking persona, Elvira — that audiences took notice of her voluptuous form and vampish wit.
Although she doesn’t exactly look like she’d fit in alongside Betty Friedan or Gloria Steinem, Peterson does consider her alter ego to be a strong feminist role model.
“I may be the only person who thinks that way. But in my opinion, Elvira stands up for herself. She doesn’t let men push her around. She makes her decisions and screws up on her own but gets herself out of her own screwups. Men do not come along and save me in my movies,” Peterson explains.
As further evidence, Peterson cites Elvira’s daring fashion choices — and the fact that “she’s very proud of her breasts. She doesn’t hide them.”
According to Peterson, Elvira’s loyal lesbian following solidifies her status as a feminist heroine.
“Lesbians aren’t going to like some wimp. The fact that I have a large lesbian following is a testament to the character’s strength and individuality,” Peterson says.
How strong are her ties to the lesbian community?
To this day, Melissa Etheridge attributes her coming out to Peterson.
In 1992, Peterson was making a public appearance at the gay and lesbian inauguration ball for President Clinton.
“I went out and said, ‘I’m not a lesbian. But I could be talked into it.’ And K.D. Lang ran over and threw me back in a big romantic kiss. So Melissa got up and said, ‘I’m not a lesbian. But I could be talked into it.’ So I ran out and threw her back and gave [Melissa] a big kiss. When she came back up, Melissa said, ‘Hey, guess what? I am a lesbian,’” Peterson giggles.
“She came out right after that. When I’ve run into Melissa afterwards she told me, ‘If it wasn’t for, you I would’ve never have come out that day,’” Peterson continues.
This weekend, Peterson joins the Lone Star Comedy troupe as a favor to fellow Groundlings member and gay Upstaged owner, Randy Bennett.
“It will be the first time I’ve done improv in millions of years. Randy asked me to do the show. And I said yes — not realizing that I forgot how to do improv,” Peterson laughs. “It should be really interesting. I hate to disappoint anyone. But the Elvira thing isn’t going to fit in much on the stage. I’ll be doing Cassandra Peterson — for one of the first and only times that you may ever see me do that.”
Cassandra Peterson performs at Upstaged, 1802A Greenville Ave. on Fri-Sat. Seating starts at 7:15 p.m., show at 8 p.m. Free. Two-drink minimum required. 214-827-7070.
