control

just like everyone else in town, we went to see the ian curtis biopic control... in a lovely theater as well, small-screened with bright stars scattered across the ceiling.

sam riley, playing ian curtis, is absolutely stunning in a way men can be only before they turn 24, when men still have fragile dreams and can walk down the street as ladykillers in a slim suit.

ladies allow men a lot of leeway when they're like that. his behavior would simply be annoying if he were my age, paunchy and bloated from years of alcohol and drug abuse. it would also make no sense that the two women in his life would remain so attached.

and as far as music is concerned, movies like this love to celebrate the tortured, self-destructive artist. preferably young and really really hot.

in my life at work and at home, so many more brilliant things have been accomplished with group work, however tormented and chaotic it may be. i wouldn't say that working with a large group of international artists was one of the easier and smooth things i've done in my life--nothing will turn your hair grey than juggling many personalities, but it is usually worth it whether the project turns out to be a disaster or a success. bands and groups can be petty, small-minded and self-destructive, but there wouldn't be a wonderful underground in places like los angeles if the surface weren't so conservative. at least it's something to react against to make a positive change.

after the tragic end, i teased T with our ongoing joke over the years, "when you were in a band touring around different countries, did you have a lot of groupies?"

"No, never," he says with that mona lisa smile of his. "I didn't have any!"

"But you were the singer, don't they usually choose a pretty boy to be the singer?" My friends and I always say this, it's become ritual now. "Did they throw roses on the stage? Did they try to kiss you?"

"What are you talking about?" He never talks about these things, just like our friend B, who's a natural ladykiller and at ease with most all women and going around with three or four girls at a time who smother him with love. they're the kind of men that women gravitate to, and they feel no need to boast or obsess.

A old school r & b manager told me all his battle tales about musicians and artists he'd managed a decade ago. talk about dealing with groups of temperamental, difficult people! A huge problem was always the competition between two touring artists, especially if one got more girls than the other. "Some guys got it, they don't even have to try. And others don't. And they're just hatin on it--guys just hate that some other guy got it."

"I know. If a guy's got it, he doesn't talk about it. The guys that are always talking about chicks try so hard, and it doesn't work. No wonder they're frustrated. I wish I could make a magic potion to bottle it, it'd make me rich," i said. maybe even start up a company with the idea since i'm near silicon valley anyway.

it would put all the neurotic men's magazines out of business, with their pages and pages dedicated to acquiring the perfect six pack and bizarre "systems" for picking up "hot chicks." i read those at my gym every day, and they've made me really insecure about my own six pack which doesn't exist and whether or not my hair's thinning and if i've got a hot car--stop! too much psychosis! i always have to put those magazines down or i'll absorb the classic middle class male mid life criss by osmosis even though i'm a woman.

which brings me back to the original topic--not to mock the tragedy of ian curtis' life, but it just shows that women aren't really that different from men on the inside. it's just that i'm not ridiculously handsome and gangly enough to get away with murder...