hey, cute fat girl!
						<continued from previous page> I turn to my new fave toy, electroclash (a toy rapidly fading and falling apart at the seams, but what the fuck - ride 'em till they're raw, I always say) - but wouldn't you know it? There's nothing there. Now I understand that the appeal of the whole electroshit schtick is that we're all living in nightclubs, eating only pills and drinking nothing but each other's juices. But that's not the only way to let yourself go, y'know. Elegant and wasted is fine, but don't forget wasting your elegance: born beautiful and casting it to the winds by eating hamburgers as well as drugs; eschewing water for full-fat Coke and dancing for lying in a corner getting eaten out. I ain't gettin' that. I'm gettin' Electrocute, and Whatever It Takes, and Avenue D. I'm gettin' just another way for the pretty skinny ladies to parade their wares and demonstrate to the world their traditional mainstream sexual attractiveness. Bo-RING.
				And while I know that W.I.T. are just a parody created by Larry Tee with a bunch of models, and that Avenue D sing hilarious songs about how wussy emo boys should just shut the fuck up and stick it in, sometimes what it comes down to is wanting to see some traditionally 'unattractive' female - someone young and cute, but hell, you couldn't see her ribcage even if you tore her apart with a mechanical digger - up onstage in a pair of ruffly shorts and a boob tube and a drum machine really giving it some and not giving a shit. AND I'M NOT GETTING THAT. And fuck, I'm sick of not getting what I want.
So what's bought all this on? I mean, it's been like this for years, right. What's the big deal? This is the big deal. Har Mar Fucking Superstar. That's the big deal. I mean, did you ever see such a big meedja fuss about a little guy? Let's face it, it ain't about the music. No - what it's all about is that he's pig-slit UGLY and proud as all hell. We all know that's a good look - for a guy. Watch him slip out of his shorts and ooze across the stage! Admire him on his back in a cheesy motel room with a naked-breasted lovely on either side! Photograph him pinching his giant man-tits and ruffling their silky hairs! I'm hip to it, yeah, but I'm mad as all hell. How come, after all this time, men can get away with the fat ugly and thus rebellious shit - and chicks still can't? Where's the female Har Mar? How come chicks in alternative music still gotta fit their tits into a mainstream corset? Where are the proud pot bellies? Of course, this is partly women's fault. Ain't it always. We're the ones who continually vote for old ugly dudes on the Men I'd Like To Fuck lists, as though females are somehow blind to male pulchritude. We're the ones who've written much of the slathering copy about Har Mar - and doesn't that just make all the little boys feel good about themselves? Hey! Chicks dig the ugly shit! I can just keep on going with my little hip-hop belly! And conversely, it's us chicks who are the first ones to hissy-fit if some girl makes it to the page without being properly airbrushed first. Focus-group femmes pretend to want 'real' chicks in magazines, and then curl their lips and go 'Oh. My. God. Did you SEE the SIZE of her ass! She's like one of those rap guys' girlfriends!' when some bitch bigger than a 12 struts her stuff on a magazine mock-up. Feh.						"where's the female Har Mar Superstar?"
				Enough of all this. There's not much I personally can do about it, save pile on the pounds and get hold of a Groovebox and all that crap, and that sounds far too much like hard work to me. And besides, what's really important is the music, right? Who cares what the singer looks like, if the sound ain't shit? I couldn't agree more, and so I reiterate: bring on the fat chicks! So is there any respite from a bland size eight electro landscape? Um, yes. There is one band who give me shivers down my spine and a hope for the future... Gravy Train!!!! are three fat sluts, one fat dude, and one impossibly cute and skinny gayboy, and it don't get much sweeter than that. Their music is a cavalcade of cheap Eighties synths and car boot sale drum machines; their lyrics are mile-a-minute girly raps about bisexual threesomes, hamburgers, catholic upbringings and men who are 'long in the face and short in the wiener'. Entirely sweet, but it's the CD fold-out sleeve I want to you to observe. Look. Fishnets and silver sequinned shorts on glorious asses. Look. A tight t-shirt hoiked up to show a phat belly of white perfection. Look: big pink mouths; whore-red hair cascading round a gorgeous face: gym shorts, knee socks, rolls of cute fat, bouncing titties; pleated skirts with suspenders, and choreographed dance routines incorporating spankings and aerobics and ass-fucking. Whoa. If that don't get you hot you're probably my ex-boyfriend, and I'll be seein' ya. Gravy Train!!! show a way forward for fat sexy electro chicks. Confident, filthy, and in your face: here's hoping they're trail-blazers, and not just a flash in the pan. This article previously appeared in Careless Talk Costs Lives Magazine. Please order a copy from their website. Support the independent music press! © AMP 2K+

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