Tomorrow night, I will see Bauhaus. I bought the ticket as a birthday present to myself, and it has had pride of place on my fridge ever since. Soon, the waiting will be over, and I will, with luck, be close enough to the stage to smell the band’s sweat.
I almost didn’t buy the ticket, being out of the habit of going to see live shows, and thinking this one in particular obscenely expensive. But then, I remembered how much I loved Bauhaus back in the day, and I realized that I would never forgive myself if I didn’t go.
So, I’m going. Whee!
Listening to In the Flat Field tonight, it occurred to me that Bauhaus was never an especially cool band to like. They lacked the “cred” of peers like Joy Division or Pere Ubu, and they weren’t nearly as intellectually aloof as Wire. Still, I couldn’t have cared less, because the band was so brilliantly sexy and campy and fun.
This, I think, is what the music critics missed: that goth was, at least for a little while, camp. More to the point, it was a form of camp that women were allowed to participate in. How better to send up femininity—which is always, infuriatingly, expected—than by dolling up in torn fishnets, corset, and black lipstick, while your date for the evening sports his best waterproof eyeliner and feather boa? As every teenaged vampire knows, goth is equal opportunity drag, which is a rare treat for a girl. Especially one who likes a mean guitar riff.
Speaking of drag, I wonder what I’ll wear tomorrow? Hmm...