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60 Second Stand-Up With Kreayshawn CultistZine

I interviewed Katie Stelmanis of Austra about being a queer role model, celebrity crushes and YouTube. Read a preview below, and get the full interview here.

"Thanks to the Internet, not only are we able to more easily monitor the behaviors of our exes without fear of restraining orders, we’re also more likely to fall in to the trap of paying money to see a band that rips our hearts out on Spotify and then totally deflates our dreams with 45 minutes of technical difficulties and janky live sound. Such is not the case with Austra, the Toronto-based goth-popera (goth+pop+opera) band, who sounds approximately 42,000 times better in real life than on my (very fancy) home speakers, thanks to lead singer Katie Stelmanis‘ bellowing, beautiful voice. Austra, which means “Goddess Of Light” in Latvian mythology and is also Stelmanis’ middle name, not-so-recently headlined the El Rey theater in Los Angeles, where they transformed the chandelier and velvet draped ballroom into a (metaphorical) medieval Gothic cathedral equally fit for a rave and ritual sacrifice, complete with macabre stain glass windows and decapitated Jesus statues and so many other sacrilegious icons my imagination completely dreamed up (I was not on ecstasy, just a bit of vodka).”…

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Criminal Hygiene - Sold in the City

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Altamont Presents: Cultistzine

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Call me a gullible sap. Call me a fag. Call me a fag hag, even. Sticks and stones, people. Sticks and stones. Dan Bodan stabs and soothes like icy-hot while channeling a twisted, lovesick, seedy James Blake in this tragically romantic video for “Aaron,” which will no doubt unearth chilling memories of your tempestuous relationship with a sketchy coke addict (if you ever had one, not that I did, or maybe I did, but just saying). Ghostlike, flamboyant, raw, raunchy, and explosive, like bubble gum and pre-ejaculate, with desperate, youthful longing, it’s one of the most homoerotic and uncomfortable videos I’ve seen in a while. And I love it. The cherubic Bodan, with his blonde hair, big blue eyes, and backwards baseball cap, has a youthful charm which begs for a hug at the 2:13 mark when he releases a piercing cry that is unmistakably one of pure heartbreak and unadulterated desire. An earnest cry; a jarring reminder of many late nights, of getting fucked up, of sitting on a stoop, of shivering, of watching the back of the one you thought you loved (who you thought loved you, too) walking away from you after he’s come and you’re coming down from cheap booze and crappy drugs.

Bodan makes intense, unbroken eye contact that will cause you to squirm and avert his gaze as it goes on way too long, as he talks about the betrayal and the scent of cum and tourist dick on the one he loves (I bet you didn’t know you could identify a tourist by the smell of his penis), and speaks, idealistically, of growing up and the problems it will solve, blissfully ignorant of the problems it will cause.

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This song reminds me of open roads and cigarettes and beat up Volvos and high-school sweethearts and long distance relationships and the freshman year of college I spent weeping into my pillow on Valium. Read the full write up at Cultistzine.

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