Girls Against Boys: House of GVSB

by Marcelle Karp

Vogueing represents an entire aesthetic -- a combination of dress, dance moves and of course, attitude. Jennie Livingston's 1992 documentary, Paris is Burning, shed a lot of light on that whole world. In that film, it was apparent that the very competitive, cliquish "houses" that competed against each other took their work very seriously. In contests every bit as cutthroat as the modeling world, members of the different houses would sashay down their own catwalk, strutting their stuff. And each person knew he was the shit.

The members of the House of GVSB -- Alexis Fleisig, Eli Janney, Scott McCloud and Johnny Temple -- don't have a dress code, nor do they strike a pose, but they will make "your body lose control."

I know what you're thinking: she's going to tell me that GVSB are dark, sexy and provocative and that their latest (their third full-length release from Touch & Go and their final one before they head up to the majors and the House of Geffen) is another perfect record to do the groove thing to.

Well, listen, before you get all cynical and frigid on me, let me lay some things on you. I played House of GVSB for a lover and much to my pleasure, was treated to extremely delicious results. My dog always licks herself whenever she hears GVSB.

It's not a coincidence that the word "sexy" or any other variation of it is thrown around a lot when describing GVSB. Without ever seeing them (just think: when was the last time you saw a GVSB video on the almighty MTV, although that will change soon), there is an inherently sultry quality about their music. That these average white boys from Washington, DC (now NYC), are the best-looking boys in the world is incidental; they sound like they're sporting the biggest hunk of wood you'll ever see, they're about to burst, and if it's all over you, imagine how delightful would that be!

With GVSB it's not just the attitude that is a turn-on -- it's the anticipation. That groin-tingling howl, the cascading drums, the dueling basses, the songs that aren't really catchy or melodious yet so resonant that they explode. GVSB pulse. GVSB vibrate. Phrases like "Don't you know that nothing satisfies" are gems of carnal knowledge. Picture it in your mind: four (male) bodies, grinding away on these instruments, fast, faster, hard, harder, in and out. Sigh.

It begins with two words: Scott McCloud.

McCloud is a master crooner. But he is not a very accomplished singer; he couldn't, for instance, do the things that Nick Cave does. He is more of a spouter, like the Fall's Mark E. Smith, without the whine. It's the combination of McCloud's nasty nicotine-and-whisky-gutted gruffness, plus his way around the words, that sets you on fire. "Yeah, you can tell me how you feel," he dares on "Click Click" in such an offhanded manner that you do indeed feel like "rising to the occasion." McCloud will caress you as he f*cks you over. "Maybe I'm obsessive/ Maybe I'm addicted" he mutters in "Disco Six Six Six," and with the way his salacious tongue lingers on the "sixxxxx," the devil's sign is actually more of a prick-tease than an ominous portent. McCloud has the ability to take the average word and instinctively whip his dick all over it. Kind of like a Magic Wand.

Then there's the band's dual basses. I have this image of Eli Janney straddling his tool and of Johnny Temple standing with his legs so very far apart that he could probably lick his own back. Both are wearing wraparound sunglasses cuz they're so fly. They rumble, they prowl, they throb, giving everything that extra edge, that special something, raising the blood pressure, raising the stakes. It's this attitude, this all-or-nothing snarl that sets these guys apart from every other red-blooded four-piece boy-band around. In "TheKindaMzkYouLike," when McCloud admits that he's "feeling kinda fast" the band backs him up and it's loud, it's guttural, it f*cks you up.

On House of GVSB, the boys are not shy about letting you know what's on their mind: Sex. Lots of sex. Some songs, such as "Life in Pink," start out slow and smooth, like a candlelit seduction but slowly turn fierce and wild as McCloud's crazy scream propels everything -- cymbals and guitars and bass and drums -- into a frenzied, chaotic grind. "Crash 17 X-Rated Car)" is a sultry porn movie going 75 miles an hour. The sexy, dark strum in "Zodiac Love Team" is as intoxicating as McCloud's tease: "For a good time call...." These boys are on fire, and they can't wait to tickle your love muscle, taunt you to desperation, to take you from behind.

Let's face it, they're cool as f*ck. The words "sexy," "sultry" and "sensual" could never do justice to these hard-as-nails rock & roll psycho hearts. Listening to House of GVSB gives you a vivid idea of, as McCloud puts it in "Superfire," "what the f*ck is going on" in this casa del soul.