“How many people have you slept with?”
Jealous lovers have hurled the very same question at me on many occasions. But this time, it was just Momus, the Scottish singer, songwriter and artist who was visiting New York City for the month of May. He was here to appear in a performance entitled “Love is the End of Art,” with dancer and artist Aki Sasamoto at the Zach Feuer Gallery. He’s one multi-talented motherfucker: He was also reading from his two forthcoming books at Bushwick’s Starr Space and last, but hardly least, gracing the Highline Ballroom his Momuthon, a three-hour retrospective of his 30-year career in song.
Forty-five years old, with wispy blond hair and a stylish eye patch, the Berlin-based Momus affects the pirate look due to damaging his eye with an infected contact lens some years back.
Sipping Jack Daniels around 3 a.m., the four of us were wedged into a booth at 1020, a dive bar hangout frequented by Columbia students; Momus, Aki, me and my young protégé. It was truth or dare time.
Momus’ obsessions include Japan, the avant-garde and sex. He’s sung about pedophilia, necrophilia and even explores the cultural significance of cumming in a girl’s mouth. But my favorite Momus lyrics muses, “If I could thank all the people I’ve ever slept with.” So his bald question didn’t surprise me. In my case, if I could thank everyone I’ve slept with, they’d have to be crammed like sardines into a banquet hall.
Following in the large footprints of Jimi Hendrix, on Valentine’s Day 1998 Momus had his penis immortalized by the notorious groupie Cynthia Plaster Caster. Although he professes to be well endowed, getting wet plaster dabbed on his wang proved to be a turnoff, rendering his soft bits much less grandiose. Still, he confessed to having bedded triple digits (same with Aki), while my pet had racked up merely dozens. “So we can say that the four of us have had more sex than most people," Momus pronounced proudly.
From across the table, Aki confided in us about another bodily function. “I usually only shit every three weeks,” she claimed in her charming Japanese accent. We were skeptical. Maybe she just gives too much to her work, leaving herself without anything else to expel.
Momus said it best in his song: “I’d like to thank everyone I have ever slept with/ Thank you from the bottom of my heart/ And from the heart of my bottom, I know it must be rotten/ To provide the raw material for art.”
