Wednesday, June 10, 2009

I'd Like to Try and Read Your Palm -- New York Lower East Side [Fairy] Tale...

Some things are only fairy tales... some things once were, but now are gone. Some lived, some were vivacious, some were the reasons other people lived, but then those few died. They floated away into their big Silver Factory in the sky. Some became secluded, living only with the memories of Sunday mornings past, with the distant sounds of Maria Callas ringing in their newly deaf ears. Those times, the speed-fueled times at parties, the inflation of floating silver pillows, the painting of paper dresses, the sounds of mallets pounding drums, the sound of screeching violas, the deep, beautiful droan of an even more beautiful German chantuese... those are all just memories of fairy tales lived.

This beautiful chantuese, this tall, blonde, immaculate thing, is the ledgendarily tragic Nico. She is the fairy tale that once was. She is my personal fairy tale, a favorite story loved to be heard over and over, a picture book that can be gazed at endlessly. She is my Cinderella, she is Andy's Cinderella. I don't know what attracted me to her, but I am. Maybe it was her voice that is totally unique to herself. Her voice is a voice that cannot be mimiced, even by the best of impersonators. Maybe it is her undeniable beauty. The ice blue eyes, the ash blonde hair, that willowy build, the full mouth, square jaw, all just scream beauty. Maybe it was the fairy dust that lines all the stories about her. The sprinkles of fairy dust that falls from the sky when people talk about her. When she is called immaculate, fairy dust appears. Nico is sparkles, Nico is magic, Nico is the fairy tale that once was. A fairy tale that lived. A fairy tale that fell and died 21 years ago.

Nico was born Krista Paffgen in Cologne, Germany on 16 October 1938. She grew up with her mother and grandmother. Her father was killed in a concentration camp. Growing up in Berlin during WWI, she remembered hearing the bombs go off and hiding in a bathtub. She lost part of her hearing due to the bombs. She ended up tone deaf. At 13, she left school and began to sell lingarie. Years later, she became a model in Berlin. After that, she worked for Chanel and moved to Paris. Then she became an actress and had a small role in Fellini's La Dolce Vita. After that, she arrived in New York, where she met the grand master daddy of pop art, Andy Warhol.

After Edie, Nico became Andy's new superstar. She was beautiful, femine yet masculine in a wardrobe of suits and riding boots, and knew a ton of European languages. Around this time, she developed an interest in singing. She left a demo of "I'm Not Sayin'" with Andy and he just brushed it off. Then he met the Velvet Underground and Andy didn't think Lou Reed was strong enough to be a frontman. Andy's righthand man Gerard Malanga reminded Andy about Nico and her demo. Andy introduced the group to Nico and then began the whirlwind romances of Nico and the two power houses of the group John Cale and Lou Reed.

Lou wasn't happy with Nico joining the group, she wanted to sing all of the songs. She wanted to sing "I'm Waiting for the Man" and "Heroin" both songs about subjects the two singers knew all too well about. Lou instead gave Nico "physcological love songs" to sing instead. Lou also tried to act like the big macho man with Nico. He was snippy with her. He would snub her and try to hurt her with cold remarks but she would wait, and bite back with a meaner remark, such as "I am no longer sleeping with Jews." John was much nicer to Nico (Because John is so totally cool and gallant).

Anyway, Nico was a horrible drug addict. Heroin made the whimsical girl a mean person. She supplied heroin ot her son and made him an addict. Yet, though she did that, Nico still fascinates me.

As I said, Nico was beautiful, she had a beautiful voice, her personality was enigmatic. Nico kind of made everything all right when I heard her voice. She inspired the "Femme Fatal" stuff I'm so totally into. I dress like her, I try to look like her, I admire her. Nico is beauty. Nico is my fairy tale. Nico is my regretless Joan of Arc. Nico is the fairy tale that once was.

"Regrets? I have no regrets... only that I was born a woman and not a man."

1 comment:

  1. Nico was magic indeed. The entire Warhol's Factory crew was, wasn't it? All those beautiful, beautiful freaks placed together, making art...
    & I love the way you write.


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