Boys Keep Swinging

by Jake Shears

  I could say she’s still with me, but she only remains in my life as a memory and a tattoo on my arm. Mary’s gone. When she left, rather than sticking around, she took a part of me with her. I hope that wherever she is now, she knows it’s in her possession.

  I WAS WALKING THROUGH CENTRAL Park, on my way to band rehearsal with the Warhol photo under my arm, the one I’d bought on the day of Mary’s death. I had just picked it up from the gallery. It was an easy stop after my visit to my shrink.

  I spotted Lou Reed, dressed in black, taking a stroll. I said hello and we walked together.

  “You making the record?” he asked in his low voice.

  “It’s done. Just finished mixing in those studios behind Hammerstein Ballroom.”

  “You happy?”

  “You mean—happy with life or happy with the record?”

  “Both.” He looked straight ahead. I felt like we were spies, meeting in the park to have a secret conversation.

  “I guess so. I got really depressed.”

  “Happens.”

  “I think the ride wore me out.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Nah, there doesn’t seem to be much time for them anymore.”

  “All the people I knew that used to keep ducking into bathrooms at parties . . . one day, they just stopped coming out.”

  “Didn’t happen to you,” I said.

  “Could have. Easily.”

  “Well, you’re alive and can tell the tale. You’re a fucking hero, Lou.”

  “I’m not a hero,” he said. “I’m just here.”

  Ana and Scott were intensely inspecting a T-shirt design on his laptop screen when I entered the rehearsal space. John Garden, our keyboard player, and Paddy were taking naps on the couch while Derek was crouched down futzing with his guitar pedals. It was our first rehearsal for the first shows for the second album, which I’d named Ta-dah, a sardonic title given the strains of expectation that had been foisted upon it.

  The band gave me hugs. It was the first time I’d seen everyone since Mary’s funeral. But there was a grim sense in the air, a distrust among all of us that we’d be able to survive an onslaught anything like the last one. But we were all there, together. We had defied common logic and made it far enough to be starting again, even if we were still a little broken.

  Ana took my hand. There were tears welling in her eyes. “This is gonna hurt for a long time,” she said. “It’s never going to go away.” She would know. Her father passed away when she was a teenager.

  Everyone roused themselves to prepare for the painful first plays of the new songs; they could really sound like shit at the start of rehearsals. There was never much for me to do except warm up my voice, no analog synths to look after, no guitars to tune. But this whole thing was one big instrument, one that I was still learning to play and maintain. It wasn’t going to be easy to master, but God, I was so truly glad to have it. To have them.

  Guitars were strapped on, Ana and I stood across from each other in front of our mic stands, our sound guy gave us the thumbs-up. I glanced around the room, doing a lazy spin.

  “Everybody ready?”

  My dad, Archibald Borders Sellards, at age twenty-four, 1952, in Safford, Arizona.

  Age three, most likely listening to Barbara Mandrell.

  Chillin’ with my sweet pops. Was probably about five.

  Doing my best nine-year-old impression of Henry Fonda in On Golden Pond.

  Me and my second-grade teacher, Ms. Brown. The first of many teachers I would force to be my friend.

  My sixth-grade teacher, Ms. Dyer, and me on my front porch. We had quite the rapport.

  Jennifer Lebert and me during my eighth-grade year. We’d become such good friends we decided to take a school picture together.

  Which one of these things is not like the other? My family sometime around 1996.

  Mary and me in my dorm room at Occidental in 1996.

  The night of the blackout. At the Slide. Looks like someone is tipping me for old times’ sake.

  Having a dinner date with Anderson in Rome. Summer 2001.

  This was at a loft party at Joe Corcoran’s loft. Scott and I are singing Electrobix, and if I’m not mistaken, this is the night we asked Ana to join the band.

  January 2003, playing a gig in SF, when we were a threesome.

  Me, John Cameron Mitchell, and Mark Tusk at some house party. John and I would go on to make the “Filthy/Gorgeous” music video.

  Scott and me, having just finished the tracking for LP1 at the Shed in New York. On the mixing desk, you can see we had a little shrine to some heroes that included Dolly Parton, the Bee Gees, and Gizmo.

  In our fineries, shooting the “Take Your Mama” video.

  Scott and me in the studio with Bryan Ferry in Scott’s apartment. We recorded “Heartache by Numbers,” which ended up going on his album Olympia.

  In England, holding our first Gold Records.

  The first night I met Elton and George, in February 2004.

  Scott, me, and Elton writing on the Colosseum stage at Caesars Palace. Spring 2005.

  Me and Scott with the Heatherette crew. They made a lot of stuff for me for stage at the time and really embodied the spirit of NYC in 2004. From left clockwise: Traver Rains, Richie Rich, Aimee Phillips, Scott Hoffman, Amanda Lepore, Macky Dugan, and me.

  In the studio for the first time with Kylie Minogue, making “I Believe in You” in 2004.

  Maybe my favorite look. Nothing but women’s Vivienne Westwood shorts and tiny suspenders. 2004.

  V Festival 2004.

  T in the Park, Scotland. I was inspired at lunch and turned our tablecloths into an outfit.

  Tokyo, 2004. Fee Jones putting a look together; she designed the majority of our stuff during this time.

  Brighton, 2004, shooting our live DVD.

  Glastonbury, 2004. Another Fee look. If anyone knows where this outfit is, I’d really like it back, thanks.

  The night we fell in love. Glastonbury, 2004.

  Our drummer Paddy Boom out on the street with Johnny Blue Eyes while shooting the “Filthy/Gorgeous” video, 2005.

  Our first time in Russia, 2005. From left to right: Paddy Boom (Patrick Seacor), Ana Matronic, me, Babydaddy (Scott Hoffman), Del Marquis (Derek Gruen), and our keyboard player, J. J. Garden.

  Ana and I during our first Barcelona show, when we were all deathly sick. My lack of food that week was probably good for the abs.

  Not sure what show, or where, but I’m probably spotting a hot guy in the balcony.

  First of all, this wasn’t even my idea. I got an email one day from Rakesh Satyal, who thought it would be neat if I wrote a book about my life. At first, I didn’t take him very seriously. But after hanging out a couple times and talking about our mutual love of books, I realized he meant business. Rakesh has kept a steadfast belief in me and in this book, without which I wouldn’t have had the confidence to create it. Thank you, Rakesh, and everyone at Atria, for making this possible. I will forever be grateful for this awesome opportunity.

  Writing it has taken exactly two years and has been a strange, difficult, but ultimately rewarding experience. It’s always been a dream of mine, except I always thought I would start with fiction, and that a memoir would come later. The main reason being, I really wanted to wait for my parents to have moved on from this planet, so they wouldn’t have to suffer through reading about all my shenanigans. There are lots of gruesome details you never really want your mom and dad to know about your life. That said, they have been so supportive with this whole thing. So, thank you, Mom and Dad. And the rest of my family: Windi, Sheryl, Montana, Caleb, Sophie, Sonya, Avery, and Kathleen. All the Sellards and the Rectors.

  Two years ago, I had a big life transition moment and I bought a one-way ticket to New Orleans. It was always a dream to move down there. I went, not knowing a soul, and started a new chapter. I felt the city’s embrace immediately: Suzie Jagger Richards, never having even met me, took me in l
ike one of her stray cats and told me, the moment I arrived, that New Orleans was my new home. She was correct. Though I split my time now between there and LA, that’s exactly what it feels like down there. Home. Other amazing people who I owe huge gratitude to are Megan Few, Diogo Lima, Chris Alfieri, Mac Warren, Kyan Douglas, Granite, Stacey Hoover, Carrie Estes, Heather Hansen, Adam Skidmore, Caroline Bozier, Jody Day, Huzefa Dossaji, David Schulman, Dan Burton, Dan Davis, and Chance van Meter.

  A big thank-you to my dear pals who read drafts and really helped me reconstruct and reconsider. Andy Slaught, Martin Pousson, Michael Warner, Craig Macneil, Tim Kvanofsky, Deanne Reynolds, and Lex Gjurasic. Thank you for being such great, loving friends.

  Eve Barlow really helped at a crucial time, and brought her music-writing brain, and asked me when I needed to hear it: “What the fuck are you even talking about?” Her feedback was crucial in turning what was a blob into a book.

  To Scissor Sisters: I hope I did us some kind of justice. Ana, Scott, Del, Paddy, JJ, I miss and love you. I’m so proud of what we all accomplished. We made a lot of people very happy.

  The Consuelos family: Kelly, Mark, Lola, Michael Joaquin, and Chewie. You all bring me so many lols, so much love. Your Gruncle treasures you.

  The Homme family: Josh, Brody, Jason, TR, Mommie Homme, Big Mike, Camille, Ryder, Wolf, and of course Bob. Thank you for bringing this Domesticated Animal in years ago, even though I wasn’t exactly housebroken at first. You all mean so much to me.

  Caleb Barclay, I wouldn’t trade our friendship for anything. We’ve had a couple really fun fucking years. And son, get ready. You’re next.

  To my favorite band, Queens of the Stone Age. You treat your stalkers very very well.

  Carrie Brownstein: I’ve never had the pleasure to meet you. But Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl was released soon after I started this thing. It’s had a huge influence on this book, structurally and spiritually. Thank you for writing it.

  Chris Mourkabel, thank you for all those years of love and support. I’ll always cherish the good times and memories.

  To my manager, Neil Harris: I’m so happy the gang’s back together. We’re gonna slay it.

  Justina Heckard, you are a joy and I feel very lucky to work with you every day. Thank you for all that you do.

  Sammy Jo, Texxx, and Jeremy Lingvall: Please never contact me again.

  Amber Martin: Mummaahhhhh.

  Justin Vivian Bond: Thank you for injecting the juice into this world. You are one of my life’s greatest inspirations.

  Kevin Ratterman: Someone saved my life tonight.

  Elton, David, Zachary, and Elijah: Thank you for always always always being there. Britney doesn’t know what she’d have done without your love and support all these years.

  Tom Donaghy: I will always be your puppet man.

  Lance Horne: Round 2, please.

  I know I’m forgetting a million people, and if you don’t see your name here, just know I love you. . . .

  Larry Mark, Eric Polito, Alex Rhida, Nadine Blesses, Cody Critcheloe, Jacob Glass, Angela Becker, and Stuart Price, Ned Atkins, Taylor Brechtel, Jennifer and Mat Lebert and fam, Aram Kirakosian, Andy Towle, Mario Diaz, the Miccelli family, Michael Cunningham, Darren Dryden, Mike Doyle, Lucy Blackburn, Texxxx, DJ King Atlas, Michael Stipe and Thomas Dozal, Luke Gilford, Kim Hastreiter and David Hershkovits, Drew Elliot, Jackie Sue Netherton, Raphael Chatelain, Sean Belman, Hush, Jeff Whitty, Mitchell Kulkin, Tommie Sunshine and Tiny Daniela, Sandra Bernhard, James O’Neill and Bryan O’Sullivan, Kylie Minogue, Leanne Buckham, Leo Herrera, Blythe Russo, Adam Dugas, Anne-Marie Hess, Seth Sharp, Christine and Paul Waring, Christine Ronan, Oliver Daley, Aimee Phillips, Rod Thomas, Andy Cohen, Mr. Turk and Trina Turk, Dan Savage and Terry Miller, Adam Lambert, Lara Schoenhals, Nick Willox, Tim Hailand, Elton John and David Furnish, Suzannah Constantine, Ben Hudson, Darren Criss and Mia Swier, Drew Strauss, Travis Greisler, Jason Moore, Richard and Laurie Stark, Craig Pfunder, Dave Givan, Anderson Cooper, Benjamin Maisani, Nashom Wooden, Daniel Nardicio, Orla Lee, Rachael Harris and Christian Hebel (and Henry), Ed Droste and Simon Renggli, Sam Sparro and Zion Lennox, Charlie Carver, Larry Mark, Alex Miller, Max Hershenow, Casey Spooner, Adam DiCarlo, Suzanne Geiss, Mike Jackson, Justin Kelly, JB Ghuman, Julie Knowles, Gail Solod, Amaryllis Knight and Ian Barry, Thed Jewel, Matty Pipes, Moises Kaufman, Sam Marionni, Chris Cruse, Brian Emrich, Rio and Libby Hackford, and of course the O’Keefes at Queensdale (love you, Tara).

  And Adam. You are my dreamiest dream. I love you so much.

  JAKE SHEARS is the lead singer of the multiplatinum-selling glam rock band Scissor Sisters. Born in Arizona, he grew up in the Seattle area before moving to New York City, where he studied fiction writing at The New School. He wrote the music for Tales of the City, a 2011 stage musical based on Armistead Maupin’s best-selling book series of the same name. He divides his time between Los Angeles and New Orleans.

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  First Atria Books hardcover edition February 2018

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  Interior design by Amy Trombat

  Jacket design by Rodrigo Corral Design Inc

  Jacket photograph by Victoria Lyall

  Author photograph by Ivan Bideac

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Shears, Jake, author.

  Title: Boys keep swinging / Jake Shears.

  Description: First Atria books hardcover edition. | New York : Atria Books, 2018.

  Identifiers: LCCN 2017038858 (print) | LCCN 2017039837 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501140143 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501140129 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781501140136 (pbk.)

  Subjects: LCSH: Shears, Jake. | Singers—United States—Biography.

  Classification: LCC ML420.S5352 (ebook) | LCC ML420.S5352 A3 2018 (print) | DDC 782.42164092 [B] —dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017038858

  ISBN 978-1-5011-4012-9

  ISBN 978-1-5011-4014-3 (ebook)

 

 

 
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