The last time I saw Princess Superstar was at a much-hyped party at Le Cabaret during Fashion Week / FIAC.  The space was interesting enough, with it’s neo-tech mushroom motif, bubble-ariums and Space Mountain lighting effects, but the party itself was largely a snore.  It felt very "insurance company holiday round up" and my friends quickly grew tired of me asking, "Are you SURE this is the right address?  I think these people sell insurance." I kept waiting for the file clerks and underwriters to form a conga line and "get jiggy with it."  Oh, yeah, I remember.  The music was shit. And so was their open bar.  UNTIL…Princess Superstar took to the DJ booth and played a long and strong set that blew the doors off the place.  At one moment, I think she was lacing Mu’s "Paris Hilton" with long bits of Led Zepplin.  Some details are now fuzzy, but the party was suddenly…a real party…and I found myself totally Princess Superstarstruck. 


All homo tendencies aside (and they are super strong tendencies), the woman is hot.  Hot to look at.  Hot to listen to.  And she genuinely looks like she’s having fun.  If one day she decides to model for a giant Budweiser poster, I’d gladly stow away the photographs and paintings in my bedroom and proudly hang her on my wall.  Oh yeah.  I also remember someone showing up at the Le Cabaret with a copy of Blast, a magazine who also had a party that night.  They’ve owed me hundreds of Euros for nearly 2 years now.  They’re such liars.  Here’s a little blast at Blast.


Anyway, tonight P.S. performed in Los Angeles, supporting her "My Machine" album.  Her show is like a mini-Vegas affair, with projections and banter, characters and multiple costume changes.  And again, she really looks like she’s having a good time.  Each song is PACKED with words and even if the "fantasy narration" gets a little long-winded (much like my writing style), it’s no secret that she’s a skilled and intelligent rhymster. 




This is when I discovered that one of my contact lenses had popped out of my eye and onto the stage.  She briefly stopped the show and dove straight to the floor, assuring me, "Don’t worry, Dino, I’ll find it!"   (20 / 20 vision was restored in 20 seconds flat.)


After the show, Nacho and I went to hear Concetta (her real name) DJ an URB Magazine party at a place that used to be a shabby yet beloved Greek restaurant (which it may be still), but now it looks like the set of a Middle Eastern soap opera. 

I heart P.S.

Dino Dinco
Los Angeles