biconicity and the haunting of hutchence

Music: Rilo Kiley: More Adventurous Almost seven years ago, Michael Hutchence, lead singer of INXS, hung himself with his belt in a hotel room after (apparently) binging the previous evening on alcohol (and cocaine and Prozac). He was in a custody battle and extremely depressed; no one would have predicted, however, that he would take his life.

Shortly after this shocking news, rumors began to circulate that Hutchence's death was an accident. I recall hearing the rumors myself: Hutchence died of autoerotic asphyxiation--that his, he was choking himself to enhance an orgasm whilst jacking off. The coroner's report denies, unequivocally, that there is any truth to the rumor. Yet, because Hutchence was nude when he was found, the rumor continues to circulate (remember: many of us sleep in the nude with no inclination to touch or kill ourselves! or at least if we do, only in dreams!).

There is an important reason why this rumor lingers, indeed, there's an important reason why the rumor is deeply articulated to the figure of Hutchence even if one does not believe the rumor is true: the appeal of Michael Hutchence is unquestionably and stereotypically Freudian since, in the popular imaginary, he embodies the explosive intersection of sex and death. This script is clearly discernable in their first hit, "Devil Inside," which pretty much says it all, but, also reconsider the under-rumble grooves of "Need You Tonight" with Hutchence's barely sung, whispered lyrics. The song communicates a simmering sexuality, a controlled, dark rage, . . . a brilliantly calculated attempt to make money (I would completely have wrote INXS off after Kick, but 1992's Welcome to Wherever You Are redeemed the band as a group capable of writing something that is not a total "sell-out"). The video for "Need You Tonight" is also very hot but hints of something dangerous just beneath the neatly packaged pop song. Hutchence, in other words, has/had this dark, murderous "edge" about him that inspires something akin to a rape fantasy but, unlike Elvis or Jerry Lee Lewis, it was willed not just by women, but even secretly by "straight" men: he is, as Katie said last night at the bar, "a bicon."

Biconity is a very rare charismatic trait only possessed by few "entertainers" in the popular imaginary. As we all know, Johnny Depp is the Patron Saint of Biconicity. He is frequently cited by most self-identified "straight men" as the boy they would most likely sleep with. And let's just go ahead and admit it: Johnny has nice (some might say "feminine") ass. Hutchence is, of course, of the same order--and note that both men, despite their long locks and characteristically "feminine" style, walk a line of controlled masculinity; both are mysterious as if to hide an underlying rage (off the top of my head, we can include Angelina Jolie and Winona Rider, as well as David Gahan and--despite recent buffness--Trent Reznor among the bicons). Both men exude a controlled uncontrolledness that maybe--just maybe--tempt death. Hence, it is easier and more consistent with the popular fantasy of such bicons to presume an accidental death during a sexual act than the selfish and utterly helpless, "uncontrolled" suicide. These bicons are clothed in death; they indeed pose the question, "to be or not to be," a kind of biconic death chic pursued by our fashionistas at Calvin Klein during their "To Be" advertisement campaign.

"I love being famous," said Hutchence in a happier day prior to his passing, "it's like a totally Freudian thing--it makes me feel wanted, loved and noticed. Anyone would want that wouldn't they?" Of course they would; nothing is more painful than getting all the love you want.

Given the powerful, death-sex charge of Hutchence in the popular imaginary, I have to ask the "What the FUCK?" question about the show Rock Star INXS, which has been airing on both VH1 and CBS for many, many weeks. Since I moved to Austin I've been sucked into the show for those reasons typically cited under the category of "oppositional reading," though I acknowledge my enjoyment is also in some sense channeled precisely by the intended, dominant reading ("look at all these hotties that you'd like to sleep with"). First, the show is hosted by David Navarro who, if he didn't talk so much, and if his obesssionally neurotic compulsiveness was not widely broadcast in his "reality television" show with his now (eww, gross) legal partner, Carmen Electra, might rank among the bicons. But he's too much of a dork to be a bicon (even though he is hot and, when his mouth is closed, does walk that razor line of sex/death). That Navarro hosts this thing is overdetermined, as his faint trace of biconitciy signals the presence of Hutechence's ghost.

What is so strange about Rock Star INXS is how overwhelmingly present Hutchence is, despite the fact he has been mentioned only once or twice in the many month run of the show. Last night Katie (a Ph.D. candidate in our department) and I got into a discussion about who has been booted off. She said she and her partner wept when the last woman was "voted off" by the band. I said, of course, that there was no way in hell a woman would be chosen. The only "chick" that could have possible worked, we agreed, was Jordis, who had both the "hot chick" and "lesbo" appeal as well as the aesthetic closest to death. The obviously most talented lyricist was "Ty," but he was too gay and, well, too black for the corporate handlers (make no mistake about it: the band members actually making the choice are these handlers, channeling the spirit of capital like happy mediums for "the man"). Indeed, who they choose will be the closest to Hutchence's ghost. This means that the new lead singer will be fuckable from most sexual vantages (even if straight people are not conscious of their homoerotic desire), but also walk the razor's edge: he will seem to tempt death; part of him will not be transparent; he will not talk too much nor reveal too many secrets; he will seem to harbor a secret . . . that he wants to fuck you and to kill you, if not himself.

In other words, the remaining members of INXS are in therapy and longing to restore their symptom (Hutchence was known to be far from "easy to get along with," if you know what I mean). I see it's getting close to 10 a.m. so I need to get to other work . . but let me explain this last point: putting yourself into a therapeutic situation is akin to getting a new computer. When you get a new computer you get frustrated (as I have been for two days now): none of the software you used to use is on it, and it is no longer compatible; nothing quite works the same as it used to--new commands, new little software quirks; you don't have all the right passwords or admin codes, and so on. Now, if you're like me, you desperately needed a new computer and so you succumbed to need. But today and last night I found myself cursing the new computer: where's my Roxio Toast? Why won't it load? Dammit! I just want my desktop the way it used to be.

This want or need to "restore" things to the way it used to be is what drives people to go to therapy. The therapists trick--if she knows what the hell she's doing--is to substitute your old (now impossible to return to) symptom with a new one that is less damaging, self-destructive, and so on. The move is toward displacement.

That said, INXS is clearly not using this situation to develop a new symptom. The obvious, healthy move for the band would to be to hire the black guy or to hire a woman (preferably Jordis). This would force them to develop a new band--and a new sound. But this doesn't feel like that pain they know so well; and, well, it's not as commercially viable as going for the ghostly. As they are obviously haunted by Hutchence--"silence speaks volumes," as THEY say--the band will pick the one that is closest to the way they hurt. Mig, therefore, is a complete goner--he's too European, meaning that, for the U.S. market he comes off too faggotty (his best performance was, after all, a Frampton cover!). Now, if they truly wanted to commune with ghosts, they would pick Marty, the blonde guy whose dark version of "Hit Me Baby" was perhaps the best thing the show has produced (I hope they release this song on a compilation because it was, I admit, brilliant). But Marty is too much death and not enough sex. Hence, I predict they will choose J.D.: He's a little right of biconicity, but he is a little mysterious, proud, sometimes stoic, and recently much less cheesey (he started by wearing very dumb hats and stuff like Jamiroquai--super-cheesy!). J.D. may be an alcoholic enough for the band; but he's much too anal to truly evoke Hutchenceness. So while I predict J.D. is the new lead singer of INXS, insofar as this band is still trying to restore their symptom instead of simply moving on to another, more healthy wounding, the band won't make it more than two years with him.

Here's a photo of the future guy. Note the Skull and Pistols on his shirt (like "The Devil Inside," the wardrobe choice says it all).