MM

[Laurence Horn]

At 3:55 PM -0500 9/20/04, Yerkes, Susan wrote:
>Do the theater-goers in the group know what the phrase "masturbation
>musical" connotes? I ran into it in today's online New York Post.
>
>from Sept. 19 (Elisa Lipsky-Karasz gossip column)
>
>   ...Gillian Hearst, daughter of Patty Hearst and husband Bernard Shaw,
>has found a love interest for her first feature-length film, "Happy
>Ending," being made independently by writer/director Andrew Lepera. The
>film has been described as a "masturbation musical done in 1950s style."
>Donovan Leitch, son of the '60s folk singer and a sometime actor, is
>apparently signing on to play Charles, the main character, and event
>p.r. exec Christian McPherson will be playing "He." But don't expect any
>"Brown Bunny" moments. The hardest thing Hearst's character, "She," has
>to do is sing and dance. Shooting starts in October.
>
>Susan Yerkes
>

So no one has anything on this?  I started with google, where the
closest match I could find was indeed "masturbation musical" (more
fully, "c'est un peu de la masturbation musical"), but from a French
fanzine, so that the reference is actually to the practice of
"musical masturbation", along the lines of Eng. "mental masturbation"
(10,500 hits).  I have no idea why it isn't "la masturbation
musicale", given the gender of "masturbation".

So on to Nexis, where I came across two quasi-hits under "Major
Papers", one from this wonderful piece on the arts from the London
Independent dealing with such immortal musical groups as Turd and The
Fucknuts,  an article which, however memorable in its way, does not
shed direct light on the phrase in question (see penultimate
paragraph for the relevant passage).
==============

Independent on Sunday (London)
  February 10, 2002, Sunday
  SECTION: FEATURES; Pg. 3

  HEADLINE: FIRST UP: EMPIRE STRIKES BACK

  BYLINE: Dom Joly
  Droving around Shepherd's Bush Green yesterday, I spotted an ugly
grey plastic structure on the pavement. I couldn't figure out what it
was at first and so circled the Green again wondering if, perhaps, it
was another piece of hideous "art" commissioned by the council in a
vain attempt to stop local youths from stabbing people. The second
time around I was able to see, to my disbelief, that it was a
four-man open-air urinal. There are several on the Green, seemingly
randomly placed but very effectively blocking the pavements.

  In nearby Notting Hill Gate the council, worried that the high
street was becoming a bit shabby, paid for new benches, bollards and
hanging baskets. They even have an annoying advert playing in local
cinemas that boasts of the scheme. In Shepherd's Bush they have come
up with alfresco pissing as an alternative. I love the little things
that make each area of London unique.

  I'd better be careful about slagging off Shepherd's Bush though.
About six years ago there was an exodus of my friends to the area
when Notting Hill house prices became too high for them. They often
try to convince me of how nice "The Bush" is. They boast of its
extraordinary number of kebab shops. But for me, Shepherd's Bush has
always simply been somewhere I drive through with my doors locked and
my hand gripped to an industrial- sized can of CS gas. Having moved
to the BBC, however, it is now my place of work and I'm keen to
assimilate.

  It does have some plus points. One of the ways I stay musically
relevant is to check out who's playing at the Shepherd's Bush Empire
and then quote the more obscure names in interviews as though I've
actually moshed in their pits. Hence I have recently claimed to have
been into Turd, Dave Dead and, my particular favourite, The Fucknuts.
I actually bought The Fucknuts' album - I'm so glad I missed the gig.

  I like the Empire because it's just the right size. It's big enough
to mean that piss-poor, two-chord student bands don't play there and
small enough to deter cock-rockers on the enormo-barn circuit. The
only exception being when geriatrics such as Ronnie Wood hire the
place. Then an audience of middle- aged, pot-bellied IT managers is
treated to excruciating renditions of bar- room blues standards,
interspersed with guest-guitar masturbations from such musical
luminaries as Slash from Guns N' Roses. The only way out of this
misery is to drink oneself into a stupor. This no doubt explains the
outdoor urinals.

  They should have a competition to name them. Publi-Piss, Street Leak
and Pavement Python Syphon would be my suggestions. If I won my own
urinal, I would donate it to the Rick Wakeman Retirement Home for the
Terminally Fossilised Rocker. At least there'd be a need for one
there.
===============
(Note, incidentally, "cock-rockers" and "enormo-barn".)

The other soi-disant Nexis hit on "masturbation musical" is even less
relevant.  And there's nothing under "Magazines and Journals",
"Newsletters", or surprisingly "Policy Papers".  So maybe Susan's
cite does represent a newly designated genre, one potentially for the
WOTY files.

Larry