Grace Fucking Jones.

I’m looking forward to seeing Grace Jones again at the festivals this year.

If you’ve never seen her stage show you really need to check it out.

The first time I saw Grace Jones was last year.
It was at my messiest festival and I’d spent the previous 2 days repainting the inside of my mind in a vague attempt to make it look like and 80’s arcade game having sex with a melancholic circus. Imagine all the ghosts from Packman ejaculating multicoloured pixels of glittering semen into the face of a crying clown and you’re starting to get a picture of what was going on in my head.

Anyway, Grace fucking Jones.

So there I am stood with a few friends/comrades at the brow of a hill bent double and writhing like lubricated dinosaurs, staring across what seemed like an inconceivable amount of heads who were also gawking at the same distant stage that any minute now would have Grace Jones on it.

The anticipation was immense, powerful and overbearing.

And as the lights eventually began to fade and the enormous monitors at the sides and back of the stage began to hum into life, the wave of excitement rose like a dry heat and we prepared to explode. Come on Grace where the fuck are you?

Images appeared on the massive monitors and atmospheric intro music began to stand our smallest hairs on end, more and more, ready to explode.

As any man’ll tell you holding back an explosion can lead to some serious internal reflection, and my mind started to manifest each sound or tone into physical forms and they painted the sky with propaganda. Come on Gracious Grace, Grace us with your Graciousness. This was around the time I faded out.

When I re-entered the realm of men Grace was indeed gracing us; with her stage show.

As far as I can remember this included her tap-dancing to Shirley Basset Bond-Themes and smoking a pipe.

At one point in the show she actually gorilla-pressed a man above her head before throwing him deep into the crowd. After this she made the entire front row systematically feel her bicep and punch her in the stomach.

The penultimate moments of the show started when Grace pulled a hessian sack from beneath the stage whilst loudly exclaiming, “I’ve got 6 in ‘ere, ‘alf a dozen of ‘em.”

She then opened the bag and pulled out a large, live tortoise-shell cat.

She paraded the animal across the front of the stage then lifted it into the air, threw her head back in laughter dislocated her jaw and swallowed the poor thing whole.

No joke of a lie, even from where I was stood at the near back you heard her jaw clunk as in relocated itself.

She repeated this four more times, each time parading the cat across stage before hoisting it into her throat to the delighted cheers of her jeering audience.

The 6th Cat she let go free, explaining her actions with the simple statement,

“one must live so others will know what happened, they must know my name, Grace Fucking Jones.”

I saw Grace Jones once more that summer, at a festival in Ireland during a George Clinton show.

Grace materialised midway through an extended version of “Bag-Wine, do what you wanna do!”

She rose through a trapdoor in the centre of the stage frozen within a block of ice and dressed in what looked like a modified abseiling harness and night vision goggles.

After shattering her subzero pseudo-prison she placed her palms on the floor and pushed her hind quarters into the air.

Powerfully arching her body into the yoga stance I know as downwards facing dog. She beckoned Clinton closer.

Once a slightly confused Granddaddy of funk had wandered into range she shackled him at her rear and began forcing him to sodomize her.

George did so under ever decreasing duress.

To be honest he started out quite nervously, very precise, cautious strokes, gently thrusting, his hands lightly gripping her hips.

But by the final bridge of the song he was going at it like a hyper active child trying to leapfrog a greasy pony.
Grace seemed pretty non-plused by the whole thing.

Eventually Clinton Climaxed mid crescendo in the 16th chorus.

As he did Jones once again lifted onto her back two legs, spread her vascular wings to there full 8 meter span and let out a multi-tonal screech that momentarily turned the sky purple.

And as we the crowd struggled to cover our bleeding ears from that horrible, horrible sound, she launched into the air above our heads, beat her wings and flew back to her home world.

So naturally I’m quite excited to see how her show’s developed since last year.