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Tainted Love (where did our love go)

Rita Ackermann, Aude Anquetil, Fabienne Audéoud et John Russell, Sadie Benning, Liz Craft, Vava Dudu, Roe Ethridge, Théodore Fivel, Sylvie Fleury, Georg Gatsas, Lise Hallerbaggesenross, Maria Hassabi, Celia Hempton, Ella Kruglyanskaya, Tarek Lakhrissi, Emilie Pitoiset, Eileen Quinlan, Pierre René-Worms, Azzedine Saleck, Seconde Durante, Apolonia Sokol, Betty Tompkins, Cheney Thompson, WATP, Nicole Wermers.

« Learn to take, not desire. It may sound possessive and dominating. In reality however, the ones who’ve learnt to take show more humility than those tangled up in the narcissism of infinite desire.”
45 rpm

I don’t remember the first time I heard this Soft Cell hit; all the small town discos I used to hang out as a teenager were playing it. We’d aimlessly dance, focusing more on the glimpses of skin we’d catch and potential flirts, than on the music. Back then I didn’t know yet that it was a break up song. I didn’t know yet what a break up was.

Deep inside. Glasgow, mid 90’s, a smoky atmosphere and a sexy haunting House beat fill the Sub Club, as the swaying bodies gather in a dense dripping mass. At sunrise I think I recognize a distant keyboard tune, smothered by the deep and continuous bass, which has run the set for hours. The bass fades out until it disappears, and Tainted Love echoes in the temple of the Underground. Stretched out over twenty minutes, the piece shakes the dance floor, there are huge smiles, dilated pupils, skin against skin, deep kissing, traces of you.

Non stop erotic cabaret. I find “Tainted Love” on the album Non stop erotic cabaret. It’s a pop, dark and subversive album. The ideal soundtrack for a sordid and sentimental peep show, where desires, fantasies and taboo dance behind a two-way mirror from glory to darkness. With its grandiloquent killing of the biographical, the cabaret is an entry to fiction of the self and Tainted Love is its cathartic chorus.
As for the video, Mark Almond and Dave Ball in Greek togas on Mount Olympus, Marilyn Manson and his goth pals vampirizing a high school party, a young man in jeans and a white shirt dancing alone in his room at night, on the ceiling above his bed a singer embedded in the stars: some songs seem to resist the image. The exhibit resists it too, the title offers no clue. Loves are stained with soft pink, deep black and blood red.

Where did our love go? This exhibit will not speak, the image is still, the sound is off.
Elegant attire, fragmented bodies, suggested silhouettes dancing to the hit with African choir-like lyrics, all multiplying the suspension like effects. The pieces pose, lives run into each other, sensitivity reveals itself.
Intimacy, secrecy, alcoves, bedrooms and other meeting places become the space itself for an exhibition and an explicit. Cheap sentiments and morality often give power to the cynical. To wear hybrid, reversible and moving identities, made of games, masks and cross-dress ups, means you’re entirely free to embrace a scandalous reality.