In an age of mildly talented, flash-in-the-pan pop acts that come and go at lighting speed, it’s a rare thing to find one that sticks. One that crosses continents and teeters between super rockstar status and cult-esque underground alt-pop club status, depending on the country. A band so laced with stylistic versatility that you could call it dance, or funk/rock/glam, retro/new wave, or pop with a splash of honkytonk and be correct on all accounts. A band that cut it’s filthy/gorgeous teeth in the New York City nightlife, building their Scissorhood one devoted fan at a time. From The Cock all the way to London O2, this band’s flava has never gone out of style. This is Scissor Sisters. And this is what it feels like to be along for the ride.

One year ago, B.B. and I had our first gig out of town with Scissor Sisters, headlining Stubb’s Barbeque during SXSW. It was to a crowd of 2,000 or so, and it had been three years since Scissor Sisters had toured, so the fans were salivating. The electricity that pulsed from stage to audience, from instruments to ears was addictive, as Jakes Shears’ signature falsetto vocals sprayed over the crowd and high into the Austin night sky. Ana Matronic fiercely fired up the crowd with her wit and hysterically dry and commanding commentary, always solidifying her role as the ringleader, the soul-stirrer…your Mama Matronic. I knew I was a part of something very special that night, but could not have dreamed the magic that was ahead. This show marked the beginning of the most incredible year of my life.

 Over this past year, B.B. and I have traveled to the U.K. and Europe, Japan, Australia, South America, and across the U.S. and Canada, performing in some of the most incredible venues in the world, backing up Babbydaddy, Del Marquis, Ana Matronic, and Jakes Shears. We stood with them on the main stage at Glastonbury and rocked 80,000 people as the sun set over the English countryside. We rocked the Bataclan in Paris with them, where the temperature was 114 degrees F on stage, so hot that Jake had to strip down to his tiny thong, excepting the fact that his balls were leaking out for every French camera to capture. We took the stage at Fujirocks with them, in the pouring rain, which didn’t stop  the band or the Japanese fans from rocking hard and late into the night. We went from being two girls, strangers to each other and the band, with a dream of touring the world, to newly added backup singers, to being made to feel like one of the Scissor family…we became the Matronicons. And it has been our honor to back this band, see the world, call them our friends, and skin your cat.

 I want to thank all the fans out there who have embraced us Matronicons, who brought us into your world, friended us, tweeted about us, and made us feel right at home on stage with your Sisters. This is a band that will love you for life, through their music, their message, and their insatiable need to get your ass moving on the dance floor. Listen to Ana when she says, “it’s the music that connects us to you”. Scissor Sisters is the truth, and to be a part of something this real, this inventive and magnetic, is why I sing, why I play music, why I’ve been on this lifelong journey in the first place. And many times when I’ve felt a sense of weariness that the road, that a life in rock & roll will inevitably bring, I’ve thought about that line that rings out to me in Nightwork every time I hear it: “And when the whistle blows and your body can’t take it no more/You gotta keep on moving, remember: This is what you asked for!”

 They are Scissor Sisters….and so are you.

 Xo Chrissi

aka C.P.Matronicon 

The vibe on the tour bus this morning is something along the lines of “office hours”, coupled with “headphone listening party”. As we leave Toronto behind and approach the U.S./Canadian border, bound for Buffalo (home of Rick James, bitch), laptops are fired up, phones are buzzing with texts, and papers are strewn about. Some of us are attacking the monster that is taxes, some are editing music projects. Our tour manager is booking flights, thanks to the magic of bus wifi, and Jake Shears is doing a phone interview for a magazine. A few heads are nodding in time to whatever groove is being pumped from their iTunes to their headphones, and one or two tired souls have passed out in their bunks, a sort treasured space of cubby-holed solitude on this moving office/lounge/cave.

 In the past couple of weeks, I’ve done some things that I have dreamed about, reached for, even longed for. It’s a funny thing to have a desire for something, and then one day that very thing you have desired is upon you…you find yourself in the middle of that moment. I remember laying on the couch in my living room at 16, watching musical acts on Letterman and wanting to jump through the TV screen to join them. I remember it sparking fierce ambition in my gut. So when I walked onto the set of the Ed Sullivan Theater and took my place in front of the cameras and live audience with Scissor Sisters, the same spot where the Beatles, The Doors, and Elvis made television history, the same spot I watched on my TV at 16, I felt and saw everything. The frigidness of the studio, the tiny lights that dot the famous Brooklyn Bridge background set. The disco-ball glitz of Paul Schaffer’s wild coat, and the feel of the fabric on the guest chairs by Dave’s desk. And the hilarity of the sort of cosmic leap that happens when you go from looking at someone on television your whole life, to suddenly having them give you a wave and a goofy gap-toothed smile, to having them shake your hand and say, “nice job”.

 Then there was Madison Square Garden.

 For me, it was both extremes. It was “the most famous performance venue in the world”, and it was just another place to play, a big room with seats and screens. It was the biggest stage I had ever hoped to play when I moved to New York City alone, with grand ideas and aspirations, and in some ways it just can’t compare to playing to a crowd of forty or so on the Lower East Side, with my friends and those that kick my ass with their gifts and musical insights. It’s a tidal wave of emotion for sure, in the land of worldly desire and ambition. Every pothole that’s tripped me up along the way, literally and figuratively, was leading to that unparalleled moment. One brief moment in the middle of the set is rooted forever and firmly in my psyche, when the light was in my eyes, and I looked up to see the giant speaker system hanging above with the worlds “Madison Square Garden” printed across it, staring me back in the face. Right then, I was more enveloped in every atomic part of that moment than anything up until that point. And then, I looked to my left and saw my friend in the crowd, casting me a knowing smile, snapping a photograph, living all of it with me. It was real, and surreal, all at once. I took one ear monitor out, so I could hear the room. By the end of the set, I took both out.

 Walking off that stage, I felt as though I had stepped through a door I had been pounding on with both fists for a long time. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, my eyes locked on one Sir Paul McCartney, standing in the hall outside our dressing room. I felt a sting of water rush to my eyes, as I quietly thanked him for his music, and asked if I could give him a hug. He picked me up of the ground and swung me around…and called me “love”.

 I left the Garden that evening as the Gaga show raged on. I walked out alone, and waited for a cab at the taxi stand on 7th Ave. I’ve done this many times, coming up from the bowels of Penn Station to head off somewhere, to a gig, home to Brooklyn, to a rehearsal, to meet a friend for comfort food and comfort conversation. But walking off the stage at Madison Square Garden to hop in a cab….now that’s another story. 

Walking around Osaka and Tokyo

It’s a gorgeous morning in Osaka, as we begin to roll out of town on the high speed train, bound for Tokyo. Mostly cloudy, with the occasional sunbeam slicing through, and mist hovering over the lush green hills in the distance. The tenement houses near the tracks balance out the natural beauty behind them, the dusty architecture of modernism sits next to structures and temples from ages long ago. There’s balance in all the imbalance, the imperfections. It’s wabi sabi at it’s best, the Japanese philosophy of “perfection in the imperfections in nature and life”.

If you ask a Japanese person to explain wabi sabi to you, more often than not you will be told that it cannot be done. There is no direct translation, no words to simplify or define it. Ultimately, it is something that is felt, understood, and lived. To live life with this philosophy would have to channel an extreme sense of contentment and presence. A lesson we Westerners can learn from this ancient culture.

The first show of the 2011 Scissor Sisters tour was a hard hitting two hours of dance-till-you-can’t-dance-no-more party, with a crowd of ferocious fans bearing gifts and accolades for their beloved band of alt-glam rock stars. Feathered head dresses, neon wigs and sparkled sunglasses, glow sticks and Scissor logo cutouts caught my eye as I panned the crowd throughout the set, these things that are a staple for any show. It was good to see them again, lighting up the sea of bobbing heads and waving hands. I looked beyond the crowd to my friends at the light and soundboard, performing just as hard as we are onstage, the silent members of the band who bring the show to life. I looked up into the rafters at the four local crew manning four spotlights, one for each member of the front line, I watched the faces in the front row light up as their favorite songs were played live right before them, felt their joy of the all-mighty rock and roll moment, when whatever problems or issues they may be facing in their own lives were temporarily quelled by the impossible excitement of music, of a show. The power of these things never fails. Seeing it ignite an audience never fails to lift me up, and I feel a little better when I walk off the stage then when I walked onto it.

We’re getting closer to Tokyo now, rushing through towns and business districts, fields and farms, cotton ball clouds strewn about the sky…a sky that stretches from this Far East landscape all the way to New York, where it is full of moon and stars, where my friends are gathering and playing music . And to Scituate, where my family is settled in for the night, where my sweet nephews are tucked peacefully in their beds, under their stick-on moons and planets, their glowstars and nightlights. And I feel totally connected, even though I sit here on the other side of the world. Far in miles, but not so far in heart.

Three more days in the land of wabi sabi, then back to New York to begin a cross country journey with the Sisters, bringing Scissorland into major arenas and small clubs, and looking for the heart in every city, every venue, every new face we see. Beyond the schedule and itinerary, I have no idea what lies ahead, and have no desire to speculate. I do know that I’d like to continue to try to stay “in” every moment, whether it’s glorious, or an absolute shitshow, for this time is going to go by faster than the landscape flying by us on this train. No way to slow it down, so best to be mindful and notice all that is around. It’s not perfect- it’s something far better than perfect could ever be. It’s wabi sabi. 

It’s the last night of the summer tour… I’m sitting back stage at Fuji Rocks, watching the musicians and staff passing through, heading to the stage, heading to the bus, heading to catering, to the dressing room…. Tom Yorke and Flea sitting across from me, checking Blackberries. 

I’m pissed because my iPhone is protesting a legitimate synch with my computer, so all recent photos are unfortunately in lockdown. I’ll find a way to bring them forth eventually, but for now, I’ll just have to paint a pretty little picture with my words. In the last three weeks, the strongest moments on this Scissor timeline could be:

Walking backstage after the Roundhouse show in London to receive a greeting and hug from Sir Elton John…his suit was purple and spectacular. 

Running to the stage to catch the Black Eyed Peas set, only to epically trip and smash myself on the ground, and being dusted off by two of our lovely crew members who rapidly became my new-found friends.

Staying out till the daylight hour of 3 a.m. in Oslo, playing a serious round of Celebrity Name drinking games, refereed by our take-no-prisoners production and tour managers. Penalties and flag-on-the-plays punishable by Sambuca shots.

Playing the Nibe festival in Denmark in the pouring rain, surrounded by a densely wooded forest, and watching Jake and Ana rock the set completely drenched, in the name of Rock and Roll.

Playing the Bataclan in Paris, where there was no A.C. and the temperature on stage was 114 degrees, overcoming a mild panic attack, and resorting to dumping ice cold water on ourselves by the end of the set as Jake stripped down to nothing but a teeny towl and threw his sweaty G-string into the clamoring audience.

Walking through the woods in Latvia, which spilled onto a beautiful beach, wading out 100 yards on the sandbar before taking the stage, still with salt and sand in my hair. 

Overdosing on Indian food in London.

Journeying to the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary in Brisbane, Australia, where I cuddled koalas and communed with kangaroos all morning. 

Revisiting the Meiji Shrine in Shibuya, Tokyo. And just being in Japan….what an unbelievable place.

It will be so odd to watch the skyline of Manhattan come into view from the plane tomorrow evening. Like anything, once you are away from it for long enough, you don’t seem to need it so much. I think no matter what situation we are in, we eventually acclimate, and what seemed strange at the beginning becomes normal. It’s funny to me that starting tomorrow, I’m going to have to know what day of the week it is again, return phone calls, drive a car. And just when that becomes normal again…. I’ll be out. 

Worst part about coming off the road: when you leave your place a mess, it’s not going to be magically clean when you get back. 

see you in nyc…. xoxo

Big thanks to my good friend Ken Lambden who came to the Scissor Sisters show in Brixton the other night and took these great shots from the balcony. That’s his daughter Becky with Ana Matronic and myself, after the show. The confetti comes in the last song, where canons blast sliver paper and fake three-dollar bills out into the crowd. Nothing like confetti and lasers to make an already-frenzied audience really lose their minds. I get the tingles every time it happens…it’s like being on the inside of a snow globe.

Headed to Glastonbury tomorrow. Watch for it on the Palladia channel!! 

Another great review of the show… you can see me up there in the left corner :) Get the album, Night Work….amazing piece of of artistic music. xo

Scissor Sisters killing it in the UK, check out the article… (see me in the background..)