AMP: Artists' Meeting Place and Resource Collective

Being a model for life drawing classes is not particularly exciting; if anything, it is a testament to endurance, among other things.

While standing naked in front of a group of strangers you drop certain pretexts of perfection and hope to hell the students overlook the flaws you do worry about and really focus on muscle groups and mathematics of space and balance.

There is no glamour, no image or fantasy to project, and no way to hide a single thing as you would on a stage.

It is just you, simplified and straight forward.

Often the instructor might put on some music with which to create a relaxing mood for all involved.

Last week was my first week at Cal State for a class of beginners of varying age groups.

The instructor put on the classical music station, but this was quickly protested by an agitated young Latina student.

She wanted something that "wouldn't put her to sleep".

When asked what she would like to hear, she was unable to give a straightforward suggestion, but I gathered it was something that had a beat to which you mindlessly jiggle a nervous foot.

The instructor turned to the classic rock station which, he noted, played Led Zeppelin 24 hours a day, seven days a week.

Without fail, the second he turned the dial, Kashmir by Zep was in full swing.

My muscles suddenly tweaked in the goofiness of the moment as Robert Plant spilled out the familiar long echoing meander of "The Scream" and, while I have always found this song to be one of the more tedious of Zeppelin tunes, the tedium was overemphasised as it droned on and on and on...

An elderly woman made a faint protest, but since none of the students made a better suggestion, the radio dial stayed secure for the rest of the evening.

Tonight was my second shift, and after I found my pose and the students became focused, the radio was turned on.

The first song was a dedication to Steve Marriot who died 17 years ago on this day, and was kicked off by Humble Pie's Thirty Days in The Hole.

Okay, I am a big fan of all kinds of Rock n Roll - good, bad and terrible - but it became more clear to me than ever how absolutely lyrically ridiculous so much of this music is that it was so hard for me to keep a straight face.

When you are standing there naked in front of thirty students and hearing lyrics like:

Newcastle Brown, I'm tellin' you, it can sure smack you down
Take a greasy whore and a rollin' dance floor
It's got your head spinnin' round

you suddenly begin to feel really objectified.

It's different if you are stripping, go go dancing, nightclub performing, etc., because you turn the objectification around and it's all about play.

I am standing there in a twenty minute pose and over and over it's "Thirty Days in The Hole".

I start making music history connections.

I am thinking about how Marriot's vocal style influenced handfuls of other singers, Bon Scott in particular.

An exquisite corpse of lyrics proceeds. A myriad of Peter Frampton, The Scorpions, Van Halen, CCR, Deep Purple, Thin Lizzy...

"I wanna fuck you, yeah you, fuck you, yeah you, yeah you, yeah you...
There's no one like you, I can't wait for the nights with you, I imagine the things we do....
Everybody wants some,I want some too!
I'm hot, sticky sweet from my head to my feet yeah
Hey! hey! hey!
Wish I was back on the Bayou, rollin' with some Cajun Queen.
Wishin' I were a fast freight train,
Just a chooglin' on down to New Orleans.
So far away from the garden we love
She is what moves in the soul of a dove
Soon I shall see just how black was my night
When were alone in her city of light...
Hey you good lookin female , come here!"

Each time a new song comes on I feign laughter and agony.
I find myself praying that the DJ does not play anything too devastating like "The Lemon Song " or "Givin' The Dog A Bone".

Luckily the AC/DC Song of the Hour is Back in Black, and it's okay and 3/4's of the room is keeping time with their feet with no sexual invocation.

As much as I hate Dire Straits, it is a relief when The Sultans of Swing is playing because there is no sexual content to the song, but I think about the pretense of the mention that "the Sultans, they play Creole."

Then another of my most hated: Phil Collins' "I Don't Care Anymore."
His dropping of the "r" when he says "more" as it becomes "mo" has always (and still does) made me wince.

Fuck Phil Collins, I hate his music, but it is so devoid of sexuality that I actually don't mind it right now, except that I realize my foot positions have changed because my foot muscles are clenched in anguish each time he repeats "mo oh wo".

I am the only Caucasian in the room aside from the instructor.

The age range of students is all over the place.

I of course assume that everyone in the class knows all or most of the lyrics like I do and wonder if they are offended or distracted by these songs.

I then realize that they probably don't, but it doesn't make it any easier.

I have modeled to some terrible music, from bad new age and Chuck Mangione, but the icing on the cake was Japanese hip hop in a class of young Japanese students. Trying to not lose my composure in these situations was painfully difficult.

The class ended on the easier notes of the Who's Baba O'Riley and Lola by the Kinks.

Next class I am bringing Miles Davis on my IPod.

I do not care how cliche Jazz in a life drawing class may seem, it is by far the most appropriate choice.

I will even supply berets and polkadot scarves, I don't care. This is how it should be. Mingus and Miles and no lyrics to cause any projection.