In case you haven't heard, Michael Musto, the longtime Village Voice nightlife reporter and gossip-with-a-purpose, was fired by the paper in a recent "bloodbath" of employees. What the bottom-liners at The Voice don't seem to rea...
In case you haven't heard, Michael Musto, the longtime Village Voice nightlife reporter and gossip-with-a-purpose, was fired by the paper in a recent "bloodbath" of employees. What the bottom-liners at The Voice don't seem to realize is that in firing Michael Musto, they've voted to kill the paper off entirely. As the editor of a teen magazine I founded, I was often told, "You are that magazine." I always knew that wasn't entirely true, but I do think that proclamation applies to Michael Musto—he truly was the voice of The Village Voice.
Long before "The Voice" called to mind Christina Aguilera, it meant, for me, a beacon of the New York Downtown scene, which I missed by a solid decade. As a teen in Michigan and college student in Chicago, I would steal peaks at The Voice whenever I could get my hands on it to see what the cool people were up to, as seen through the prism of Musto's intelligence and discriminating taste. He was as offbeat as the people on his beat, but he always had a good head on his shoulders, too, so was the perfect person to embrace rebellion and quirkiness but draw the line at anti-social behavior not for art's sake.
In college, I attended a New York night at a club called Ka-Boom! that featured staples of Manhattan glory such as (the late) Queerdonna, drag DJ Dinh and Musto. I was too shy to meet him, but I definitely felt like a native New Yorker sharing air with him.
Once in New York myself, I profiled Musto for a gay-porn mag (we needed "socially-redeeming" articles as a safeguard against obscenity actions), a self-assignment which necessitated my stopping by his apartment. Imagine! I wish iPhones had been invented, because I'd have snapped every inch of it. He was lovely to me, generous with his replies (Madonna who? It's all about Diana!) and with the personal photos he contributed.
Ever since then, we've said hello at events and I've covered his book signings and disco nights, and it's never ceased to amaze me that I would actually know Mr. Village Voice, and that he would actually know me back. I mean, this is a person whose writing style strongly informs my own. When I review a play by recounting the entire experience, including the characters around me, it owes a debt to Michael Musto, inarguably. This is also a queer writer who does not shy away from outing, sharing my irritation with the wide latitude the mainstream media grants closet-cases.
As Angelina Jolie & Tan Mom
The powers that be at The Village Voice have not just shit-canned an employee, they've pulled the plug on their dying patient. With Musto, its heart, removed, he can be transplanted into other, healthier hosts and can live on.
But The Voice is D.O.A. sans "La Dolce Musto." Surely, they must know this.
about 9 hours ago