Gay & Lesbian

In 1976 Bertie Marshall was a 15-year-old androgyne who went by the name of Berlin (after the Lou Reed album). Part of the (in)famous Bromley Contingent, he hung out with Siouxsie and Severin, and was kicked out of the family home after holding a riotous house party dubbed ‘The Berlin Baby Bondage Party, which was attended by the Sex Pistols. Punk was always a little queer, and Bertie was the boy who gave it a face (smeared in make-up, naturally). It was he who Siouxsie famously led on a dog leash into a local pub before ordering a vodka for herself and a bowl of water for her ‘dog’.

Bertie’s story up to this point will be familiar to anyone who grew up worshipping David Bowie, experimenting with hair dye and thinking they might be gay. It’s what happened afterwards that makes this book so interesting. Unlike many of his punk contemporaries, Bertie neither rose to stardom (à la Siouxsie) nor faded to complete obscurity (à la Sue Catwoman). Instead he ploughed a peculiarly queer path, popping up as a performance artist in the ’80s and as a novelist in the ’90s. As alter-ego Kim, Bertie was one of the first performers to deconstruct the traditional drag act, back in the days before Kiki and Herb and The Divine David made gay cabaret terrorism an artform. Lauded by the likes of Dennis Cooper and Kathy Acker, his novel ‘Psychoboys’ enjoyed cult success in 1997.

Between gigs he also worked as a rent boy and took an awful lot of drugs: coke, speed, Valium, Mandrax, sleeping pills, even Librium on a bad night. His tales of drug-fuelled debauchery are refreshingly honest. Bertie knows only too well how boring drugs can be, and his recollections of sleepy days and speedy nights make no attempt to glamourise the lifestyle. He simply gives us the cold, hard facts. Likewise his accounts of turning tricks for money, sleeping in squats or sharing beds with total strangers. His story is often sad and would seem painfully tragic if it weren’t for the complete lack of self-pity.

Finally, in 2001, Bertie went to Berlin, the city that was part of his personal mythology, just as it was for his idols Reed, Bowie and Iggy Pop. He didn’t like it much. In fact, he found it cold, grim, unglamorous and ‘stingingly provincial’. He did get to visit Nico’s grave though, and he attended a book reading given by Jon Savage, who urged him to go back to London and write his memoirs. I’m glad he did.