Michael Musto, The Half-Century-Long Gossip Writer, Shared His Inner Life with Me Far More Freely Than I'd Expected
I've known him for years but always wondered who he really was. To my surprise, he told me—in this really rich, funny and poignant interview. And...he's singing in NYC on July 30!
Happy mid-July Monday, Caftaners! How was your weekend? I saw a stupendously beautiful show last night on the man-made wonder Little Island in the Hudson River—a luminous production of the 1980s musical “The Gospel at Colonus,” the Oedipus story told through the style of Black gospel music, which (at least to me) made it feel that it was about Jesus much more than Oedipus.
The score for this show is so stunning, gospel refracted slightly through an avant-garde lens, the voices were so virtuosic and the backdrop of the sun going down over the Hudson River, barges passing by, as we watched from the topmost seats of an open ampitheater…wow. One of those nights I still have, blessedly, at least a few times a year, where I think, “Thank God I still live in NYC.”
There was a line in the show that made the whole audience prick up its ears: “"I shall disclose to you what is appointed for you and your city. A thing that age will never wear away. For every nation that lives peaceably, another will grow hard and push its arrogance, put off God, and turn to madness. Fear not. God attends to these things slowly; but he attends."
You can imagine how that line landed this of all summers. Let’s hope God attends—and not so slowly.
On that note, this coming Thursday July 17 is a day of national mass protest against the regime, billed as “Good Trouble Lives On,” an homage to the late, great Congressman John Lewis. Find the protest nearest you. The NYC one is at 5:30pm in Foley Square.
Now, as for this interview, which I must say I love: If you don’t already know who Michael Musto is, let me tell you briefly: Between 1984 and 2013—a remarkable run—he wrote “La Dolce Musto” in the great, not-entirely-late NYC alternative weekly The Village Voice. It had to be one of the most important, must-read columns in the city (and beyond), if not the most important column, because, night after night in that heyday of nightlife, Michael went everywhere, every night, and talked to everybody, from the most ratchet drag queens to the most A-list celebs.
And, in a far more closeted era, and one ravaged by AIDS, he did it all by being super-out, super-gay and always centering queer lives and voices. It’s hard to put across, some 30-40 years later, how ravenously I slurped up that column every week as soon as I got my hands on the good old print edition of The VV, a densely packed bombshell of alternative culture for only a buck. When the Voice let Michael go in 2013, amid a wave of downsizings that basically ended the venerable outlet (except for the quiet online version that exists today), it was a citywide scandal. It wasn’t just the end of a paper. It was the end of an era—an era of analog downtown Manhattan culture that was already being supplanted by bland gentrification and the new digital, eyes-glued-to-iPhones world.
Michael, he of the quick mind, voracious need to opine and indestructible work ethic, survived. To this day, coming up on 70 (and even though he doesn’t really need to work anymore, at least financially), he’s still reviewing theater for the online Voice and writing for a bunch of other places. He’s also performing. (Yes—he can really sing.) In fact, if you’re in NYC, you can see him July 30 at Chelsea Table and Stage.
I’ve known Michael for years through my longtime friend Cathay. My fear with this interview, because I’ve never had a particularly deep talk with him, was that he’d only have one mode, celebrity-anecdote-talking-head. But in fact…well, you’ll see. We address that matter right at the top. I don’t think I was prepared for how moved I would be by so much of the interview. So read on and find out how a shy Italian onb=ly child from Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, became the chronicler of a whole scene in its final and fabulous decades.
I’ll sign off with my usual pitch, which is that if you’ve been a free subscriber for a while now and like what I’m doing, please consider upgrading to the $5/month version. Summer is a tough time for getting other assignments for me, so this Caftan income means so much to me.
That’s all. Now here’s Michael.
Michael, thank you so much for doing this. I’m so excited to do a deep interview with you after knowing you all these years. And you know that these interviews are kind of—I’m not going to just ask you for anecdotes about celebrities. It’s about you and your life and your inner life and your intimate life. Are you OK with that?
No, but that’s one reason I want to do it.
Oh…OK! We’ll feel it out. But I’ll start soft with a very Mustonian question, which is, what celebrity or pop culture thing is obsessing you right now? I was thinking about how many people and trends you’ve commented on over 40-plus years. So what is it right now?
I have a good/bad movie club, as you know, where we watch movies like Airport ’75 and before each movie I show snippets. So I go down these YouTube rabbit holes every day looking for snippets for my club, like red meat for the base. And it’s not always something current. A lot are things from the past that escaped my radar. And I’m now obsessed with this 80s show Kids Incorporated. It’s a bizarre show, a sitcom-y plot followed by the kids doing cover songs of current hits.
And the show contained all these future stars like Jennifer Love Hewitt, Mario Lopez, Fergie from Black-Eyed Peas, Martika who had a big hit with—
“Toy Soldiers!”
“Toy Soldiers.” And she’s obviously a break-out star on this show. Fergie is a pint-size dynamo who belts out these songs. And they don’t do all the obvious songs. There’s one song called “He Could Be The One,” about meeting Mr. Right. It’s this jittery catchy song that was originally done by Josie Cotton, who did “Johnny, Are You Queer?” Remember that?
Yep! Do you remember this show from the early 80s called “Kids Are People Too”?
Yes!
And I had this brief moment in sixth grade where I decided I was going to be a kids’ rights activist. I think because of my exposure to that show.
I’m not only immersed in the past. I’m also totally getting into Chappell Roan, Sabrina Carpenter, all the current pop divas.
Do you have a favorite?
I liked Chappell Roan until she said dumb things, but I forgot that that’s a part of what makes a pop diva.
What did she say?
A both-siderism remark before Trump won reelection when she said “Both sides are bad.” I was like, oh please. Learn to read.
Yeah that “both sides are equally bad thing,” meaning I think that Democrats are as bad as MAGA, is such a belief of so many of the kids, or at least it was before the election, and it’s such a big chunk of why we are where we are now.
It couldn’t be farther from the truth.
I know. I mean, yeah, life would not be perfect [if Kamala were president right now]. The U.S. would probably still be funding Israel’s bombs and there still would be corporate influence in politics, but we wouldn’t have earmarked nearly a trillion dollars to build concentration camps and up the size of ICE times ten, and any number of horrors. But I’ve tried to make these interviews not too much about all that, because I easily could.
OK, so you told me your current obsession. So can you take me through typical day in great detail? When do you wake up?
I’ve been having sleep apnea problems, so I’m awake all night.
Oh, shit. When did you get the diagnosis?
This year.
And what are you doing for it? Do you have to wear the thing on your nose?
I can’t go through any of those kinds of treatments because I’m also epileptic and have neuropathy. So if I strap something to my face, I’d have a seizure really quickly. This is the glamorous life of Michael Musto. So I toss and turn a lot at night and just deal with it during the day. I’ll take a nap if I have to—if I can afford to. Fortunately my schedule is not as demanding as it was back in the eighties or nineties. I can take on or turn down any work that I want. I’m not retired at all but I’m now in the driver’s seat because I’m getting Social Security and I’ve saved money because I’ve worked my whole life and invested well and never threw money away.
And so now I write still for villagevoice.com and a few gays sites, but only as much as I want to. I now know that I don’t have to do every interview, though I’m glad I’m doing this one. In the old days, I was like a miniature Sarah Jessica Parker where I couldn’t turn anything down unless there was something gigantically prestigious. And then I’d make sure that I fucked it up. [laughs]
But if it was: “Do you wanna judge a go-go boy contest in Secaucus?”, I’d be like, “Yeah, I’ll be there. And let me pay my own transportation, please.” [laughs]
That’s just who I am. But I’ve learned the power of saying no now and it’s kind of enjoyable. It means I’m listening to myself and loving myself more.
Yeah. Well, our life is a hustler’s life. I hope to get to where you are, where I don’t really have to hustle, hustle, hustle.
I don’t feel now that I have to write every single thing that comes my way anymore. Facebook has become the new way to write your articles. Unfortunately, it doesn’t pay. But it’s supplanted magazines because people are already finding out everything you’re thinking, whether it’s about politics or the fact that you just made Yankee bean soup.
[laughs] I’ve often asked myself, “Why do you devote time writing on Facebook? It doesn’t pay.” And of course the kids think we’re pathetic for still being on Facebook, but I’m like, “You’re on the same fucking oligarchic company that we are, Meta, with your Instagram.” But I’ve found on Facebook that among those of us who are writers, we just can’t resist. We have this compulsion to put our thoughts into words. You can say that Facebook is so trashy, but I think if you have a cohort of smart friends, many of whom are writers, it can almost be like a salon where you end up having great conversations about a film or politics or any number of things.
That’s the best-case scenario. But it’s also seductive as this womb where you’re surrounded only by people applauding your every move. So you could go on there and say, “I just pushed somebody into traffic” and you’ll have 500 people saying, “Good job!”
[laughs] That’s totally true. So when do you get out of bed?
About 7:30. I used to start my day by reading my emails but I’m now getting messages in many other ways, texts, DMs. So I catch up with the business aspect of my life, then write whatever articles I’m working on, which I have down to a science. Then appointments, from lunch with a friend for fun to a business lunch. Yesterday I had lunch with a friend who’s starting a gay magazine and wants me to do a monthly column. He has a budget and I can write whatever I want, and that’s so easy.
What’s a handful of the main places you’re writing for now?
For villagevoice.com, I write Broadway reviews. I do a monthly piece for Chelsea Community News. And that guy is starting an LGBT community news. And I'll be doing a monthly column for a new bar mag called Rag.
Have you learned hacks along the way with your work? At a certain point I learned to type in verbatim shorthand during an interview, which ended up saving me countless hours of transcribing, even if I still taped the call, which I usually do. What about you?
The exact same thing, because I hate transcribing. And you have to listen to yourself on the tape, which I hate. For all my neurological problems, my fingers can still fly. I can also write in shorthand with a pen.
Right, especially if you type it up soon after you do it. And so you work until when on a daily basis?
My work is amorphous. If I’m watching a Broadway show, that’s my work, because I’m reviewing it. The reason I always wanted this life was to not have to punch a clock from nine to five. I had a few temp office jobs when I first started that I found so soul-deadening I vowed never to have that life. I surely would’ve killed myself.
Same. I had full-time jobs and I eventually had to acknowledge that something deep in me was not suited to that, so I chose this swinging-from-vine-to-vine life, which at least gives you adrenaline and a sense of agency.
It was concomitant with me for coming out when I was young. I could live in the closet while doing a horrifying office job that I hated, or I could be this self-employed, fabulous freelance bon vivant who’s openly gay. And that’s what I chose.
You don’t choose to be gay. You choose to be openly gay. Looking back now, thank you, Jesus, because I made the right choices. I did everything that I dreamed of and then some. I even achieved some things I couldn’t have dreamed of because I never thought they were possible. So looking back on young Michael Musto, I can say, “Oh my God, I did it right.” I ignored the people who said, “Don’t be a writer, don’t be openly gay.” All that toxic garbage I just drowned out and kept moving.
Who told you not to be a writer?
This woman I worked with at a temp job. She tried to be a writer and couldn’t make it, therefore I shouldn’t try. Actually at that time, it wasn’t that hard at all! There were still magazines with huge budgets carrying a lot of writers. Now it’s hard to be a writer. But I still wouldn’t tell anyone not to do it. Because if it’s what you want to do, of course you have to do it. It’s very A Chorus Line. “God, I’m a dancer—a dancer dances.”
My father wanted me to be an accountant or a pharmacist. And my mother, even when I made it as a writer, wanted me to get a side job packing groceries at Gristede’s.
[laughs] So Michael, do you still go out every night?
No, absolutely not, and you can’t. It’s not available anymore. You’d be living in some weird Twilight Zone if you were going to Studio 54. It ain’t there!
But I mean like theater or things that end before midnight.
Oh, yeah. But if there’s an occasional night where there’s nothing, I can stay home and do my work or go ride my e-bike, which I love. That alone is a fulfilling evening. I get incredible rushes gliding through Central Park or on the West Side Pier.
But yeah, for the most part, I have things. Tomorrow night I have two events to cover. One is a Netflix rooftop soirée. Another is an art show that Mr. Mickey [Boardman, longtime editorial director for Paper magazine and a close friend of Michael’s] is curating. There’s stuff to do, believe me.
It seems that going out has never gotten old for you. Is that so? Do you do it now with a little more dragging yourself than you used to?
No, I still do it with a lot of verve. Writing is such an isolating profession. You might be with other people while doing the research, but when it comes to writing, there’s no one to reach out to. You’re sitting there facing your computer screen. So you look forward to the times that you are summoned to be somewhere. And I make my own hours. If I’m at a party and it becomes tedious, or the nightmare crowd is cornering me like Day of the Locust, I just leave. I make my own rules. I have nothing to lose anymore.
I remember once, I was at a little informal party at somebody’s apartment with Cathay, whom I met you through, and you were in the corner taking notes. And I came over to you and asked, “Are you covering this party?” Because it wasn’t that kind of party. And you were like, “No.” But—what notes were you taking?
Well, that was when I had to fill a weekly column in the Voice as well as do a daily blog of up to eight posts a day. So of course if something crossed my mind, I’d stop to write it down. I had to constantly crank out copy. It really became overwhelming. I felt like I was on a treadmill, trying to keep the Village Voice alive. So sometimes I’d pull out a dirty napkin and scribble notes on it.
Have you ever felt a feeling of hiding from yourself in your work? This life we have is all about interviewing others. We’re like magpies, always drawn to new, shiny things. Did you ever feel, as I have at times, that you were hiding from yourself, not knowing yourself—what you really love, hate, your desires, etc. ?
Definitely. You’re immersed in talking to other people more famous than you, and you’re always around them, because obviously I’m obsessed with celebrity.
Why? What is it about celebrity that obsesses you?
Growing up, I was painfully shy. I literally did not speak as a child, so I never got any attention. And it wasn’t until I started appearing in school plays and writing for the school paper that I did get attention. So I learned that becoming a performer or entertainer would make people notice you. And it’s so much better to be noticed than not to be noticed. My biggest fear was to live this nine-to-five, anonymous life where you’re not really impacting anyone personally. To me, that was the most exciting thing about celebrity, that you could impact people. You could change the way they looked at style or politics. So I found that one thing I’ve courted as a lifestyle is that I’ve achieved some level of fame. It’ll never be as much as the people I write about, but that also works for me because then I’m afraid of being too successful.
So my level of fame was just right. I got to be on TV. People still chase me for my autograph to this day. But you’re never going to be at the point of Chappell Roan, who probably can’t leave the house.
Yeah, I’ve always thought that there must be some continuum with fame where, at the beginning, you don’t even think of it as loss of privacy. The fact that you are known by people you don’t know is really thrilling. But there’s some point on that continuum where it becomes a genuine loss of privacy, and you can’t really know the violation of loss of privacy until you hit a certain level of fame.
Right, but like I said, you’re not losing that much privacy as a writer. Once I got on “The Gossip Show” on E! in the nineties, things changed a lot. I’d be walking down the street and someone would say, “Hey, Michael!”, and I’d go, “Hey!” I’d think, “How do I know them?”, then realize, “Oh, I don’t—they just watch the show.”
You can see Michael dishing about a nasty Martha Stewart tell-all at about 11:22:
How did that feel? Was it amazing?
Well, I was so hungry for attention that it actually felt really good.
Yeah. Do you think that as gay men, we lean toward performativeness because it’s a form of fighting against closetedness in a way? Especially maybe those of us who are between 50 and 80. I think there was such a desire to live openly, to have people know and accept you as gay, that celebrity was a way to get there. Being funny or charming was the bridge that allowed you to be openly gay and still loved. Does that resonate with you?
Yeah. Like I said, growing up, I was extremely shy. And once you realize you’re gay, at least back when I was coming of age, you’re terrified and you build up a wall around yourself and the whole point of your existence is, “Don’t notice me. Don’t spot me as a gay. I don’t want to be bullied.” And I wasn’t that bullied as a kid because I put up that wall. And later on, when you come to Manhattan, you realize, “Oh my God, everyone is in the same boat as me. They’re all superfreaks. They all spent their childhood trying to not be noticed, and now they’re desperate to be noticed by each other.” And so we create this crazy family where we buoy each other up to celebrate ourselves for the things we used to hide or be ashamed of.
So that’s an exhilarating feeling. But it became increasingly important for me to be not just successful, but to come out. And not be one of those “Oh, obviously I’m gay.” Sean Hayes from Will and Grace. These people love to rewrite history. “Oh, I was always out.” No, you weren’t. You presented at the GLAAD Awards, therefore you were out?
Yeah. You’re touching on something about which you played a big role in changing the culture. Not just you. Others, like Michelangelo Signorile, played this role, too. That period of more or less pushing closeted celebs to be out.
Was there ever something around that that you wrote that you regret? Because I feel like for the most part, it was a good thing. It was the community pressuring its own to come out. But any regrets?
I paid the price in many ways that I won’t even go into at the moment. But I never regretted anything, because my column in the Voice was supposed to be the place where you stepped up to the plate and told truths that a lot of people didn’t want to hear. And I was supposed to print personal gossip that some celebrities might not want out there. But why should we make gayness the last taboo, considering that other gossip columnists wrote all kinds of personal things about celebrities without caring whether the star wanted that stuff out there or not?
And I have to give the most credit to Michelangelo, who founded Outweek [magazine, in 1989] and was my mentor. We would talk on the phone every day about who was hiding in the closet, who said what homophobic thing. When Calvin Klein married a woman, we just went insane. Of course, he’d been married to a woman before that. But the fact that AIDS was prompting some high-profile gays back into the closet was appalling to us and we just had a field day mincing and chopping up these people. People said, “They have a right to come out on their own.” Of course! They still did. I was writing for an alternative paper in the corner. The mainstream media was not picking up most of what I was writing. So a big celebrity could mostly ignore me.
Though in the case of Rosie O’Donnell, about whom I kept writing, “Come out—you’re not in love with Tom Cruise—admit it!” She called me and Michelangelo the gay Nazis. And I think we did have an effect on her. We all became friends, which was great.
Hear Rosie roasting Michael in 2017 (at about 3:30)…
Are you friends with her now? In touch with her?
Yeah. She was one of the first to go against Trump. Extremely brave. And she’s still doing it!
Any other celebs where your narrative with them was particularly fraught?
[pause] Yeah. [ laughs]
Who?
I won’t say. But [pause] it did make personal waves for me.
Can you tell me one story where the repercussions for you were highest?
Um [pause]
Did their publicist get you banned from certain studios, or—?
Um, they weren’t happy and some of these people are extremely well-connected and at times bordering on sociopathic or psychotic behavior. But in any case, I’m proud of myself for sticking to my gay guns. Although now, so many people are out, that outing doesn’t really seem necessary anymore. I’m a little disturbed—not disturbed but disappointed—that people use “queer” as an umbrella term instead of saying “I’m a lesbian,” or this or that.
I’ve encountered people who were heterosexual and called themselves queer. What does that mean? That you’re an ally? Then say you’re an ally, but don’t say you’re queer.
We need an in-ning movement to get them back in the closet. But one thing I’ve mellowed about is, if someone says they’re bisexual, then just believe them.
Yeah, I think back in the high outing days, queers felt that if you said you were bi, it was a way of avoiding saying that you were actually gay. But I still think to say you’re bi is still a bit more of a big deal for men than for women. Would you agree?
Yeah, and the main reason is that the business is still run by a lot of straight males, as is the entire world, and straight males generally have no problem with the sight of two women kissing each other but get antsy when two guys do it. I always found that lesbianism was more accepted as a coming out thing because a lot of the powers that be found it alluring.
Sure. I mean look at Basic Instinct. That’s such a straight guy’s pervy lens onto lesbianism. So, Michael, you brought up your childhood a bit. You grew up in Bensonhurst, in an all-Italian family, correct?
Absolutely.
So paint a little picture of eight-year-old Michael.
Well, first of all, I was an only child. My mother tried to have other kids but it didn’t work out. There were no Italian-American only children.
