Reviews

Michael Musto I'm thrilled that James St. James remembered anything, let alone "EVERYTHING" about his dizzying club kid days. His wry recollections provide a hilarious, hallucinatory, harrowing romp that almost makes his friendship with club killer Michael Alig worthwhile. Having already lived this story, revisiting it through St. James's jaundiced-eye view was an unexpected revelation. "Disco Bloodbath" could turn anyone out of a K-hole. It's an instant classic about the severe price tag attached to fabulosity gone awry.