Sleazegrinder Interview

Sleazegrinder!

"All the Smart Girls Know Why"
An Interview with Molly Crabapple

Yes, I know you wrote a splatter-goth porn flick called “Grave Desires” in 10th grade that featured a yarn-haired cyberdoll with an insatiable lust for blood and other body fluids by the name of Molly Crabapple, but this is not her, ya whacko. I betcha our Molly here would do a bang-up job in the role, though. Miss Crabapple is 21 years old, and she lives in New York City, which means she is at the bar right now. Probably one of those joints that serves wine, or maybe absinthe, and she is chatting it up with nattily dressed latter-day bohemes about French symbolist poetry and the bargains to be had at the Kapalicarsi. Some clown in last Thursday’s distressed denim passes by, and suddenly stops in his tracks. He taps her shoulder and says, “I’m sorry miss, but I just had to tell you, you have the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen.” And you can tell, he means it, man. Molly sizes him up, nods, and says, “Oh, thank you so much!” and then glances at her feet, signaling the guy to take a hike. He does. She’s polite and gracious, of course – that’s the model code, after all- but once he turns the corner, she snorts, just a little. “No DUH, jackass”, she says, mostly to herself, and then she smiles sweetly. You would too, if you had the most beautiful eyes in the room.

Molly is an artist , first and last and always, and she likes to sketch things – places, people (mostly girls), and events of a joyous and exuberant nature. She actually prefers the term “illustrator”, so remember that, if you ever meet her. She illustrates in a style that reaches deep into the past – Art Nouveau, Art Deco, turn-of-the-century advertising design, 50’s pin-up art – to create her very own Utopian vision of curvy librarians and too-skinny devils and juicy forbidden fruits. She learned to draw in Paris (where ELSE, I ask you?) and continues to refine her craft, soaking up wisdom and techniques from the very artists that routinely sketch her own naked, splendorous image. Oh, and she drew a few covers for Screw, which is pretty bad ass for an art school chick.

Ah, but Molly is a complex girl, too. Despite her refined tastes, she is also a GoGo dancer (occasionally), a Suicide Girl (forever- see below), and was even Gothbabe of the Week once. She may have even stretched that title out for a fortnight.

What does the future hold for our Molly? Well, she plans on breaking many more hearts, starting with yours. The rest, well, she’s just gonna wing it.

Oh, and she and I might form an East Coast contingency of Radio Werewolf and put the sexy back in Satan. That’s the rumor I’m starting, anyway. Onto the interrogation

It says in your bio that you were once "paid to pretend to be decadent". That sounds like a good gig. Can you describe it? Especially the faux-decadent parts.

It was a release party for "Cafe Boheme", a "bohemian themed" liquor. Now, I always thought the bohemian liquor was hairspray. The PR firm wanted the party to look like artsy 20's Paris. They hired two suitably rugged male models to sketch me naked. Every so often, the camera man would come up and ask "What would you do if you lived in the time of Hemingway?"

"Why, I'd just live in a garret and die of love."

After five glasses of Cafe Boheme, all my poses were lying down. And the male models had to defend my honor from lusty ad execs.

What's your take on REAL decadence? Like, how far can too far go, Molly Crabapple?

Real decandence? I wish. Right now I'm so wholesome and hardworking it makes me sick. But just wait till I get old. Then its going to be all sharp tongued meanness and paying young men to bang me. I'll also eat whole tubs of Chubby Hubby Ice Cream. Decadence indeed.

You "hail" from Williamsburg, New York. Please, tell us three things about Williamsburg that the locals don't WANT us to know.

Those are dive bar themed dive bars.

Despite much bitching about chain stores, the Tasti-D-Lite on Bedford Ave is always packed.

Getting that bedhead takes two hours of styling in the morning.

Now that Al Goldstein is living in a homeless shelter, do you wish you gave him a price break on the Screw covers you illustrated?

Sad to say, I got in after the Goldstein regime. The current owners show a distinct discomfort in dealing non-pixelated women. And I bet Al would have paid me on time.

What do models talk about when you all get together? You're laughing at us, aren't you?

Yes, we giggle about the silly man-worms, before rubbing each other down with oil.

I knew it. Damn. It says in your bio you have a closet full of "props". Awesome. Can you kill people with any of them?

My prop closet now contains my valuable collection of empty liquor bottles. Great for those barfly themed shoots. Also some corsets. But no guns. Yet.

Oh, and I can kill a man seven ways with a spoon.

How's it feel to be a one-time "Goth Babe of the Week"? Is it strangely sad?

The sad thing is that for all my promotion and advertising, the most hits my website ever got was during that one, black-draped week in July.

Um, you don't really LISTEN to goth, tho, do you?

I stopped listening to goth when I lost my virginity.

You know what your drawings are? They are bewitching. Possibly winsome as well, but definitely bewitching. How's a 20 year old end up bewitching? Is there a school for that?

As any reader of Dan Clowes' "Art School Confidential" can tell you, art schools are scams. I learned to draw by hanging around better artists who abused my fragile self esteem. And by copying great artists. Gibson, James Montgomery Flagg, the street artist in Venice who was picking all the tourists' pockets...

I often model at the Society of Illustrators in New York, where the niftiest illustrators alive get drunk and occasionally draw pictures. The guys there are my inspiration. It's like the boozy men's club of my dreams, where the sole qualification is artistic skill. Someday, I want to be good enough to join, drink and hit on models.

I hear that if you want out of being a Suicide Girl, the other girls gang up on you with flick knives and like, mess you up real bad. Any truth to that?

The only way out of being a suicide girl is suicide. Silly.

Angela Bettis or Lyndsay Lohan? Think about this one, because it's hard.

I have to admit you've out-hipstered me. I had to resort to google for this one. But definitely Angela Bettis. Lyndsay Lohan looks like the archetypical chirpy blonde who snubbed me in high school.

You have done performance art, which is sometimes bad ass. Was it bad ass in your case? Any blood or fire?

I wish. While I would give up my corsets to be a fire wielding diva like Storm, in this particular case I took part in a modern artist's conceptual piece. During the show, it was my job to creep up to gallery-goers and whisper in their ears "This is the life."

Did I get punched? No. Did I deserve it? Yes.

Say I have enough for your lingerie model-shoot rate ($180). Maybe I just got paid. Do I REALLY have to bring a camera?

My ogling fee's a lot more than $180.

Says here you like Dirty Girl Scouts. What's in a Dirty Girl Scout? And no, I'm NOT talking about the drink.

A dirty girl scout is a character from a long tradition of sexual detournement. You take innocent things and make them sexy. Dirty girlscout. Dirty schoolgirl. Dirty Japaense schoolgirl. Dirty Condeleeza Rice...

Finally, and this is important – where did the Toilet Boys go wrong?

Not with their hair. And certainly, not with their pouting.

-FIN-

site!