From Freddy Mercury and Rob Halford to Sir Elton John and Little Richard, rock ’n roll has a long-standing tradition of embracing some of the world’s gayest, most talented frontmen. The parity between rock music and gay culture extends to hetero artists as well. Groupie-mongering Led Zeppelin penning 1976’s “Royal Orleans” in tribute to their wild times in the Big Easy’s gay scene.

With that in mind, I wax my chest, grab my lube and head out in search of Shanghai’s first gay rockstar, or at least some entertaining and shocking homo-erotica.

Rather then exploring the same old channels in the city’s rock dives, I figure China’s Morrissey is probably hunkered down in one of the few gay clubs in town, so I bee-line it to Shanghai’s Castro, the Huaihai-Xingguo-Tianping triangle, and hit up Eddy’s Bar, a venue that, much like rock staple Yuyintang, has been forced to shut its doors and relocate on more than one occasion due to local disapproval for concentrated subculture establishments.

Unfortunately, Eddy’s is really just an average dive bar. If not for the almost-exclusively male patronage and free cock rings at the door, one could easily mistake this for a regular breeder bar and, alas, the Chinese Adam Lambert is absent.

Luckily, Shanghai Studio is just across the street, and, if the local gay scene is anything like the rock circuit, where underground compounds like 0093 cultivate local talent, this is bound to be the place where the gay hardcore comes to hone its chops.

Expecting to be greeted with cat calls and the sounds of The Ark and Scissor Sisters, or at least Depeche Mode and Erasure, I’m disappointed by the tameness of the atmosphere. Perhaps the locals can just sense my adoration for titties and beer but, aside from a couple of topless dudes dancing with each other, Shanghai Studio is like a more crowded, confusing version of the local recording studio JuJu / Postape, but with an underwear shop in the back. Well, there was that one guy in the genie pants, all oiled up and belly dancing.

I’m starting think that the homo / rock crossover has yet to hit China, but with one last card to play, I trek all the way to D2, where, at the least, I’ll drink with a couple of fag hags to some Lady Gaga. The ¥100 cover charge, slow bar service and warehouse feel are reminiscent of MAO Livehouse, but the elusive star is nowhere in sight.

While my quest to discover our first gay rock ’n roll diva proves fruitless, I’m hopeful that a quintessential crossover star will one day emerge.