Perhaps it was the hype that killed Jobriath’s career. Perhaps it was unwise that the CBS executive who signed him was also sleeping with him. Or perhaps it was just that, for all its new-found sexual liberation, 1970s America just wasn’t ready for a flamboyant, openly gay former rent boy who promised to perform on “a mini Empire State Building [that] will turn into a giant spurting penis [while] I transform into Marlene Dietrich.” But whatever the case, the man who was touted as an American answer to David Bowie was instead a commercial disaster, his album not selling nearly enough copies to justify its huge promotional budget. It’s a shame because with the benefit of hindsight, it could (and perhaps should) have been huge. Instead, Jobriath retired from music after one more failed album, and by 1975, he was suffering from schizophrenia and living in the Chelsea Hotel, augmenting his income by hustling on the street. He died in 1983, one of the first casualties of AIDS -– a sad end to a career that promised a great deal. [Source]
New Music United 