Fred H. Berger, the man behind the "Propaganda", New York’s legendary subculture zine. Famous for its drop-dead gorgeous androgyns wrapped in scandalous leather outfits and military uniforms, his body-of-work spans three decades and three continents. Now, in this succulent compendium of decadent delights, his obsessive pursuit of "radical beauty" is fully documented, in all its grandeur and infamy. For adventurous men and women.

If Fred Berger did not exist, it would be necessary to create him.

As Executive Editor and Senior Staff Photographer of Propaganda magazine from 1982-2002, Berger developed a trademark brand of homoeroticism a million miles away from the hunks-n-junk of standard-issue gay porn, but equally far from the developing twink esthetic. Berger's photographs are intensely fetishistic, unashamedly perverse, magnificently fashionable and goth as fuck.

Focusing on models whose gender(s) are always questionable and often utterly undecipherable, Berger challenged -- nay, torpedoed -- the standards both of gay porn and goth fashion, mingling visions of deathrock, punk, new wave and haute-couture with rampant militarism, a shameless uniform fetish, a fixation on the themes of BDSM and a healthy appreciation of the mid-'70s leather-fag subculture. Berger bewitches with his casual use of the cultural mash-up, the seamless way his lens fixates on whatever he fancies or, in perhaps a more appropriate way of putting it, what fancies him.

Berger set out from the early years to capture the intensity of outlaws and sexual minorities, and his photographs seem to convey an esthetic as uncomfortable with the label "gay" as it would be with any other label. In the years when Propaganda was one of the most important outlets for goth (nee deathrock) culture, Berger's undeniable contribution to the landscape of homoeroticism was the alternative he offered -- a queerer-than-queer appreciation of androgyny and perversity, a trickster's attitude toward gender, a celebration of fetishism and fixation that was years ahead of its time.

Now that mainstream "fetish" culture has caught up with him -- sort of -- the photographs in Desperado pack more of a punch than ever. Berger's appreciation of military uniforms, historical weapons and BDSM gear might seem less edgy if he didn't use them with such artistic viciousness. One of Desperado's most powerful images features a mocha-skinned muscle boy decked out in army green tank top and jock strap, bayonet hanging from his army-web belt, slipping the muzzle of a Walther P-38 pistol into the mouth of a kneeling, collared man before him, while using his riding crop to caress the tongue of another tan-uniformed guy who stands, helpless and hands-up, his expression communicating intrigue as much as the kneeling man's communicates fear.

It's all very Ilsa: She-Wolf of the SS -- but it's also intensely seductive, not least because gender, for Berger, is best served hot and cold at the same time. His models appear -- mostly -- genetically male, but here and there a sprinkling of white lace or a healthy pair of A-cups on a slim, androgynous body makes the viewer realize just how deep Berger's models are in the shadowland between masculinity and femininity -- if, in fact, there's a shadowland between them at all.

Regardless, the models, like the photographs, are gorgeous, and Desperado is a naughty, nasty, breathtaking jaunt into Fred Berger's mind, as twisted as it is adventurous.

Desperado - by Zach Addams Top of the Guide