Burlesque's Best

I have written a bit about my enjoyment of burlesque before, but nothing could have prepared my mind for the gale-force blowing it received during my first visit to Burlesque Hall of Fame Weekend in Las Vegas at The Orleans hotel and casino this year. It was just over a month ago and I still feel a contact high. One could liken it to a first visit to Comic Con International in San Diego, or a trip to Bonnaroo. Though those latter two events draw more people, there is still an act of devotion and pilgrimage and community at the heart of the journey, and BHOF is big enough to feel inclusive, yet small enough to be intimate. It is just about perfect.

The Orleans Video Marquee - Photo by Robert Paul Lewis

I could write about a lot: the interesting people I met, the late night carousing, how much Vegas has changed in a few short years since my last visit, how enjoyable a session of Michelle L'Amour's Naked Girls Reading can be, how entertaining a bunch of burlesque performers bowling can be, or my two-mile round-trip walk at midnight to the nearest In-N-Out Burger. But it is the performances one attends BHOF to see, and so it is performances about which I shall write.

First, some qualifications. I am not nor do I pretend to be a judge. Any subjective comments I make should not be taken as any sort of censure of other acts. There were NO bad acts of any sort during those four nights of shows.  Only the best of the best are invited to perform, and they all deserve and are granted respect for that alone. That said, I am not terribly excited by boylesque, but I do wish to say that I was enthralled every moment Russell Bruner was on stage. Bruner is a consummate showman and would absolutely make this list were I not only considering the ladies. Also, Ray Gunn's Narcissus number, in which he performs with himself on a video screen, was conceptually one of the strongest of the weekend, so props to Ray. I had a great time at the Legends Night, hosted by the ever-graceful World Famous BOB, but I admittedly know not enough of the rich history of burlesque to adequately put these acts into context, so I will avoid listing them individually and instead simply recognize how damned awesome it is to see these ladies still up and entertaining decades after they began.

Also, I am going to choose to omit the showcase, showstopping performance by last year's Miss Exotic World, Indigo Blue. The epic production value simply makes it unfair to judge other acts against it. It was a rousing, inspiring send-off, though, and only makes me want to see many more performances from Indigo Blue.

Anyway, in no particular order until I get to #1:

MY FIVE FAVORITE BHOF 2012 PERFORMANCES 

Photo courtesy of Derek Jackson

ANITA COOKIE: I have seen Anita perform with her Dangerous Curves Ahead traveling troupe, and really enjoy her work.  This amazingly playful act wherein she accompanies herself on a variety of percussive instruments while humming, yelping, and otherwise vocalizing the classic burlesque song "Night Train," finishing by twirling her tassels to play a cymbal, was one of the funniest of the weekend, and I am a sucker for funny.

Photo courtesy of Derek Jackson

KITTY BANG BANG: Probably my favorite prop of the weekend was the giant, glitter-covered garbage can from which Kitty Bang Bang emerges to begin her act. Kitty does an energetic, power-note routine to Henry Mancini's "Pink Panther" theme that meets and exceeds the promise of that awesome prop. It's rather meta, in its way, because isn't burlesque really the art where glamor meets the street? I think so. Kitty was one of the few performers my shy self actually tracked down and thanked after the show. I can't say enough good things about this act. The epic story of the trash can/wheelie bin is also one of my favorites from a weekend filled with fun stories.

Photo courtesy of Derek Jackson

LOLA FROST & CHERRY ON TOP: These shows are long, and even though every act is damn good, it takes something amazing to get the reaction these ladies received for their mummy/Egyptian themed duo number, performed to Royal T featuring Roisin Murphy's "Crookers." I was amazed by the enthusiasm they brought to this act and how their flirtatious energy built throughout the performance. This was something special.

Photo courtesy of Derek Jackson

RUBY JOULE: I have seen Ruby perform a few times the past couple of years, and she was admittedly a favorite of mine coming into the weekend. The particular thrill of her Vegas performance was that I saw Ruby do an earlier version of this elegant yet lively act in New Orleans last year. Seeing her perform it this time (to a mix of "Ecoutez, Repetez" by Touch and Go and "Put the Blame on Mame" by Banu Gibson)  was to witness a fully confident performer owning her act as well as the crowd viewing it. It was simply one of those alchemical moments where everything was the best possible version of itself.  Ruby won "Best Debut" and "Most Classic" trophies, and I couldn't have been happier for her.

Photo courtesy of Derek Jackson

JULIE ATLAS MUZ: One of the reasons I love burlesque so much is that it occasionally renders me speechless.  I remember the first time I saw the amazing Iva Handfull do her "Firestarter" punked-up fan dance. I get chills even thinking about the way the room exploded in applause afterward. I saw the very first show in which some of the members of my hometown's Salome Cabaret performed, and watching them today makes me smile like a psychotic getting a hit of laughing gas. I had heard of Julie but admittedly knew little about her before this weekend. She won the Miss Exotic World title in 2006, so I knew she would be great.  I just didn't expect her to be this great. She entered from the audience dressed as a cop, chasing away emcee Bastard Keith in the midst of his rant about the dangerous overreach of authority. She then proceeded, to the strains of KRS One's "Sound of Da Police," to molotov cocktail the damn house down. If Vegas could harness the energy of this act, the Strip could be disconnected from the power grid for the whole night and not suffer dimming of any sort or degree. She achieves a physical effect in her disrobing that still baffles me and which I lack words to describe, but even without that bit of awesomeness, words still fail. If I were attending BHOF weekend for an epiphanous moment, then Julie Atlas Muz provided it.

Photo courtesy of Derek Jackson

There were so many other performances I loved. I finally saw Dirty Martini's stellar balloon number, a classic act from a legendary performer. It is impossible to not fall a little bit in love with Roxi D'Lite. Perle Noire could resuscitate the near-dead with her sheer energy and confidence. LouLou D'vil could likely stop or start warfare, depending on her whims. Coco Lectric is a bundle of pure breathtaking. Cleo Viper may well have been an actual butterfly in another life. One should take any opportunity possible to hang out with Black Mariah, who was not performing but was still kick-ass. Also, one should hire David "The Bishop of Burlesque" Bishop to stage manage every show possible. When there is that much love for a stage manager, he must be doing many things right.

Finally, congratulations to the new Miss Exotic World, Imogen Kelly, whose amazing flamingo costume was eclipsed only by her charm as a performer.

I hope to be back next year.

And I hope I get to see the movie Burlesque Assassins well before then.

Some brief thoughts on Andy Griffith

I was working on another post, but admittedly a lot of my thoughts today regard the death of Andy Griffith.

Now, I never watched Matlock, but in my youth I was subjected to constant viewing of The Andy Griffith Show because my family, specifically my dad, loved it.  I usually half-watched it, busy with a comic book or some other amusement, but I came to know all the characters in Mayberry fairly well. I would never claim to be a giant fan of the show, and couldn't quote episode titles or the like as could one of my college professors who helped research a book on the show (Hi, Dr. Lee), but some things stuck with me, even if I wasn't aware of them at the time. Family and friends are important. Be true to your word. Don't get too worked up about problems in the moment, as life tends to sort them out over time. It could have been preachy, and its small-town truisms certainly could have been seen as treacly, but it just felt like life, which is a credit to the people that wrote and performed the show. It felt authentic. This is the new golden age of television, but I don't know how many shows I can honestly describe as such these days.

At the center of the show, the moral center, if you will, was Andy Taylor, Mayberry's local sheriff.  To his credit, Griffith never seemed afraid of being upstaged by Don Knotts, who even the unreasonable among us would admit created one of history's most indelible and memorable comedic characters in blundering deputy Barney Fife. Griffith as Taylor tended to win over a cadre of spirited locals and wayward relatives with a calm, understanding demeanor and thoughtful wisdom in just the right amounts. The fact that most episodes (and, yes, the black & white episodes are better than the colors) can stand up to scrutiny and remain funny to this day speaks outstandingly well of Griffith's instincts and the, yes, authenticity and universality of Mayberry and its inhabitants.  As a writer of fictions myself, The Andy Griffith Show was an early lesson in creating consistent, empathetic characters and also an absolute masterclass in world-building.  That last bit is a phrase most often used in fantasy, in creating the geography, iconography, and internal logic of a fictional locale, but if the object of building a world is to make it feel strange and familiar all at once, then Mayberry fits the definition.

I don't know that Griffith ever had the greatest range as a performer.  The most I've seen him stretch is in Elia Kazan's A Face In The Crowd, and his Lonesome Rhodes could perhaps be described as Andy Taylor's dark mirror. He absolutely nails the part of a homespun con artist sick with power. But with The Andy Griffith Show he hit a sweet spot, and in many ways became the nation's father figure for a good portion of the 60's and beyond.  One could make a case that he remained beloved because he was a symbol of steadfastness in a turbulent point in U.S. history, a decent man trying to do right even as the concept of right and wrong was being turned upside down.

Regardless, I am glad he was around, and I believe he will be for generations to come. Thanks to my dad for always having you on the TV, Andy. Rest in Peace.

My Kind of People

This blog remains a work in progress, though that scarcely excuses how lax I have become about posting to it.  I have lots of topics I wish to tackle, though I remain unsure about how I should approach them. For instance, I love music. Less than some, more than others, but it is an important element in my life.

The problem is, I know next to nothing about it.  I could sit here and discuss any number of arts, but my knowledge of music ends at whatever basics the music teacher at my middle school was able to imbue while I was hoping I wouldn't be chosen for the recorder solo in the middle of class that day. Music was not terribly important to my family when I was a kid, so I mostly heard whatever was playing on the popular country station at the time, which was not exactly the golden age of country music. I would love to be able to discuss rhythmic progressions or the science of songcraft with some authority, but I instead have to fall back on the hackneyed trope of "I know what I like."

One of the things I have liked since "Stupid Girl" licked its way into my ear is Garbage.  Even before my wicked crush on Shirley Manson, I had a wicked crush on her voice and her assured sensibility. Most of the women I was around at that time had no idea what they wanted, and here I was presented with a women who most assuredly did know, even if she changed her mind between songs.

When I used to work retail, in the music department, Garbage was always a band I tried to turn other people on to. And I worked with some really knowledgeable people, some musicians themselves, so I had to really up my game.  WHY did I like Garbage?  There was a dude I worked with who loved any music marketed using the image of an attractive female, and he was roundly derided for his (admittedly terrible) taste. I couldn't simply talk about Shirley.  I came up with the idea that Garbage was deconstructed pop. Despite the bells and whistles, the unconventional noises that formed the bedrock of their songs, they were based around catchy pop hooks, twisted and contorted. Instead of sweet bubblegum, Shirley sang about the icky wad on the bottom of your shoe. That nastiness on the bottom of your sole (pun intended) is ultimately far more interesting than telling someone how perfect they are in an attempt to nail them. Relationships can be twisty and unpleasant even as they bring you great joy. Emotions and perspectives are complex and ever-changing. The band's ability to speak to that is why I can and do listen to Garbage's albums in their entirety to this day. Sonically, they brought in elements of industrial, pure rock, and a pulsing vein of goth (all the more appropriate that their new album was released on World Goth Day).

These were pop songs for outsiders.

"Stupid Girl" was great for me, an acknowledgement from a woman that certain types of women should be avoided (and, really, certain types of people. Stupidity is gender-neutral). "Only Happy When It Rains" remains a favorite, one of the all-time great anthems of depressiveness.  "Vow" is a spiraling gyre illustrating the hazards of obsession. "Special" is a great kiss-off song, and features one of the great underrated videos of all time. "Medication" is a heartbreaker about mental illness (I particularly love the acoustic version of the song). "The Trick Is To Keep Breathing" is an empowerment treatise for the broken and is absolutely, weepingly beautiful. "Kick My Ass," a rarely-heard benefit album contribution, lets us hear that the band could probably do an awesome country album if they wanted to. And that's just from the era of their first two albums! Their next two, Beautiful Garbage and Bleed Like Me never quite launched singles like the first two, but "Cherry Lips," "Androgyny," "Bad Boyfriend" and "Why Do You Love Me?" are all damn fine songs. They just never broke the way the other songs did. Way of the world.

I have to say, though, that I have a fantasy musical moment.  I think that if I were at a show (I've seen the band twice, both times in Seattle, which Shirley compared to her native Glasgow) and could lock eyes with Miss Manson as she sang "Right Between The Eyes" and feel a human connection as she sings "Life's a bitch, and then you die my love," I could go on through existence not needing to hear any additional music.  I would be good.

It's been seven years since I first heard "Right Between the Eyes," and a couple since I had heard anything about a solo collection Shirley was working on. I always hoped to hear more from one of my favorite bands, but didn't expect it.  Then, when poking around and hearing about a tribute album for U2's Achtung Baby, I saw it.

Garbage was covering "Who's Gonna Ride Your Wild Horses."  I listened to it immediately on Youtube.  It was exquisite. But more importantly, they were back in the studio.

The new disc, the self-produced, independently-released Not Your Kind of People, is out this week, and I purposefully avoided hearing it, avoided downloading or even streaming it, until I could hold a disc in my hands. I wanted to be able to sit in my car and turn my phone off and hear from some old friends and how their lives are fucked up and still yet hopeful all at the same time. I wanted to feel a sense of permanence at this reunion, hence the disc. I have no idea if I'll interact with the new songs the way I have with the old, but I love stories about things coming back to life. And Garbage is just the kind of band to give those undead stories melody and substance.

Hershel's Farmhouse Blues

So, I enjoy The Walking Dead quite a bit. It's not my favorite show, but I watch every week and love the fact that they are making bold deviations from the source material (the comic book just published its ninety-fourth issue, so there's a lot of material to be mined). Anyway, this week featured a shocking character death which surprised few people who follow the showbiz scuttlebutt, but it was nevertheless a sad moment for the show.  I wanted to comment on it in some way, and somehow Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison Blues got into my head (which is not a rare occurrence, by any means).

So, without further ado, and SPOILER ALERT:

Hershel's Farmhouse Blues:

I hear the walker comin'
It's shamblin' 'round the bend,
And we ain't seen Sophia,
Since I don't know when,
I'm stuck in Hershel's farmhouse,
And time keeps draggin' on,
But that walker keeps a-shamblin',
Meat hangin' from the bone.

When Carl was just a baby,
Lori never told him, "Son,
Always be a good boy,
Don't ever play with guns,"
If he'd shot that creekbed walker,
Just to watch it die,
We'd be down one more bullet
But Dale would be alive.

 If I get enough feedback, I might even finish the last two verses.