25 July 2012 Dr Sketchy Set List

Kim Novak's Pussy: Kim Novak and Siamese companion in the 1958 film Bell, Book and Candle

For this Dr Sketchy, it was my first time back at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern in over a month. (The last time was 13 June 2012). The two guest performers / models were red-hot burlesque artistes on the ascent (and Dr Sketchy veterans) Slinky Sparkles and Choco Lat the Extraordinaire. Unfortunately, it was also a night of mondo technical glitches run amok!

Funnily enough, initially things were all smoothly functioning, organised and efficient. For once, I managed to sort out the stage lights myself, like a proper grown-up. The cordless microphone for the emcee was tested and ready to go. Choco Lat had arrived early, sound checked her CD and rehearsed one of her numbers (she did two). Then Slinky arrived and informed me the music for her number was on her iPod rather than burnt onto a CD. This always makes my heart sink: the scope for things going wrong when you’re grappling with someone’s unfamiliar iPod is high (my own iPod is the third generation shuffle – a completely different kettle of fish). And also, the volume on them is usually just never loud enough. Worryingly, when I tried to test the audio for Slinky’s iPod, I was getting no sound coming out of the decks at all. Eventually I called over The Royal Vauxhall Tavern’s manager and we both spent some sweaty, anxious moments trying to coax audio out of her iPod with no success. Finally, he had to call someone not on duty that night to work out what we were doing wrong! (Something to do with: the red light was on, when it should have been the green light. I must remember that!). When we finally got Slinky’s music resolved it felt like we'd averted a crisis. But there was more to come ...

(I’ve mentioned before that the decks at The RVT are the most complex of anywhere I’ve ever DJ’d. They really do look like the control panels of a helicopter and I have no idea what 60% of the buttons and knobs actually do. They’re really intended for dance DJs who beat mix, and obviously the venue is also used for full-scale performance art, cabaret and theatrical productions. My friend Christopher Raymond was there that night and he’d never been in the RVT's DJ booth before. Looking at the decks, he said they made him feel like Karen Black in Airport 1975 – the one where she plays the hysterical, panic-stricken stewardess who has to land the plane herself when the pilot dies of a heart attack mid-flight).

Behind the scenes, there was another drama brewing that I wasn’t even aware of. Ophelia Bitz was scheduled to emcee that night, but texted Dr Sketchy promoter (the glamorous and unflappable Clare Marie) at the last minute to say she couldn’t make it – which left Clare frantically trying to find a speedy replacement! Luckily, burlesque starlet Hotcake Kitty (who I’ve worked with at Dr Sketchy once before) stepped in and saved the day. The show was running late while this was being sorted out, but eventually when things were ready I gave Clare the cordless microphone to pass backstage to Kitty so show-time could start. Clare returned asking, "What’s wrong? The mic’s not working!" So I had to call over the long-suffering RVT manager again while we desperately tried to work out why there was suddenly no audio coming out of the mic we’d already sound checked earlier (and simultaneously keep DJ’ing)! That felt like it took ages and we were contemplating a mic-free night when finally it started working. Who knows why? We never got to the bottom of what happened there.

Later on, Slinky was due to go straight into her burlesque performance right after the break. Clare was standing next to me in the DJ booth. I’d noticed earlier the little battery symbol on Slinky’s iPod was indicating the battery was low. By now, just before her act, it was virtually dead! Clare swung into action, stretching the break out longer while she located a charger and we re-charged it as best we could – we only needed it to spark to life long enough for Slinky’s number and not die midway through! Mercifully, it worked: Hotcake Kitty announced Slinky, I hit “Play”, the iPod worked, and her number was absolutely seamless. By then I pounded back several pints of beer just to get my blood pressure back to normal. I had some friends in attendance that night and they said afterward no one in the audience was aware of any technical hitches going down, which was a relief. It actually felt exciting to salvage the night from all these potential disasters – it got the adrenaline pumping and kept me on my toes. It was a triumph against adversity!

Musically, I began with some finger snapping noir-ish and art-y No Wave / post-punk skronk courtesy of Snatch (aka Patti Palladin and Judy Nylon), death kitten / harridan Lydia Lunch and Chet Baker of punk James Chance, eased into some exotica and then luxuriated in full-blown, greasy vintage sleaze for the rest of the night. For Slinky’s poses, I decided to go for a different approach rather than the usual grinding tittyshaking instrumentals. Slinky’s image recalls classic 1950s Hollywood blonde actresses like Marilyn Monroe – but also haunting and enigmatic "Lavender Blonde" Kim Novak. I tried to opt for eerie, delicate music that evoked the idea of the archetypal Alfred Hitchcock cool blonde: pristine and poised on the outside, roiling with neuroses on the inside. Think of ice maidens like Grace Kelly, or Tippi Hedren in The Birds and Marnie. Hell, January Jones as the frosty, troubled trophy wife Betty Draper in Mad Men qualifies as an honorary modern equivalent of a Hitchcock Blonde-type, as does Catherine Deneuve in Belle de Jour. And, towering above them all is the fragile and doomed Novak in Vertigo. The latter choice is actually quite timely: on 2 August, Vertigo was officially declared “the greatest film of all time” (usurping Citizen Kane) in a poll by The British Film Institute’s Sight and Sound magazine. Anyway, the section of music between “Moon Mist” and Chet Baker’s “Petit Fleur” was for Slinky’s poses. Francoise Hardy (crooning in wispy German), Jennifer Miro of the Nuns, Marilyn Monroe and film noir siren- turned-chanteuse Lizabeth Scott represented the gloomy, conflicted voices in Slinky’s head.

Kim Novak in Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo (1958)

I’ve almost certainly mentioned this before, but having Clare Marie, Slinky, Choco Lat and I all assembled in one room is a bit of a mini-What Katie Did reunion. All three of us used to work at the deluxe faux-vintage lingerie emporium in Portobello when it first opened its doors in 2007. None of us work there now, but we were the original “dream team” in the early days. Clare used to be the manager, I was the semi-regular “Saturday Boy” and Slinky and Choco Lat were sales assistants.


The way we were! Photo taken at the in-store What Katie Did Christmas party in 2008. Left to right: me, Slinky Sparkles, Clare, Choco Lat and What Katie Did founder/ proprietor Katie Halford

Slinky and Choco Lat are consistently amazing performers. Sadly, I haven’t come across any photos taken on the night (if I find any I’ll add them later), but someone filmed a video of Choco Lat’s dazzling first number (a fan dance). If you watch carefully, you catch a glimpse of me tip toeing from the DJ booth to the men’s room during her act! (One of the advantages of DJ’ing at The RVT is that the men’s room is conveniently situated right next to the DJ booth!).



Shopping for Clothes - Snatch
I Love How You ... Lydia Lunch
Town without Pity - James Chance
Simba - Les Baxter
Virgenes del Sol - Yma Sumac
Beauty is Only Skin Deep - Robert Mitchum
Cocktails for Two - Cliff Duphiney
Vesuvius - The Revels
Madness - The Rhythm Rockers
Don't Blame it On Me - Ike and Tina Turner
Pass the Hatchet - Roger and The Gypsies
Baby Blues Rock - Carl Simpson
Oo Ba La Baby - Mamie Van Doren
Good and Bad - The Gauchos
The Mexican - The Fentones
Jim Dandy - Sara Lee and The Spades
Elle est terrible - Johnny Hallyday
When I Get Low I Get High - Florence Joelle
Don't Be Cruel - Bill Black Combo
Club Delight - Jack Jolly
I Ain't in the Mood - Helen Humes
This Thing Called Love - Esquerita
Wiped Out - The Escorts
Love Potion # 9 - Nancy Sit
Scorpion - Jimmy McConville and The Shamrocks
It Ain't to Play With - Sheryl Crowley and Lorenzo Holden's Orchestra
Blockade - The Rumblers
Fever - The Huntsmen
Work Song - Nina Simone
Strollin' After Dark - The Shades
Miss Irene - Ginny Kennedy
Beavershot - The Hollywood Hurricanes
My Goodness - X
Last Night - Lula Reed
Night Walk - The Swingers
Chicken Grabber - The Nite Hawks
Kruschev Twist - Melvin Gayle
Peter Gunn Locomotion - The Delmonas
Peter Gunn Twist - The Jesters
Tall Cool One - The Wailers
Run - Jeri Sothern
Moon Mist - The Out Islanders
Traume - Francoise Hardy
Lazy - The Nuns
Lazy - Marilyn Monroe
Can't Get Out of This Mood - Lizabeth Scott
Petit Fleur - Chet Baker
Hand Clappin' Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Beat Party - Ritchie and The Squires
Suey - Jayne Mansfield
Don't You Feel My Leg - Blue Lu Barker
C'est Si Bon - Eartha Kitt
Shangri-La - Spikes Jones New Band
The Good Life - Ann-Margret
Boss - The Rumblers
The Whip - The Frantics
No Good Lover - Mickey and Sylvia
Devil in Disguise - Elvis Presley
Mighty Good Love - Big Maybelle
The Girl Can't Help It - Little Richard
Chop Suey Rock'N'Roll - The Instrumentals
The Bee - The Sentinels

21 March 2012 Dr Sketchy DJ Set List

Hungarian glamour puss Zsa Zsa Gabor, at the height of her plastic surgery-enhanced pulchritude in the 1950s. Now a 94-year old bed-bound recluse and married to a seriously dodgy ersatz Euro-trash “prince”, Gabor’s life these days is a welter of lawsuits, health problems and accusations of abuse, neglect and exploitation - like something out of Sunset Boulevard or Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Vanity Fair memorably explored the whole macabre and sordid story in 2007. It’s gotten even weirder since then.

Another great (sold-out!) night for Dr Sketchy at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern, this time featuring vampirically elegant emcee Dusty Limits and two seriously impressive new models / performers, Hotcake Kitty and Rose Thorne.

I’m pretty voluble about The RVT being officially my favourite venue to DJ at: the sound is thunderously loud (which is good, because the music is punctuated on a regular basis by police sirens screeching past outside. Vauxhall must be one dangerous neighbourhood!), and as an added bonus there is a big pump-top bottle of hand sanitizer gel in the DJ booth. I’m a pretty obsessive-compulsive hand washer and having this bottle of hand washing gel there is almost orgasmic for me. (I think I probably scrub my hands between changing each CD. If the management wonders about the rate of this bottle being decimated, now they know!).

For her performance the brunette Kitty (or should that be “Hotcake”?) wore an orange chiffon harem girl ensemble with Siouxsie Sioux/Cleopatra eye make-up and Bettie Page bangs. Music-wise, this raised a whole realm of possibilities. It was a fun opportunity to delve into Eastern belly dancer exotica kitsch and I really seized it. Eartha Kitt’s campy Turkish delight “Uska Dara” obviously seemed de rigueur. Every time I play Les Baxer’s apocalyptic, sex-wracked "Lust", everyone understandably assumes the astonishing multi-octave female voice wordlessly growling, grunting and screaming is Yma Sumac. Instead it belongs to the deeply obscure operatic chanteuse Bas Sheva (as in “Bathsheba”). “Lust” comes from Baxter’s 1954 album The Passions, on which he and Bas Sheva dramatically explore a different emotion on each song (the other titles include “Despair”, “Ecstasy”, “Hate”, “Terror”, “Jealousy” and “Joy”). Unfortunately, The Passions was a flop, Bas Sheva never recorded again and would die aged only 34 from diabetes-related causes. Tragic – as judging by this, she was the equal of Yma Sumac. Anyway, every time I play "Lust", I like to think Bas Sheva lives again! Even after Kitty's pose, I continued the exotica vibe into the break with a bossa nova version of "Misirlou" and Yma Sumac's delirious mambo, "Taki Rari."

/ Hotcake Kitty. Photo by Andrew Hickinbottom /

I've posted this before, but hell, it's a good excuse to post it again: Eartha Kitt slithering her serpentine way through "Uska Dara" in a 1967 TV special



Rose Thorne’s act, meanwhile, saw her costumed as an Indian squaw (complete with black braided wig and Adam Ant white stripe painted across her nose) -- think Pocahontas with massive knockers! Thematically, this posed more of a challenge than Kitty’s outfit – but I did play “Commanche” by The Revels! If only I had “Apache” by The Shadows! Otherwise, I tried to evoke a sinister atmosphere for the rest of her poses with songs that could maybe the soundtrack to a Santeria or Candomblé voodoo ritual: think of Esquerita’s wailing and knuckle-dragging piano, unearthly Theremin (“Sinner” by Freddie and The Hitchhikers), a deranged version of "She is My Witch" (The Earls of Suave), Edith Piaf’s vibrato at full-throttle (“Jezabel”).

/ Rose Thorne. Photo by Andrew Hickinbottom /

Elsewhere, I went heavy on the grinding tittyshakers and frantic rhythm and blues – both of which are always rowdy/sleazy crowd-pleasers. I always say that even if the audience don’t know who, say, Big Maybelle, LaVern Baker or Ruth Brown is, they instinctively respond to the gritty earth mother warmth, sex appeal and soulfulness of the great female black American rhythm and blues voices.

That definitely applies to Etta James. I’ve meant to write something about the former Jamesetta Hawkins ever since her death on 20 January 2012 (just short of her 74th birthday). I’ll come straight out and admit am not a massive fan of James’s best-known music (“At Last”, “I Just Wanna Make Love to You”, forever tarred by association with that awful Diet Coke ad). The only album of hers I ever owned was her 1968 classic Tell Mama, which I had when I was still a university student, and I either sold or gave it away long ago. I’m just not keen on polished 1960s soul music as a whole – I’m more of a desperate 1950s rhythm and blues man. But I can’t fail to be moved by James’s belting heartbreaker voice and her hard-bitten, tough-as-nails, heroin-ravaged life story fascinates me (I need to snap up a used copy of Rage to Survive, her 1995 autobiography on Amazon at some point). Obviously I need to delve deeper into James’s discography as she had a long career and there are inevitably gems I’m missing out on. I do regularly play her raunchy 1955 breakthrough hit “Roll with Me, Henry” at Dr Sketchy. (I also like to play Ann-Margret’s poppy, cotton candy-fluffy cover version “Dance with Me, Henry” – it’s enough to horrify any rhythm and blues purist!).

Justifiably, there have been some glowing appraisals of James’s career since her death. The two best, most heartfelt obituaries I’ve read were in London’s The Guardian and New York’s The Village Voice. The Guardian’s Garth Cartwright nicely summarizes James’s life and career thus:

“Her approach to both singing and life was throughout one of wild, often desperate engagement that included violence, drug addiction, armed robbery and highly capricious behaviour. James sang with unmatched emotional hunger and a pain that can chill the listener. The ferocity of her voice documents a neglected child, a woman constantly entering into bad relationships and an artist raging against an industry and a society that had routinely discriminated against her.”

He also astutely notes that perhaps the reason James never enjoyed much mainstream commercial success was because “perhaps her voice, so raw and emotionally expressive, was too fierce for the general public. Indeed, hurt, anger and self-destructive behavior boiled beneath the surface of her vocals. Once asked to describe her style, she responded that singing allowed her to vent "all this bitch shit inside of me"”. “All this bitch shit inside of me” – how succinct and beautiful is that? I expect that angst was also what motivated the likes of Nina Simone and Lydia Lunch, similarly volatile and turbulent artists.

In The Village Voice, Carol Cooper’s account of the very young James, at the start of her career, being advised by the doomed Billie Holiday (from “fatherless wild child to fatherless wild child”) when her life and career were circling the drain, gives me goose bumps. Cooper is also great on nailing what an “intimidating package of jailbait mojo” the gutsy and talented mixed race teenager must have been when she was discovered by visionary R&B kingpin Johnny Otis aged just 14. (James lied to Otis, telling him she was 18. Her own mother, Dorothy Hawkins, had given birth to Etta when she herself was only 14. When she was still just 16, James dated BB King and she later believed she was the inspiration for his song “Sweet Sixteen”).

Cooper argues that with the timing of the sassy “Roll with Me Henry”, “Otis coincidentally established James as a rock and roll rebel alongside the likes of Little Richard, Chuck Berry, and Jerry Lee Lewis.” Reading this passage in particular brought a tear to my eye:

“Sexually active long before cutting her first single, James had both the pipes and the real-life experience to play a bad girl with a heart of gold on record. No aspect of street life was a mystery to her; her entourage often included drag queens, gangsters, gang chicks and prostitutes. Married to the same man since 1969, and a supportive mother to her two adult sons, Etta was also a student of bourgeois propriety and understood the thin line between sin and salvation better than most. She adored Little Richard, with whom she did her first national tour and who she respected for having "the guts to be a king and queen all at the same time.""

Can you imagine what it must have been like hanging out with Etta James and Little Richard backstage in the 1950s – the debauchery?! And James also never mellowed: even as a 60-something blues mama pensioner when her health was shot and she used crutches to walk, she continued to do stripper squats and grab her crotch onstage. What a woman. It’s wrenching to think that for her last album (2011’s The Dreamer), James pulled herself together while suffering from both the leukaemia that would kill her and dementia to make one powerful final statement worthy of her reputation. Performers this tough and durable simply don’t exist anymore.

But I’m also deeply superficial, so I also love Etta James for her signature 1960s look. The artifice of the blonde bouffant wigs, the wild black eyeliner and weird eyebrows and the feather boas were deliberately trashy, almost drag queen-y and punk before its time. She was also frankly, defiantly fat (which makes the idea of Beyonce portraying her in the 2008 film Cadillac Records so risible. At one point James weighed 300 pounds. Much later in life -- once she'd finally kicked her heroin addiction -- she had a gastric band operation and slimmed down dramatically). In short, Etta James had freak appeal: she looked like a character from a John Waters film. Obviously Waters cast Ruth Brown as Motormouth Maybelle in Hairspray, but Etta James could just have easily played the role.

A blonde-wigged Etta James ripping it up on TV in the 1960s. A nice way to remember her


(The original video I posted here was better, but got deleted from Youtube! Here's a replacement that fits!)

I Just Don't Understand - Ann-Margret
Unchain My Heart - Florence Joelle's Kiss of Fire
Oui je veux - Johnny Hallyday
Little Ole Wine Drinker Me - Robert Mitchum
Good Grief - The Revels
Oo Ba La Baby - Mamie Van Doren
Woman Love - Gene Vincent
Iced Tea - The Capers
Last Night - Lula Reed
Yogi - The Bill Black Combo
Tidal Wave - Sonny Gee & The Standels
Here Comes the Bug - The Rumblers
He's The One - Ike and Tina Turner
The Sneak - Jimmy Oliver
Pass the Hatchet - Roger and The Gypsies
The Flirt - Shirley and Lee
Greasy Chicken - Andre Williams
Wino - Jack McVea
No More, No Less - Carmen Taylor
Sweetie Pie - Eddie Cochran
I Was Born to Cry - Johnny Thunders and Patti Paladin
Tear Drops from My Eyes - Ruth Brown
I'll Drown in My Own Tears - Lula Reed
Directly from My Heart - Little Richard
Fool I Am - Pat Ferguson
Night Scene - The Rumblers
Mexican - The Fentones
La Bamba - Eartha Kitt
Peter Gunn Twist - The Jesters
Catwalk - Jack Constanzo
Uska Dara - Eartha Kitt
Caravan - John Buzon Trio
I Love How You ... Lydia Lunch
Shangri-La - Spike Jones New Band
Monkey Bird - The Revels
The Maharajah of Megador - The Blue Echoes
Lust - Les Baxter
Misirlou - Laurindo Almeida and The Bossa Nova All-Stars
Taki Rari - Yma Sumac
La Javanaise - Serge Gainsbourg
Love for Sale - Hildegard Knef
Drums A Go-Go - The Hollywood Persuaders
La Java - Juliette Greco
Commanche - The Revels
Esquerita and the Voola - Esquerita
She's My Witch - The Earls of Suave
Jezabel - Edith Piaf
Boss - The Rumblers
Sinner - Freddie and the Hitchikers
Boots - Nero and The Gladiators
Crawlin' - The Untouchables
Black Tarantula - Jody Reynolds
Drummin' Up a Storm - Sandy Nelson
Hulla Hulla Lulu - Beecher Hickman
When Love Goes Wrong - Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell
The Beast - Milt Buckner
Hand Clapping Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Roll with Me, Henry - Etta James
Beat Party - Ritchie and The Squires
Tornado - Dale Hawkins
Begin the Beguine - Billy Fury
Tall Cool One - The Wailers
You Can't Stop Her - Bobby Marchan
The Girl Can't Help It - Little Richard
Fever - Timi Yuro