Double Take!

Cast your mind back to Season 1, episode 8 of Mad Men (for me, the only TV show that matters. Here in the UK, evil tycoon Rupert "Montgomery Burns" Murdoch has poached Mad Men from the BBC for his Sky Atlantic cable station. Which I don’t subscribe to – so how the hell I’ll ever see the much-yearned for Season 5 I’ll never know. But I digress).

Anyway, in this episode outwardly suave but inwardly tormented Brylcreemed ad exec Don Draper swings by a party thrown by his volatile beatnik mistress Midge, where the bohemian East Village guests lounge around listening to 1950s Cool Jazz (Kind of Blue by Miles Davis, to be precise) and smoke reefer. When Don arrives at the Beat party, the door to Midge’s apartment is opened by ... me?

OK, so this actor (I've done a cursory Google search and can't find a screen credit for him) is considerably more handsome than me (and inevitably taller. At 5'6", I'm jockey sized). And I wouldn't touch that earth-toned paisley shirt with a barge pole. But the scruffy ginger facial hair. The vintage horn-rimmed glasses. The pasty complexion. It’s not even like I’m averse to donning a fez on occasion ...

Photo via


(New Year's Eve 2009: International sex kitten Magda and I. Dig those phallic balloons in the background!)


(Another shot from New Year's Eve 2009)

Before this, the closest I’ve had to a doppelganger in real life was the first time I ever went to the Viva Las Vegas rockabilly weekender in 2003. That weekend a female friend told me that she’d seen me coming down the escalator, went to say Hi and when she got closer she gasped – it looked exactly like me, but wasn’t me. Turns out my lookalike was French, and his name was Jean-Paul. Before the end of the weekend, my friend managed to introduce us. I don’t think he was flattered by the comparison! That was nine years ago – I think I look more like Jean-Paul now than I did then. On that weekend (my dream holiday I’d been looking forward to and saving for, my first time in Vegas) I was stricken with shingles! When the rash erupted it was like a Biblical curse, disgusting and painful. Luckily it happened towards the end of the weekend rather than the beginning. After returning from the doctor’s office, I collapsed in bed tripping on a cocktail of ultra powerful antiviral medication and prescription pain killers. The TV was on in the hotel room, tuned into CNN. While I lay there delirious, hair drenched in sweat, I heard a newscaster’s voice solemnly announce, “Jazz and blues legend Nina Simone has died aged 70 ...” So that’s how I always know exactly what I was doing on 21 April 2003.


Jean-Paul and I in Las Vegas, 2003.

15 February 2012 Dr Sketchy Set List

/ Brigitte Bardot, the ne plus ultra of sex kittens /

“What a difference a day makes.” Dinah Washington really knew what she meant when she sang that. Like I said last time, the Valentine's night Dr Sketchy at The Old Queen’s Head was a bit of a stressful ordeal. Because it had sold out so far in advance, there was sufficient demand (and enough disappointed punters who couldn't get tickets) for Dr Sketchy’s glamorous promoter Clare Marie to quickly organise an extra Dr Sketchy (this time at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern) the following night – which also promptly sold out. (Yes, we’re on fire at the moment). And this one was one of the best Dr Sketchies ever. The whole night was one of those Dr Sketchies where everything flowed smoothly, felt relaxed (certainly DJ’ing this time felt as effortless as pissing. How elegant!), and was just fun to do (bear in mind I'd DJ'd two nights in a row plus got up at 7 am for the office job. I was feeling like a zombie) -- something Clare Marie and I agreed about afterwards.

Certainly the line-up was a bit of a dream team. The mistress of ceremonies was the irrepressible Ophelia Bitz. Last time I’d seen Ophelia was 9 February 2012, when I DJ’d at the triumphant finale of her ArtWank! residency. (ArtWank! is the “porn chic” cabaret night Ophelia organises). Reliably, Ms Bitz was on peak form (she came out wearing a micro-mini dress, apologising to the front row for the view. Don’t worry: she was sporting leopard print panties underneath. She wasn’t giving them that much of an eyeful! Ophelia did warn something about the "ferret's head" popping out. What a vivid image). For the performers/models we had not one but two members of burlesque aristocracy and long-term Dr Sketchy favourites, Cherry Shakewell and Marianne Cheesecake.

Marianne and Cherry both have very distinctive (and completely different) stage personas, so it was a fun challenge coming up with music appropriate for them. Marianne channels 1920s flapper glamour (think Anna May Wong or Josephine Baker), very louche and decadent. (Years ago there was a biography of Josephine Baker entitled Jazz Cleopatra; watching Marianne Cheesecake perform, the name could just as accurately apply to her). Musically, I aimed for high drama and elegance: Continental types (Serge Gainsbourg, Juliette Greco, Mina, the French Francoise Hardy huskily exhaling tragic German lyrics), some slinky instrumentals. I’d mentioned before how the bleak, alienated Weimar depravity of "Lazy" by San Francisco punk band The Nuns seemed to anticipate Nico’s majestic 1985 interpretation of "My Funny Valentine." I finally got to play these two black-hearted confessionals back-to-back: imagine the aural equivalent of someone handing you a bouquet of a dozen dead roses.

I've posted both of these before ... but fuck it!




Kitten with a whip Cherry Shakewell’s image, meanwhile, is brasher and more rock’n’roll: think 1960s go-go dancer in a cage, the sexploitation cinema of Russ Meyer, or Nancy Sinatra’s white lipsticked pout and leonine mane of teased blonde hair. For her poses, I cranked up the sleazy tittyshakers and paid a mini-tribute to Jayne Mansfield. I also worked in Bardot snarling over the 1960s garage-punk of “Harley Davidson”, and what for me should be Cherry’s theme tune (“Cherry” by doo-wop group The Jive Bombers, from the soundtrack to John Waters’ Cry-Baby). When the two of them posed together at the end, as per usual I reached for one of the Marilyn Monroe-Jane Russell Gentlemen Prefer Blondes duets (apt in this case, because Marianne and Cherry are a brunette and platinum blonde combo).

/ Marianne Cheesecake and Cherry Shakewell. Photo by the very talented Andrew Hickinbottom /

Coincidentally, the very next night (16 February), Time Out Magazine held its first ever London Cabaret Awards to officially recognise just how vital, creative and exciting London’s bleeding edge cabaret / burlesque scene has grown in recent years. I’m proud to say that some of the performers who frequently grace Dr Sketchy stages won, and won big. One of our much-loved regular emcees, the perennially soigné Dusty Limits won Best Host or Compere. Epicentre of fun The Royal Vauxhall Tavern (my all-time favourite place to DJ at, especially once I worked out how to stop turning on the dry ice machine by mistake. Ah, we can laugh about it now) was awarded Best Cabaret Venue.

And Kiki Kaboom won Best Burlesque Performer. I’ve only had the pleasure of working with showgirl deluxe Ms Kaboom once way back in September 2010, but it was memorably fun. Afterwards she and I liaised about potential music for her to use on the soundtrack of her showreel video. She wanted a sexy, upbeat instrumental. I proposed the ultra-twang-y, sexily grinding 1963 number "Boss" by Southern Californian surf band The Rumblers (they named themselves after the Link Wray classic “Rumble”). Driven along by blurting saxophone, “Boss” is two minutes and twenty two seconds of tense, haven't-been-laid-in-a-week sleazy urgency, and has long been one of my DJ’ing staples. (If the song sounds familiar, it’s because The Cramps swiped it as the basis for one of their most-loved “gravest hits”, "Garbageman" from their 1980 Songs the Lord Taught Us album). Anyway, Kiki used it. I’ve posted her showreel before, but here it is again.



/ Here's a more recent sampling of the wit and wisdom of Kiki Kaboom – gleefully puncturing some of the clichés surrounding the burlesque scene. (The music on the soundrack is "Rumble" by Link Wray, funnily enough!) /




The Sneak - Jimmy Oliver
When I Get Low, I Get High - Florence Joelle's Kiss of Fire
One More Beer - The Earls of Suave
Hurt Is All You Gave Me - Ike and Tina Turner
Get Back, Baby - Esquerita
The Stalk - The Giants
Stranger in My Own Home Town - Elvis Presley (X-rated "blue" version)
Like A Rolling Stone - Mamie Van Doren
Wiped Out - The Escorts
The Fire of Love - Jody Reynolds
I Ain't in the Mood for Love - Helen Humes
Revellion - The Revels
I Stubbed My Toe - Bryan "Legs" Walker
A Week from Tuesday - The Pastels
Sweetie Pie - Eddie Cochran
Fool I Am - Pat Ferguson
Go Girl Go - Jett Powers
Beaver Shot - The Periscopes
Roll with Me, Henry - Etta James
Cooler Weather is A-Comin' - Eddie Weldon
Eager Beaver Baby - Johnny Burnette
Miss Irene - Ginny Kennedy
Pass The Hatchet - Roger and The Gypsies
The Chase - Chaino
Night Scene - The Rumblers
Strange Love - Slim Harpo
Sick and Tired - Lula Reed
Blues, Blues, Blues - Hayden Thompson
The Strangeness in Me - The Runabouts
My Heart Goes Piddily Patter, Patter - Nappy Brown
I Ain't Drunk, I'm Just Drinkin' - Jimmy Liggins
A Cruise to the Moon - Lydia Lunch
Some Small Chance - Serge Gainsbourg (Strip-tease soundtrack)
Mon cœur n'était pas fait pour ça - Juliette Greco
Turquoise - Milt Buckner
Lazy - The Nuns
My Funny Valentine - Nico
Traume - Francoise Hardy
Make Love to Me - June Christie
Un ano d'amore - Mina
Handclappin' Time - The Fabulous Raiders
8-Ball - The Hustlers
Witchcraft - Elvis Presley
Mack the Knife - Ann-Margret
No Good Lover - Mickey and Sylvia
Crawfish - Johnny Thunders and Patti Paladin
Drummin' Up a Storm - Sandy Nelson
I Walk Like Jayne Mansfield - The 5,6,7,8s
That Makes It - Jayne Mansfield
Boots - Nero and The Gladiators
Cherry - The Jive Bombers
Beat Party - Ritchie and The Squires
Black Tarantula - Jody Reynolds
Harley Davidson - Brigitte Bardot
The Coo - Wayne Cochran
I'm a Bad, Bad Girl - Little Esther
Two Little Girls from Little Rock - Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell
La Javanaise - Serge Gainsbourg
The Pussycat Song - Connie Vannett
Accentuate the Positive - The Bill Black Combo
Chicken Grabber - The Nite Hawks
All of Me - Mae West
Chattanooga Choo Choo - Denise Darcel
Blue Kat - Chuck Rio and The Originals
So Long - Ruth Brown

14 February 2012 Anti-Valentine's Day Dr Sketchy

/ Happy Valentine's Day, Darling: Sophia Loren having an orgasmic reaction to a bouquet of yellow roses /

I’d been looking forward to the Valentine’s night Dr Sketchy at The Old Queen’s Head for ages. All the ingredients were in place: The night had sold out long in advance. The crowd was buzzing, rowdy and enthusiastic. The talent for the night was top notch: emcee Claire Benjamin (in character as Freuda Kahlo), two sizzling burlesque performers and models (and Dr Sketchy veterans), Sophia St. Villier and Honey Wilde.

Weirdly, for me (and I'm speaking excusively for myself!) the night wound up feeling anti-climactic, stressful, and not one of the more memorable or enjoyable Dr Sketchy nights in recent memory. For some reason the sound was murky and muffled and no one at the Old Queen’s Head seemed to know how to fix it (it improved somewhat later in the night). It got things off to a bad start for me and I stayed jangled the rest of the night. As per usual, I got one of the long-suffering Claire Benjamin’s musical cues wrong. Musically, I wasn't on top form - I suspect things sounded disjointed and abrupt rather than smooth and flowing, as I obviously prefer! In my head I had intended to go for a lush, romantic 1950s Cool Jazz-inspired set in honour of Valentine’s Day, but wasn’t feeling particularly on top of things so it didn’t wind up being that for the most part at all. (Like the 2011 Valentine's Day Dr Sketchy at The Old Queen's Head, though, I did make a point of dropping in three different versions of the Rogers and Hart standard “My Funny Valentine” at climactic moments: the Chet Baker instrumental, the Chet Baker vocal and finally Nico’s morbid dirge-like interpretation). Obviously, the main thing is, all three performers were brilliant and the audience seemed to enjoy themselves.

/ Above: Sophia St. Villier with her favourite portrait of the night. To me, it evokes Ann-Margrock (aka that other red-haired vixen, Ann-Margret) from her guest appearance on The Flintstones -- but Ann-Margrock making the rude, universal pussy-eating gesture! Photo by Honey Wilde /

Death, death, DEATH: this Dr Sketchy was after all called an “Anti-Valentine’s event”, so why not get ghoulish in this post? I recently posted about the demise of Jennifer Miro, icy platinum blonde chanteuse for pioneering San Francisco punk band The Nuns. Obviously music fans have been rocked by the recent deaths of soul legend Etta James and troubled superstar Whitney Houston since then. For me, 4 February 2012 represented two grim anniversaries: foaming-at-the-mouth Cramps frontman (front lunatic?) Lux Interior died 4 February 2009 aged 62. Snarling Russ Meyer leading lady and burlesque artist Tura Satana died 4 February 2011 aged 72. Between them these two pretty much defined for me not just timeless cool, but a whole realm (parallel universe?) of vital, lurid low-life sleaze-allure. Certainly both Tura Satana (and the films of Russ Meyer) and Lux Interior (and the music of The Cramps) shaped my worldview at an impressionable age. RIP.

/ Lux Interior and Poison Ivy of The Cramps: The much-loved Addams Family of punk. Or were they The Munsters of punk? Let's have a heated debate! /

/ Tura Satana ... awesome /

I never got to meet Ms Satana (although I know people who interviewed her). I did, however, have a wonderful encounter with The Cramps as a callow youth in 1990. They were touring in support of their Stay Sick! album (so it was the line-up featuring Bettie Page-tastic brunette Candy Del Mar on bass) and I interviewed them prior to their gig at The Rialto in Montreal for my university newspaper. I’ll never forget the heart-stopping spectacle of The Cramps arriving for their sound-check that afternoon: a zombie-pale fetish-y outlaw gang, a symphony of leopard skin, glistening black rubber and seriously insolent dark shades. These weren’t costumes or personas they wriggled-into for the stage – The Cramps lived it full-time! In fact I seem to recall the 6’3” Lux was already wearing a pair of women’s size 13 patent leather pumps when he arrived for the sound-check. Watching their sound-check gave me goose bumps, then afterwards I interviewed Poison Ivy alone. She apologized that Lux wouldn’t be joining us, but he wasn’t feeling well. I got the impression he had a thunderous hangover. Earlier I'd overheard an employee of The Rialto showing him the catering on offer. “There’s bagels, there’s doughnuts, there’s muffins ...” and Lux suddenly barked, “I just want coffee!” Sometimes only strong, black coffee (life's rich black blood) will suffice. Who amongst us can’t relate to that?

Anyway, interviewing the gracious Poison Ivy (a strikingly beautiful ageless enigma in a leopard skin coat and a pair of diamante-trimmed cat’s eye sunglasses) was a dream and a memory I treasure. I haven’t had a record player in many years, but I still have the Bad Music for Bad People and Stay Sick! albums Ivy autographed for me. The Cramps were one of those bands you assumed would be around forever. They formed in 1976; it was only Lux’s death in 2009 that split them up. Hmmm -- one of these days I should get my act together and post the interview as a blog on here.

The audio and visual quality isn't great (this is the only version I could find on Youtube), but "Bikini Girls with Machine Guns" is one of The Cramps's essential statements, and it dates from when I interviewed them in Montreal.



I Only Have Eyes for You - The Flamingos
Life is But a Dream - The Harptones
Willow Weep for Me - The Whistling Artistry Of Muzzy Marcellino
Melancholy Serenade - King Curtis
Dansero - Don Baker Trio
Anytime - The Bill Black Combo
Town without Pity - James Chance
Sea of Love - The Earls of Suave
Drive In - The Jaguars
Wiped Out - The Escorts
Train to Nowhere - The Champs
Jungle Drums - Earl Bostick
Pass The Hatchet - Roer and The Gypsies
Dance with Me Henry - Ann-Margret
Born to Cry - Dion
Sweetie Pie - Eddie Cochran
Follow the Leader - Wiley Terry
Baby, I'm Doin' It - Annisteen Allen
I Ain't Drunk - Jimmy Liggins
Rockin' Out the Blues - Musical Linn Twins
Green Mosquito - The Tune Rockers
The Mexican - The Fentones
Pretty Good Love - Big Maybelle
I Love the Life I Live - Esquerita
Are You Nervous? The Instrumentals
Czterdziesci Kasztanów (Forty Chestnuts)- Violetta Villas
Virgenes Del Sol - Yma Sumac
Cherry Pink - Bill Black Combo
Sexe - Line Renaud
My Funny Valentine - Chet Baker (instrumental)
Deep Dark Secret - Lizabeth Scott
Lonely Hours - Sarah Vaughan
You're My Thrill - Dolores Gray
La Javanaise - Serge Gainsbourg
Handclapping Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Vesuvius - The Revels
What Do You Think I Am? Ike and Tina Turner
Here Comes the Bug - The Rumblers
Khrushchev Twist - Melvin Gayle
Drummin' Up a Storm - Sandy Nelson
Fever - Timi Yuro
Anasthasia - Bill Smith Combo
My Funny Valentine - Chet Baker (vocal)
You're Crying - Dinah Washington
I'm Through with Love - Marilyn Monroe
My Funny Valentine - Nico
I Walk like Jayne Mansfield - The 5,6,7,8s
Caterpillar Crawl - The Strangers
Boots - Nero & The Gladiators
Sick and Tired - Lula Reed
The Flirt - Shirley and Lee
The Girl Can't Help It - Little Richard

In conclusion: my good friend Sparkle Moore recently posted this video on my Facebook wall, suggesting the berserk operatic Austro-German diva Marika Rökk could be an alternative for much-missed berserk operatic Polska diva Violetta Villas (death -- again!). Watching this, Sparkle might have a point! It's from a 1958 German musical called Bühne frei für Marika (which translates as something like The Stage is Set for Marika -- so in theory she's playing herself!). Sadly, I somehow doubt this title is available on LOVEFiLM. This clip of Rökk as a sexy alien singing "Mir ist so langweilig" ("I'm So Bored", according to Google Translate), crash-landing her space ship on earth -- and then wrestling with a snake and cavorting with a group of spear-carrying Africans in the jungle is so trippy, bizarre and kitsch ... it's beyond words! You have to experience for yourself ...



As an added bonus, listen to a track by Rokk on The Homoerratic Radio Show blog

A Violetta Villas Valentine's Day!

To everyone who finds themselves single on Valentine's Day -- Violetta Villas feels your pain! Listen to the late, great Polska diva (1938 - 2011) cast aside boring concepts like "nuance" and "restraint" and tear the weepy Barbra Streisand ballad "Free Again" a whole new *sshole on her ultra-campy 1970 TV special. She really RAMPAGES through the song for almost five whole minutes (I especially love how Violetta punctuates the song with bitter little laughs). This posting is timely in more ways than one: Violetta's last-ever public concert was on 14 February 2011 (exactly one year ago today), after which she retired from performing and was dead by the end of the year.

Happy Valentine's Day!

ArtWank! DJ Set List 9 February 2012

/ Wanting it, wanting it, wanting it: 1960s pin-up of a cotton candy-haired Jayne Mansfield /

I begged. I cajoled. I wheedled. I even pouted. And now finally I was able to shamelessly jump on Ophelia Bitz's bandwagon! It was my pleasure to DJ at the big finale of ArtWank!’s residency at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. To anyone who’s not au fait, ArtWank! is vivacious cabaret starlet Ophelia Bitz’s brilliant and raunchy club night centring on screenings of her vast collection of mostly 1920s vintage stag films (think grainy, flickering black and white porn starring long-dead people).

/ Porno Diva Ophelia Bitz gets a grip on herself: She's a bad, BAD girl. Do not encourage her! (Photo by Tom Medwell) /

In the early 1970s when porn flicks bubbled up from the warm, fetid squalor of the underground and started grossing serious money, it became a titillating, tantalising taboo-thrill for the chattering classes to go see the likes of Linda Lovelace in Deep Throat or Marilyn Chambers in Behind the Green Door at their local dirty movie sleaze pit. This pop culture phenomenon was called “porn chic” and was ultimately short-lived. Ophelia (who, of course, regularly emcees at Dr Sketchy – that’s how I know her in the first place) is on a one-woman mission to rehabilitate the porn chic concept and make porn-viewing a fun, communal, boozy, post-feminist and “sex positive” experience (as opposed to a solitary, furtive one in front of your lap top, PC or DVD player. With a box of Kleenex and some moisturiser. I assume). Assisted by her trusty assistant Le Porn Ferret on the laptop, Ophelia also frequently spices up proceedings with live onstage burlesque performances and musical acts. Anyway, trust me: ArtWank! is porn-tacular! It’s porn-tastic!

So I leapt at the opportunity to DJ on Ophelia's last night at The RVT (her ArtWank! residency this time was 19 January – 9 February). I was accompanied by my friends Mia (I call her Mayan Ruin; she was born in Guatemala) and Dan. The night was a blast, transporting you back to a decadent Jazz Age velvet-lined Parisian brothel (most of Ophelia’s erotica is French, but considering they’re silent movies anyway it doesn’t really matter).

A sampling of the cornucopia of filth you can expect to see at ArtWank! (How this escaped Youtube’s censors I’ll never know. Enjoy it while you can!).



The guest musical performer was crotch-thrusting, ass-shaking, spandex-clad cock rocker Damn Fluid. His back story is that he’s the former lead singer of the glam/Heavy Metal band Ramshaft who’s now hit hard times. Recall the full horror of 1980s hair metal or poodle metal, as it used to be called (Damn Fluid himself sports a crimped, exploding fright wig on his head, a symphony of split ends). His Facebook page says Damn Fluid’s act “captures the ambiance of a last-call rock band at a 1980s East Berlin brothel” and it’s not wrong. He had me from his explosive opening number “Daddy Fuck Machine”(in which he roars, “Slap my face / I’m super keen / I’m your daddy fuck machine!”), after which he announced solemnly in a Welsh accent, “I’d like to dedicate that song to me Gran.”

My set lasted about an hour, so it was a short intense burst (ejaculation?) of vintage sleaze. Gratifyingly, most of the crowd stuck around to continue drinking and listening to the music instead of getting their coats and splitting right away, and the gracious Ms Bitz kept me topped up with beer. It was mostly frantic Las Vegas Grind tittyshakers a go-go, but I also worked-in some rockabilly (Eddie Cochran, Gene Vincent, Ricky Nelson, Elvis), urgent rhythm & blues (Ike and Tina, the late, great Etta James), cooing sex kittens (Ann-Margret, Jayne Mansfield, Brigitte Bardot, Mamie Van Doren), mini-tributes to filmmakers (songs from soundtrack of Kenneth Anger’s seminal gay biker/fetish classic Scorpio Rising -- truly a film to base your life around -- and various John Waters classicks). Appropriately - considering the smut we’d all just watched – I ended things on a gynaecological note (courtesy of Andre Williams, The Cramps and Connie Vannett).

Handclapping Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Beat Party - Ritchie & The Squires
Are You Nervous? The Instrumentals
Drummin' Up a Storm - Sandy Nelson
Ain't That Lovin' You, Baby - The Earls of Suave
Comin' Home, Baby - The Delmonas
Pass The Hatchet - Roger & The Gypsies
Suey - Jayne Mansfield
Boots - Nero & The Gladiators
Dragon Walk - The Noblemen
Jim Dandy - Ann-Margret
Born to Cry - Dion
Beat Girl - Adam Faith
Makin' Out - Jody Reynolds
L'appareil a sous - Brigitte Bardot
Boss - The Rumblers
Roll with Me, Henry - Etta James
Chicken Shack - Ike and Tina Turner
Wipe Out - The Escorts
Beat Generation - Mamie Van Doren
Intoxica - The Centurions
Let's Go Sexin' - James Intveld
Devil in Disguise - Elvis Presley
Fools Rush In - Ricky Nelson
The Coo - Wayne Cochran
Scorpion - The Carnations
Sweetie Pie - Eddie Cochran
Woman Love - Gene Vincent
Sweet Little Pussycat - Andre Williams
Can Your Pussy Do the Dog? The Cramps
Pussycat Song - Connie Vannett

Tittyshaker deluxe: Bettie Page embraces the spirit of ArtWank!. Musical backing: "Are You Nervous?" by The Instrumentals

Lloyd Johnson: The Modern Outfitter

/Johnson's Mannequins Sophie and Steve. Lloyd Johnson: The Modern Outfitter exhibit at The Chelsea Space /

I moved to London in May 1992 (so this Spring marks 20 years of living in London. Now do you understand why I’m so jaundiced, so hardened? Let’s call it my “Twenty Years of Depravity”). Shortly afterwards I started discovering my social niche, tentatively exploring the subterranean rockabilly and retro club scenes: More than Vegas, Blue Martini, the Frat Shacks, rockabilly reunions at Dingwall’s, boozy Saturday nights at The Elephant’s Head. What to wear? As a student in Canada I’d lived in a uniform of black t-shirts and black Levis – which wouldn’t suffice now. This was long before vintage mania and eBay, so I was still able to score the occasional piece of (relatively) affordable original 1950s and 60s threads in Camden Market. My much-loved friends Gail and Jasja (aka Sparkle Moore and Cad van Swankster) still operated their boutique The Girl Can’t Help It from there and I would often swing by on a Sunday afternoon to hang out and scan the stock for incoming engineer boots and cool shirts.

For new "reproduction vintage" rock’n’roll clothes, there was Ted’s Corner in Victoria (I still wear a pair of winkle pickers I bought there in the 1990s), but I quickly determined that Johnson’s Modern Outfitters was the definitive source for sexy rockabilly clothes. There were two branches: Kings Road (close to Worlds End, so just around the corner from Vivienne Westwood) and Kensington Market. Visiting either of them was a heady, almost sensual experience. Rifling through the ultra-desirable clothes was certainly trance-inducing, but there was also the shops' wonderfully kitsch Tiki-inspired decor. The staff was charismatic and glamorous: in the 1980s, being a Johnson’s shop assistant made it almost inevitable you’d eventually appear in a Face magazine photo spread, like a model or rock star. In the nineties, some of the Johnson’s sales people would eventually become friends of mine, like the fabulous Mari Mansfield (musician, DJ, Trans-Atlantic sex kitten and today a psychotherapist-in-training) and Dean Micetich (the musician formerly known as Kid Rocker, currently in The Black Tibetans, co-founder of biker magazine DiCE). Even the atmospheric music playing in-store (a melange potentially encompassing twangy / sleazy instrumentals to tinkle-y exotica-lounge) was great. The whole Johnson’s ambiance was intoxicating.

Sadly, Johnson’s came to an end by 2000, a casualty of astronomically high rents and the changing London high street, which has become ever more faceless, bland and corporate since. Looking back, it’s miraculous something so niche, edgy and subcultural survived as long as it did. I numbly went to their closing-down sales and snapped-up some clothes I still wear today. Nothing similar has ever come along to remotely replace Johnson’s, and I pretty much thought that was the end of the story.

At the time I knew virtually nothing about Lloyd Johnson himself, the brains behind Johnson’s and whose vision the whole enterprise had been. I subsequently learned his fashion career dates back to the late 1960s (as an art school graduate Mod from Hastings, he started selling clothes at Kensington Market as early as 1967) and that Johnson was an unsung pioneer (hell, a visionary) of fusing music and fashion (what the more famous Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood - very much his contemporaries -- would also do). In the 70s and 80s Johnson launched his retail outlets (the Kings Road outlet opened in 1978). Obviously it was his rockabilly-inspired La Rocka! range that I gravitated towards, but Johnson’s clothing incorporated all the key British youth subcultures: Teddyboys, bikers, punks, Mods, Goths and jazz-beatniks could all find something to treasure at Johnson’s. And rock stars, too: pretty much all my favourite musicians (everyone from Billy Fury, Jerry Lee Lewis, Iggy Pop, Siouxsie and The Banshees, The Sex Pistols, The Cramps, The Pretenders – even Hollywood show biz royalty like Fred Astaire and Liza Minnelli!) wore Johnson’s paraphernalia at some point. A true tastemaker and original, Lloyd Johnson deserves credit as one of the people who made London a cooler place and in a just world would be far better recognised for his accomplishments.

Around Autumn 2011 I saw something on Facebook about an upcoming exhibit (to be held at The Chelsea Space) honouring Johnson’s career, and that anyone with good condition Johnson’s clothes should get in touch. I contacted Lloyd Johnson himself via Facebook, we exchanged some messages, and I sent him photos of my La Rocka! clothes from the 1990s. He eventually came to my place in Archway in person one night after work to my to collect them, and he was modest, unassuming and gentlemanly – you couldn’t imagine anyone less “fashion-y.” He promised to ensure I’d be invited to the exhibit's private launch party.

/ (Clothes I loaned for the exhibit: Crocodile t-shirt. I also loaned an Indian motorcycle t-shirt and a pair of patent 70s Pimp Shoes. No, I can't believe I was ever this tiny / emaciated. This crocodile fetish t-shirt and the Indian motorcycle t-shirt both look like baby clothes to me now -- clothes for a very punky, kinky baby!) /



/ (Black shirt. When I first got it, this shirt was shiny and very young Johnny Cash. Washing it over the years has turned it matte) /



/ (Black Regency suit. I remember I was really skint when I bought this suit and it cost about £360 -- a lot of money for me in the early 1990s. I just thought, "Screw it!" and I wore it that New Year's Eve) /



/ (Clothes I loaned for the exhibit: Blue Sharkskin Suit. I definitely bought this at the Kings Road branch during their closing-down sale) /



Flash forward to the night of the preview party on 24 January 2012. Approaching The Chelsea Space, visible through the front window is the original frontage of the Kensington Market shop re-created -- enough to make me misty-eyed with nostalgia. First reaction: I’d forgotten just how beautiful the Johnson’s mannequins used to be! Second: None of the clothes I’d loaned made the final cut! Apparently over a thousand items were borrowed from customers and collectors around the world, and needed to be whittled down to a representative capsule of Johnson’s whole career. But hey, I’m not bitter. The collection they’ve assembled is exquisite and tells the story of how Lloyd’s ethos evolved over the decades, and it was a brilliant night.


Recreation of Johnsons front window: gave me a real pang of nostalgia! (I really should have taken this shot at the beginning of the night to give a better view, before the room was thronged with people! Doh!)

/ Better view Via /



/Johnson's rockabilly dreamboat male mannequins /

Apparently well over a hundred people crammed into a pretty small gallery: a testament to the affection and loyalty Johnson’s inspired in its clientele – and how much it’s missed. (The crowd spilled outside, where people could smoke and admire the row of vintage motorcycles the biker contingent had arrived on). I think I drank far more than my share of the flowing free beer and wine (at least judging by my thunderous hangover the next day) and it was great meeting up with old friends (and making some new ones). After the gallery kicked us all out, the party continued at the pub around the corner.

There's talk of the La Rocka! range being revived on a small-scale ... fingers crossed this happens.

Anyway, here's a sampling of my photos from the night:



/ Gold leather fringed biker jacket (with matching gold leather jeans) as worn by Lux Interior of The Cramps . A silver version of this jacket was worn by Liza Minnelli on a 1989 issue of Vogue magazine. Who would have thought Lux and Liza had anything in common?! /



/Red leather-fronted pony fur jacket (as worn by Jerry Lee Lewis!). (To see a photo of the man himself wearing it, click here) /



/ Pale blue with red fleck zoot suit /



/ Scorpio Rising / The Leather Angels: Ultra beautiful and fetishistic biker jackets on the leather jacket wall /



/ Mari (who used to work as a glamorous Johnson's sales assistant in the early 1990s when she was a scary Tura Satana/Bettie Page-style brunette) and Julian /



/ Julian (whose "flamejob" cardigan is from Johnson's), Kayee and I /



/ Gold Leather Fringed Biker Jacket (as worn by Lux Interior of The Cramps) and I. (I wish I'd taken off my camera bag for this shot!) /



/ The great man himself: Lloyd Johnson and I /



/ The Leather Boys: Bikers Thomas and Jake (this was taken at the pub afterwards) /

See the rest of my photos from the party here

Read a nice interview with Lloyd Johnson on The Guardian website

Paul Gorman co-ordinated the exhibit at The Chelsea Space and blogged about it day by day in the lead-up to the opening

There were some other bloggers at the party who got some better, more detailed shots of the clothes than I did: try this one and this one

18 January 2012 Dr Sketchy Set List

Suck it in! Buxom sweater girl Jayne Mansfield

The first Dr Sketchy of the New Year! I hadn’t DJ’d since the last one on 21 December 2011 (which had been all Christmas music, anyhow) and was itching to get back behind the decks at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. Our emcee this time was a newbie, comic performer James Huntington (aka James H) making his Dr Sketchy debut (he did a great job). We had two model / performers: Bettsie Bon Bon made a welcome return visit after posing at the 8 October 2011 Dr Sketchy (and for her burlesque number wore an amazing exploding black feather headdress), and Crimson Skye, who performed in her drag king persona Duncan Donut. The leering and hirsute Duncan was a bit of a dirt bag, to be honest! He had a constant “wardrobe malfunction” (a certain private part of his anatomy was hanging out of the side of his thong pretty much the whole time) which I’m not convinced was entirely accidental! Thinking of sleazy gender-fucked songs for Duncan’s pose was a fun challenge (I went heavy on raunchy “blue” novelty songs by the likes of Faye Richmonde and Filthy McNasty). Then when Duncan and a scantily-clad Bettsie posed together, I laid-on a series of sultry male / female duets (Elvis and his Viva Las Vegas leading lady Ann-Margret, a heavy-panting Serge Gainsbourg and Bardot, etc).

I cheekily swiped some photos from the night via the Dr Sketchy Facebook page without asking permission! These shots are by Andrew Hickinbottom.

/ The gorgeous Bettsie Bon Bon /

/ Duncan Donut, mercifully keeping it covered this time /

Early on I tried to shake things up and do something a bit different, making an abortive attempt to create an eerie, atmospheric David Lynch-ian musical vibe. I've recently re-discovered one of my old favourites, unjustly forgotten chanteuse Julee Cruise, and that ghostly, finger-snapping 1950s jukebox-in-a-haunted house feel is where my head is at these days. But I’ve got to say I didn’t quite pull it off (and the sold-out capacity crowd was pretty rowdy and noisey), so I probably won’t attempt that again anytime soon! Anyway, that’s why you see Cruise’s sublime "Rockin' Back Inside My Heart" midway through the set list. I got back on track, taking listeners on an erotic journey south of my border (OK, maybe not) with my more usual titty shaker instrumentals and frantic rhythm and blues wig-outs (Ike and Tina, Esquerita, Big Maybelle, etc).

/ (RIP, Jennifer Miro of The Nuns. Pic from the wonderful book We're Desperate: The Punk Photography of Jim Jocoy, which documents the San Francisco / Los Angeles punk scene between 1978-1980) /

Midway through the set I also worked in a tribute to the late Jennifer Miro, inscrutable ice queen front woman of pioneering San Francisco punk band The Nuns, who died of cancer on 16 December 2011, aged just 54. The track “Lazy” is from The Nuns’ 1980 self-titled album. Two years earlier they’d supported The Sex Pistols at their legendarily cataclysmic final gig at San Francisco’s Winterland, ensuring The Nuns would forever at least be a footnote in punk history. (Art-y but melodic and memorable, with the right management, record label and better luck, The Nuns could have been a West Coast equivalent of Blondie). Miro’s alluring persona was post-Marlene Dietrich and post-Nico: an icily pristine platinum blonde who exuded retro glamour, with a wonderfully glacial, haughty and deadpan voice. Her obituary certainly makes for melancholy reading: despite making music since she was 18-years old, Miro never enjoyed the financial rewards that accompany mainstream success (cult and punk credibility doesn’t do much for the bank balance) and before her death she was working as a receptionist. Miro died riddled with breast and liver cancer, alone and presumably in agony (she’d opted to eschew traditional chemotherapy and even pain killers for alternative homeopathic medicine). The original and definitive incarnation of The Nuns was short-lived, imploding in a welter of drugs and recriminations. Relocating to New York and re-naming herself Mistress Jennifer, Miro would maintain different line-ups of The Nuns over the decades, working a dominatrix image and taking things in a fetish-y/Gothic direction which, to be frank, looked embarrassing. Better to listen to the wry, stark and timeless-sounding Weimar Republic decadence of “Lazy”, with just Miro accompanying herself on the piano. It slotted in beautifully with the Marilyn Monroe and Dietrich tracks that followed (and it anticipates Nico's version of "My Funny Valentine."). It also makes you wonder what could have been. Jennifer Miro deserved better.



Serenata - Jonah Jones Quartet
Fever - Hildegard Knef
Melancholy Serenade - King Curtis
Watermelon Gin - Florence Joelle's Kiss of Fire
Pas Cette Chanson - Johnny Hallyday
Sea of Love - The Earls of Suave
Rigor Mortis - The Gravestone Four
Rockin' Back Inside My Heart - Julee Cruise
Ebb Tide - Al Anthony, Wizard of the Organ
Dancing on the Ceiling - Chet Baker
Lunar Rhapsody - Les Baxter
Pad - Bobby Summers
It's Crazy, Baby - Ike and Tina Turner
Wipe Out - The Escorts
Unitar Rock - Willie Joe and His Unitar
That's a Pretty Good Love - Big Maybelle
Wait A Minute, Baby - Esquerita
House Party - The Party Rockers
Love Potion # 9 - Nancy Sit
Commanche - The Revels
Handclapping Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Crawlin' - The Untouchables
Beat Party - Ritchie & The Squires
Womp Womp - Freddie & The Heartaches
Traume - Francoise Hardy
Strip-tease - Nico
Un Ano D'Amor - Mina
Lazy - The Nuns
Lazy - Marilyn Monroe
The Laziest Gal in Town - Marlene Dietrich
Are You Nervous? The Instrumentals
Bombie - Johnny Sharp and The Yellow Jackets
Witchcraft - Elvis Presley
Dance with Me Henry - Ann-Margret
Nosey Joe - Bull Moose Jackson
Lucky Lips - Ruth Brown
Drums A G-Go - The Hollywood Persuaders
Don't Be Cruel - The Bill Black Combo
My Pussy Belongs to Daddy - Faye Richmonde
Seperate the Men from the Boys - Mamie van Doren
Chicken Grabber - The Nite Hawks
Big Man - Carl Matthews
Ice Man - Filthy McNasty
The Coo - Wayne Cochran
A Guy What Takes His Time - Mae West
Crazy Vibrations - The Bikinis
The Beast - Milt Buckner
The Stripper - John Barry (Beat Girl soundtrack)
Lola Lola - Eartha Kitt
Hump-a-Baby - Little Ritchie Ray
You're the Boss - Elvis Presley and Ann-Margret
Little Girl / Little Boy - John and Jackie
Je t'aime, moi non plus ... Serge Gainsbourg and Brigitte Bardot
Pop Slop - Bela Sanders Und Sein Tanzorchester
Chattanooga Choo Choo - Denise Darcel
That Makes It - Jayne Mansfield
Hot Licks - The Rendells
Esquerita and the Voola - Esquerita
Dragon Walk - The Noblemen
Scorpion - The Carnations
Lucille - Little Richard

Finally, in my blog for the 23 November 2011 Dr Sketchy, I wrote about two great European divas: Italy's Mina and France's Francoise Hardy. It didn't occur to me until later that musically they overlapped on one memorable occasion. In 1966 Mina scored a big hit in Italy with "Se telefonado", written for her by Ennio Morricone --one of her essential statements. The same year Hardy would adapt her own French lyrics to Morricone's tune and release her interpretation, "Je Changerais D'avis."

Compare and contrast!

Mina's original


Francoise's French-ified version