Las Vegas Grind 2012! Viva Las Vegas ... Followed by a Few Days in San Francisco

I’m only now finally getting around to blogging about my trip to Las Vegas (for Viva Las Vegas, the annual rockabilly weekender at The Orleans Hotel and Casino) and San Francisco while it’s all still vaguely fresh-ish in my mind. I returned to rain-lashed London on Saturday 14 April, went straight back to work and DJ’ing, been wiped out with jetlag (and then a cold) pretty much ever since. So these are just rough, random musings. (Because you know, otherwise I’m usually so eloquent and articulate. Right? Right?).

Anyway, Viva Las Vegas 2012 was an absolute blast, mainly because I got to hook up with loads of American friends (some of whom I haven’t seen since 2006!) and make lots of new ones.


"The gang" in 2006: me, Asher, David and Mitch. Everyone in this photo but Asher made it this year


The same group in 2006, this time including Rusty


Pretty much the same group of people, six years later! Thursday 5 April 2012. Left to right: Patrick, Mitch, David, Rusty, Jim and I at Ellis Island Restaurant. Compare the 2006 photo to chart our ageing processes!


Black T-Shirt Convention: Sharon, Natelle, Gary and I


Sweetpea from Seattle in Mexican Wrestler's Mask


Me, fabulous babe (and go-go dancer/burlesque artiste) Miss Kitty Baby (the Queen of Las Vegas!) and Rusty


Gary and Sweetpea

This VLV, therefore, was more about reunions with people and just hanging out – I saw shamefully few bands this year. One particularly noteworthy exception, though, was the mighty Royal Rhythmaires from Texas. They boasted a young female singer whose powerful blues shouter voice evoked great mid-century R&B female divas like Ruth Brown and LaVerne Baker.



Speaking of great female singers, I’ve somehow never managed to catch a full set by Vicky Tafoya, but she intrigues the hell out of me. In 2011, Tafoya and her band performed in Brendan's Irish pub (one of the more intimate venues at The Orleans) but it was filled to capacity and the security guard wouldn’t let any more people in by the time I got there. This year, she joined the pool party band one day as a guest vocalist for just one song: a sultry rendition of “Misirlou.” She has a belting voice, but it's her whole persona I find fascinating: raven mane of hair teased into a high pompadour, heavy white almost Kabuki face powder, and false eyelashes so thick they’re like black tarantulas on her eyelids. I can’t begin to do her justice –Vicky Tafoya is like an escapee from a John Waters or early Pedro Almodovar film.


Vicky Tafoya: Didn't manage to get a single decent shot of her because of the positioning of the mic stand. Still, you get the idea


Found this clip on Youtube! Vicky Tafoya singing "Misirlou" at the pool party

In terms of sojourns away from The Orleans (the casino/hotel where Viva Las Vegas is held), I was saddened to learn one of my all-time favourite “Old Vegas” dive bars (the sublimely sleazy Atomic Liquor) has permanently shut its doors in the meantime. It had apparently been a fixture there since at least the 1950s. I miss being buzzed through their glass front doors (extra security to keep out the local crackheads) to drink Pabst Blue Ribbon in the gloom, eavesdropping on conversations from the tough-as-nails barfly regulars straight out of a Charles Bukowski novel.


Atomic Liquor and Cocktails looking derelict by daylight in 2006


Portrait of me drinking at Atomic Liquor in 2006


Photo of the neon Atomic Liquor sign looking far more beautiful at night, taken by me in 2007 (the last time I visited Atomic Liquor)

I feel a rant coming on: Every time I go back to Vegas, one more mid-century historical landmark has been torn down to make way for another monstrous, soulless modern “mega-casino” (other recent-ish casualties: the Elvis-o-Rama museum,the Liberace museum, The Stardust where I saw Ann-Margret perform in 2005). Vegas is ruthlessly unsentimental in a misguided/short-sighted way, indifferent to its own glittering history. For the most part, the decadent Sin City “Old Vegas” playground of the Rat Pack, Marlene Dietrich, Liberace, Elvis and the Mob simply doesn’t exist anymore. The first time I went to Vegas (in 2003) I stopped by The Algiers (at the time one of the oldest surviving casinos on The Strip, directly opposite Circus Circus) for a drink. My memory of it now has a shimmering dream-like quality. The ultra 1950s pink stucco Algiers could only be described as David Lynch-ian: everyone in the place seemed to be a shuffling geriatric, giving it a senior citizens home vibe. The bar and pool area were eerily quiet, the pace was dreamily slow and haunting, seemingly soaked in seedy history, and the drinks were strong. The following year, I yearned to go back, but in 2004 it was demolished!

OK, diatribe over. I still happily sampled plenty of old school / atomic-era Las Vegas: meeting the guys for breakfast in the cafe of the Ellis Island casino (there's a great online review of the place: someone's cab driver warning them not to go there, it's the hang-out of choice for prostitutes and drug dealers! To me, that's a recommendation); cocktails and steaks at The Golden Steer; I got a tantalisingly brief glimpse at the intoxicating Frankie’s Tiki cocktail lounge. We were running late for dinner reservation at the nearby Golden Steer so we couldn’t stay long. I need to return to Vegas in 2013 just so I can properly experience Frankie’s! (Apparently if you wear a Hawaiian shirt to Frankie’s, you instantly get a 50% discount on cocktails, so you can guess what I’ll be packing. I can taste those Mai Tais, Stingers and Blue Hawaiians already!).


Frankies Tiki Room: I'll be back ...


My Lemon Drop cocktail at The Golden Steer


With my two suave dining companions Mitch and David. Re Mitch: Yes, Rohypnol really does work!


Sleazy does it! This elegant portrait really captures the Viva Las Vegas 2012 vibe: Chris, Tami and Patrick


Gary and Miss Kitty Baby having an intimate moment


The gorgeous Marisol from Los Angeles. At this year's VLV each of the bars at The Orleans were selling limited-edition souvenir glasses shaped like bowling pins or cowboy boots, etc. Needless to say, we went straight for the skulls!


My official Viva Las Vegas 2012 portrait! My skull contained triple Jack Daniels and Coke, by the way

Living in London, we’re starved for sunshine so the sun-kissed pool parties are always the highlight. In fact, even if Viva Las was just four days of pool parties, it would still be worth crossing the Atlantic for! Drinking potent spicy Bloody Marys in the balmy sunshine (switching to icy cans of Pabst Blue Ribbons when I couldn’t afford Bloody Marys anymore), surrounded by friends, to a soundtrack of live rockabilly, was sublime.


Saturday 7 April 2012: in this photo, you can see Mitch and David (shielding their eyes from the sun), Sweetpea (in purple dress, sucking on a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon), me (desperately reaching into my pocket for something -- or, more likely, reaching for my camera) and Anne Marie in the foreground (brunette with yellow flower). I vividly remember the kid in front of me and his zoot suit


Lisa and Patrick: they entered the couples's vintage swimsuit competition -- and won!


Heather and I at the pool party (her rum cocktail was good)


Pool party refreshments


Sean Law (from Canada) and Anne Marie (from The Netherlands)


Beefcake shot of Rusty


Cheesecake shot of Miss Kitty Baby


Patrick (in one of his dazzling cabana suit combos) and I


Wifebeaters unite! Scott and Jorge. (When I say "wifebeaters", I mean the Stanley Kowalski / young Brando white vests they're wearing -- I'm not implying they beat their wives!).

Other high points I didn't necessarily document with photos: the car show, the jiving contest and the Charles Phoenix Slideshow. Once again this year, I somehow managed to miss seeing Big Elvis (see the photo of Big Elvis and I together at the top of this blog, from 2010) and going to the punk bar Double Down Saloon -- yet more incentive for returning next year.

I’m so glad I organised a few days in chilled-out, bohemian San Francisco after Viva Las Vegas instead of heading straight home. It’s one of my all-time favourite cities in the world, and I hadn’t been there since 2007. It was sadly obvious the city has been ravaged by the recession since my last visit five years earlier: even more crazies, winos and crackheads wandering the streets pushing grocery cars and muttering to themselves (and there were already a lot) and some of my favourite burrito places are gone (RIP, Mariachi's Taqueria on Valencia Street. I never got to tell you how much I loved you).


San Francisco in 2012!

Mercifully (and most importantly), most of my favorite bars were still intact: the punk dive Lucky 13 (just up the block the ultra-basic but affordable Twin Peaks hotel where I always stay, situated just between The Mission and The Castro); Esta Noches in The Mission; Trax in Haight-Ashbury, and the scary but reliably excellent The Hole in the Wall in Folsom. In fact, it was in atmospheric nasty biker bar / sleaze pit Hole in the Wall I hung out with (and got quickly plastered over beers and shots of Jägermeister with!) the wonderfully affable rockabilly musician Kacy French (You might know him better by his professional name Damon Dogg. Do yourself a favor: Please do not Google “Damon Dogg” on your work computer!).


Kacy and I at Hole in the Wall


Portrait of Kacy at Hole in the Wall

Other highlights: happy hour post-work drinks with Little E, dropping a bomb of money buying CDs and DVDs at Amobea Records in Haight (where I almost got to catch an intimate acoustic set by my punk idols John Doe and Exene of the punk band X -- but didn't!), eating cheap and authentic Mexican food every day, a nice reunion with my old pal AJ. I didn’t make it to North Beach at all this year (so no book shopping at City Lights) – I’ll rectify that in 2013.


Window display of vintage boutique in The Mission


Tiki-inspired window display of vintage boutique in Haight-Ashbury

See more of my photos of Vegas/San Francisco (there's loads more!) on my flickr page

Feeling nostalgic? You can re-read my reflections on Viva Las Vegas here and 2011 here

18 April 2012 Dr Sketchy DJ Set List

/ She wore a teeny weeny itsy bitsy zebra print bikini: Jayne Mansfield. Why don't people wear zebra print more often? /

This was my first Dr Sketchy since getting back from two weeks in US (I got back on Saturday 14 April after going to the annual Viva Las Vegas rockabilly weekender, followed by a few days in San Francisco), and have to admit it felt like a bit tepid this time. Which was certainly not the fault of the stellar line-up of performers: homme du monde Dusty Limits on emcee duties, platinum blonde Monroe-a-like showgirl Slinky Sparkles and kooky newcomer, Australian starlet Georgina Ruby. Lately we’ve been on fire, but this Dr Sketchy didn’t sell out (although it didn’t exactly look sparsely attended from the DJ booth and to their credit the crowd seemed open and enthusiastic).

I’d spent a bomb on CDs at Amobea Records in San Francisco (my favourite record store in the world. And when I say “spent a bomb”, my credit card statement is giving me anxiety attacks), which I was keen to play. One of the CDs was a mondo exotica Tiki compilation (that’s why you might see more Les Baxter and Martin Denny than usual, as well as Yma Sumac’s sublime “Wimoweh”), but don’t think I managed to integrate it very well into things. In fact musically I think I was incoherent as hell. It was one of those nights where musically it just didn't gel for me. Let’s blame the murderous post-US jetlag I’m still suffering from (it takes me at least a week or two for my body clock to re-adjust to UK time! I was feeling zombified with exhaustion all week) and drinking pints of lager on an empty stomach (I went to the venue straight from work and The Royal Vauxhall Tavern’s kitchen has temporarily stopped serving food. I was depending on a bowl of their chips to line my stomach with!).

One of the evening’s most disconcerting touches was the sleeping guy. He looked like what we in the know would call a “bear.” He came in alone, ordered a pint of beer, picked one of the best seats in the venue – and then snoozed through pretty much the entire show. At one point Clare Marie (Dr Sketchy’s glamazon promoter) was standing next to me in the DJ booth and I pointed him out to her. Unruffled, she just shrugged and said he paid his entry fee so he could sleep if he wanted to. (Midway through, he woke up, looked confused by his surroundings and wandered out). Strange!

For Georgina’s poses I cranked up the kitsch factor and sleazy instrumentals. With Dr Sketchy veteran Slinky I always go heavy on cooing Hollywood sex kittens. Obviously playing a Marilyn Monroe track is obligatory, but I could skip one by Jayne Mansfield this time because Slinky already used a song by Jayne as part of her burlesque number (“Too Hot to Handle” in case you’re interested). I also explored a sultry and melancholy blue mood with a trio of ballads by three quintessential chanteuses: Nina Simone, Eartha Kitt and Juliette Greco.

/ Georgina Ruby: Doesn't she look a bit like 1980s New Wave crackpot Lene Lovich here? /

/ Slinky Sparkles /

/ Pin-up come to life: Slinky Sparkles evoking Betty Grable /

(All photos by the talented Andrew Hickinbottom)


/ Fragment of La Mansfield bumping, twitching and pouting her way through "Too Hot to Handle" /



/ Glimpse of the breathtakingly beautiful young Juliette Greco (in trademark stark Morticia Addams black) singing "Bonjour Tristesse" in 1958. Trust me: the original French lyrics are much better than the trite English ones! /

Misirlou - Martin Denny
Monkey Bird - The Revels
Champagne Taste - Eartha Kitt
Witchcraft - Joe Grave and The Diggers
Los Cigarillos - Serge Gainsbourg
Hot Toddy - Julie London
Fever - Richard Marino and His Orchestra
Mess of Blues - Elvis Presley
All You Had to Do Was Tell Me - Ann-Margret
Oui je veux - Johnny Hallyday
Sea of Love - The Earls of Suave
Night Scene - The Rumblers
Cheesecake - Nite Sounds
Town without Pity - James Chance
The Mexican - The Fentones
Tequila - Stan Kenton and His Orchestra
Wimoweh - Yma Sumac
Not Me - Robert Mitchum
Go Calypso - Mamie Van Doren
Don't Be Cruel - Bill Black Combo
Made You - Adam Faith (Beat Girl soundtrack)
Intoxica - The Centurions (Pink Flamingos soundtrack)
Sweetiepie - Eddie Cochran
The Swag - Link Wray (Pink Flamingos soundtrack)
Jim Dandy - Sara Lee and The Spades
Pass the Hatchet - Roger and The Gypsies
Baby Blues Rock - Carl Simpson
Tonight You Belong to Me - Patience and Prudence
Beaver Shot - The Periscopes
Bewildered - Shirley and Lee
Strolling After Dark - The Shades
Caterpillar Crawl - The Strangers
Boots - Nero and The Gladiators
It's Legal - Shirley Anne Field (Beat Girl soundtrack)
Cherry Pink - Bill Black Combo
Caravan - 80 Drums Around the World
Come By Sunday - Diana Dors
Tall Cool One - The Wailers
Drummin' Up a Storm - Sandy Nelson
Lookie There, Ain't She Pretty - Bill Haley and His Comets
Je Me Donne A Qui Me Plait - Brigitte Bardot
Scorpion - The Carnations
One Mint Julep - Sarah Vaughan
Begin the Beguine - Billy Fury
Jungle Drums - Earl Bostic
Mambo Baby - Ruth Brown
Boss - The Rumblers
Whiplash - The Shells
Anytime - Bill Black Combo
Willow Weep for Me - Nina Simone
Solitude - Eartha Kitt
Bonjour Tristesse - Juliette Greco
Petit Fleur - Chet Baker
Do It Again - Marilyn Monroe
Blues in My Heart - John Buzon Trio
Harlem Nocturne - Martin Denny
You're My Thrill - Dolores Gray
You Beautiful Doll - Nancy Sinatra
Drums A G-Go - The Hollywood Persuaders
Thirteen Men - Ann-Margret
The Beast - Milt Buckner
Deep Dark Secret - Lizabeth Scott
Hand Clapping Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Beat Party - Ritchie and The Squires
Uptown to Harlem - Johnny Thunders and Patti Paladin
Don't Blame it On Me - Ike and Tina Turner
I'm Not A Juvenile Delinquent - Frankie Lymon and The Teenagers



Next time: an update on Lobotomy Room, and a full scene report on Viva Las Vegas and San Francisco!

Introducing ... Lobotomy Room!

(The following is from an events page I created on Facebook):

Set your facial expressions to “stunned!” I’ve actually been entrusted with doing my own club night!

The pub Howl at The Moon on Hoxton Street (an old-school East End boozer) is under new management and its hip landlady Emma has given me every third Saturday night of the month to do my own night. It’s called Lobotomy Room and it will be a sensual and depraved night of rockabilly, frantic Rhythm and Blues, tittyshakers, sleazy instrumentals, punk, kitsch and exotica – weird shit, basically! Think drunken hillbillies shouting at you while go-go dancers gyrate in a cage, and you’re on the right track. (OK, there won't actually be any go-go dancers and the drunken hillbilly shouting at you will probably be me. Any of you who’ve seen me DJ’ing at Dr Sketchy or Cockabilly will know roughly what to expect).

Admission is FREE, the booze is cheap, and the venue is walking distance from Old Street tube.

Lobotomy Room debuts on Saturday 21 April 2012. The timing is tricky ‘cause I split for Viva Las Vegas weekender (and then San Francisco) between 4 – 14 April. So it’ll be the weekend after I get back. Yikes! Anyway, I need as many of you muthas as possible to turn up on the launch night and dance your asses off (and binge drink) to ensure my night is buzzing (and lucrative for the pub!). If you're working that night -- call in sick. If you're in jail -- BREAK OUT. And then I expect you to turn up every subsequent month.

So ... won’t you come and give me a warm hand on my big opening?

(Me again):

Sounds too good to be true, huh? Although in theory after all these years of DJ’ing, I guess it’s a natural progression to finally be doing my own night. I’ll just be eternally grateful to Emma (aka DJ Elma Wolf) for taking a chance on me. We first met when we both guest DJ’d at Cockabilly at The George & Dragon in November 2011. (Note: sadly, Cockabilly is currently on hiatus. The December 2011 one was the last Cockabilly to date. Fingers crossed this is just temporary). Emma organises regular nights at The Dalston Superstore and said she’d like me to do some guest DJ’ing there sometime. Then we bumped into each other at John Waters's Christmas Show at The Southbank in December.

In March I contacted Emma on Facebook to ask when her next Dalston Superstore night would be, as I’d try to come. Instead she told me she was now managing a pub in Hoxton – would I be interested in doing my own rockabilly night there? Needless to say I said, Hell yeah! We had a meeting at the pub to thrash out the details. The pub (on the gritty end of Hoxton Street as opposed to the art-y/bohemian hipster end) is called Howl at The Moon, which for an old beatnik like me brings positive associations with “Howl” by Allen Ginsberg. I always knew if I was to do my own night, it would have to be called Lobotomy Room, and that the flyer image would be a bug-eyed Joan Crawford wielding an axe from the 1964 William Castle-directed horror movie Straitjacket. (I bought a 8x10” print of this photo in San Francisco in 2007, knowing it would eventually come in handy!).

I just got back yesterday from American misadventures in Las Vegas (for the annual rockabilly weekender Viva Las Vegas) followed by a few days in San Francisco (the trip is a whole other blog!) and now am both jetlagged and vibrating with nerves about the debut of Lobotomy Room in less than a week! My stomach is full of vomiting butterflies, to quote the great Homer Simpson. If everything goes according to plan, one of my next blogs will be a Lobotomy Room set list and photos.

Wish me luck!

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

10 March 2012 Dr Sketchy Set List

/ When Marilyn met Marlene: Monroe and Dietrich photographed circa the mid-1950s. Dietrich (born in 1901) could have comfortably been Monroe’s mother (Marilyn was born in 1926; Dietrich’s own daughter, Maria Riva, was born in 1924), not that you’d know it judging by this photo. Dietrich, of course, was a “joyous(ly) bisexual Good Time Charlene” (description courtesy of Kenneth Anger’s Hollywood Babylon). I forget the source now, but I remember reading an account of Dietrich being at a Hollywood party when Marilyn arrived late and already tipsy. Monroe was wearing a white fur coat, and there was a smear of her bright red lipstick on the collar. Dietrich told a friend afterwards that she found it “maddeningly erotic.” I’ve always remembered that expression: maddeningly erotic /

For this relaxed, enjoyable (and sold-out!) afternoon Dr Sketchy at The Old Queen’s Head, the performers / models were burlesque starlets Slinky Sparkles and Emerald Fontaine, with the raucous Ophelia Bitz (the Tallulah Bankhead du nos jours) on emcee duties. “Release the repressed sexual urges you’ve been holding back all week ...” Ophelia urged the audience, only to later accuse them of “leering and touching yourselves under the table.”

/ Ms Bitz and I. I'd been sweating to the oldies behind the DJ booth. Ophelia is placing her hand to cover my arm pit sweat patch. What a woman! Photo by Clare Marie /

Emerald and Slinky certainly facilitated the leering and self-touching. I’d never worked with raven-haired, bullet-bra'd, pencil skirted and hardboiled bad girl Emerald before. Her act was very much a tribute to the cinema of trash auteur John Waters (Ophelia introduced her as “John Waters’ wet dream”), which obviously won my instant approval. The music for her burlesque number was “Jungle Drums” by Earl Bostick (from the Cry-baby soundtrack); it started with a lollipop-sucking Emerald as a hitchhiking runaway trying to thumb a ride, holding a sign emblazoned “Baltimore” (think teenaged delinquent Dawn Davenport in Female Trouble running away from home, or sulky Traci Lords in Cry-baby). For her poses, I happily wallowed in songs from John Waters’ soundtracks (his sleazy musical selections have always been a huge inspiration for me anyway) from films like Pink Flamingos, Cry-baby and A Dirty Shame, as well as tracks that sound like they could be from a John Waters film.

 / She's got it, ooh baby she's got it: Emerald Fontaine photographed by Andrew Hickinbottom (all photos from the day are by him unless indicated) /

Later, platinum blonde Marilyn Monroe lookalike Slinky Sparkles did a spectacular fan dance routine. For her poses, I raised the tone a bit with twinkly cocktail music cooed by sex kittens like Marilyn Monroe (playing at least a few tracks by Marilyn is de rigueur when Slinky models), Julie London, Ann-Margret, Diana Dors and Jayne Mansfield.

/ Series of photos of Ophelia Bitz and I ogling Slinky Sparkles in action. Photos by Andrew Hickinbottom /

Otherwise, a loose “chicken”-related theme cropped up (remember the scene in Pink Flamingos where Cookie and Crackers have sex and a live chicken gets involved in the action? I’m sure you’re still as traumatised by it as I am. Anyway, the song used in that sequence is “Chicken Grabber” by The Nite Hawks) and also a Latino / Mexican theme (which perhaps climaxed with Eartha Kitt’s berserk version of “La Bamba”, from her Eartha canta en Espanol album). As is my wont, I also went on a gynaecological musical journey to the centre of a girl with a series of single-entendre "pussy" songs (from Faye Richmonde's "My Pussy Belongs to Daddy" to "Can Your Pussy Do the Dog?" by The Cramps).

/ Emerald Fontaine and Slinky Sparkles together. Photo by Leigh Van Der Byl /

Not to get nostalgic on your asses, but I know both Slinky and Clare Marie (Dr Sketchy’s imperturbable promoter / stage manager) in the first place because we all worked together at deluxe faux vintage lingerie emporium What Katie Did when its London boutique first opened in 2007. (They worked there full-time; I was just the occasional “Saturday boy” who worked the till, ran to the post office, climbed ladders and yes, occasionally, when necessary strapped semi-naked women into a corset with trembling hands). None of us work there now (although Slinky still regularly models for What Katie Did), but if it hadn’t been for my brief but fun stint there, I would never have met Clare Marie, who went on to promote Dr Sketchy and helped instigate my DJ’ing career (now you know who to blame! The reason I got my Saturday boy position is because way back in the 1990s, Katie Halford, What Katie Did’s founder and boss lady, and I used to work together for a fetish mail order company – but that’s a whole other sordid can of worms).

Anyway, What Katie Did continues to go from strength to strength, and recently even opened a “sister” boutique in Los Angeles. On Sunday 4 March 2012, What Katie Did held an in-store party and fashion show to launch their Spring/Summer 2012 range. It was all very chi chi and frou frou: gin cocktails served in vintage tea cups, chocolate cupcakes branded with the WKD logo, etc. The party was a blast. Here’s just a handful of pics (by me, except for the one I’m in, which I swiped from Facebook!).



/ Surrounded by bullet bras and suspender belts – my natural habitat! Left to right: Therese (Swedish rockabilly, my George & Dragon drinking buddy – we enable each other!), me, Katie Halford herself (the founder of What Katie Did), and Katie’s adorable daughter Poppy. Expert bartender Poppy poured out the drinks into vintage tea cups without spilling a drop. I drink gin out of a tea cup so daintily /



/ This photo is a bit of who's who of burlesque / cabaret starlets on the rise: Sophia St Villier (who'd actually modelled in the What Katie Did lingerie fashion show earlier), Ava Iscariot (both Sophia and Ava are frequent Dr Sketchy models and performers) and Luna DeLovely /



/ Kayee and Therese having a cigarette break outside /

See more photos from the party (and the actual lingerie in the fashion show) here

Finally: speaking of Sophia St Villier, she recently did a smouldering photo session inspired by the paintings of Tamara De Lempicka, which is well worth checking out here. NSFW alert!


Make the World Go Away - Timi Yuro
Torture - Kris Jensen
Stop and Listen - Mickey and Ludella
The Fire of Love - Jody Reynolds
Riding By - The Majestics
Oop Shoop - Big John and The Buzzards
Matilda, Matilda - Robert Mitchum
When I Get Low, I Get High - Florence Joelle and Her Kiss of Fire
I Put A Spell on You - Screamin' Jay Hawkins
Give Me Your Lov - Ike and Tina Turner
Rock It - The Rockin' Brothers
Screwdriver - Luchi
Chicken Boogie - Ralph Marterie
Kiss Me Honey Honey - The Delmonas
Souvenir, Souvenir - Johnny Hallyday
Salamander - Mamie Van Doren
Blockade - The Rumblers
Ring of Fire - The Earls of Suave
La Bamba - Eartha Kitt
The Mexican - The Fentones
Surfin' Snow Matador - Jan Davis
Eso - Conjunto TNT
Chihuahua - Mina
Besame Mucho - Betty Reilly
Chicken Talk - Yma Sumac
Love Potion # 9 - Nancy Sit
The Girls in Paris - Lee Hazlewood
Night Scene - The Rumblers
I Would if I Could - Ruth Brown
A Cruise to the Moon - Lydia Lunch
Sweetie Pie - Eddie Cochran
Boss - The Rumblers
I'm a Bad, Bad Girl - Little Esther
Save It - Mel Robbins
Hand Clapping Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Drummin' Up A Storm - Sandy Nelson
Cry-baby - The Honey Sisters
Let's Go Sexin' - James Intveld
Chicken Hawk - The Nite Hawks
No Good Lover - Mickey and Sylvia
Uptown to Harlem - Johnny Thunders and Patti Paladin
The Flirt - Shirley and Lee
Roll with Me Henry - Etta James
Jim Dandy - LaVerne Baker
Lucille - Little Richard
Maybe Baby - Esquerita
Kruschev Twist - Melvin Gayle
8 Ball - The Hustlers
Fever - Nancy Sit
Wiped-Out - The Escorts
La valse des si - Juliette Greco
Mondo Moodo - The Earls of Suave
Harlem Nocturne - The Viscounts
Kiss - Marilyn Monroe
A Kiss and a Cuddle - Diana Dors
Love Me or Leave Me - Lena Horne
Go Slow - Julie London
Slowly - Ann-Margret
Little Things Mean a Lot - Jayne Mansfield
Two Little Girls from Little Rock - Marilyn Monroe and Jane Russell
Bikini with No Top on the Top - Mamie Van Doren and June Wilkinson
My Pussy Belongs to Daddy - Faye Richmonde
Sweet Little Pussycat - Andre Williams
The Pussycat Song - Connie Vannett
Can Your Pussy Do the Dog? The Cramps
Boots - Nero and The Gladiators
Beat Party - Ritchie and The Squires
Wondrous Place - Billy Fury
Witchcraft - Elvis Presley
Early Every Morning - Dinah Washington
Love Me or Leave Me - Nina Simone
Let's Get Lost - Chet Baker