Sunday, 19 August 2012

The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black at Meltdown Festival 10 August 2012

Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 052
Kembra Pfahler of The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black onstage at The Queen Elizabeth Hall during Meltdown Festival. All live photos by me

New York glitter-punk outfit The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black began life as a near-death experience. Shortly before forming the band in 1990, front woman Kembra Pfahler was strangled in a brutal mugging and almost died. While recovering, battered and zonked on painkillers, she watched the 1975 horror movie Trilogy of Terror on television. The film stars Karen Black, the quirky cross-eyed actress whose wildly erratic career encompasses everything from some of the key American films of the 1970s (Easy Rider, Five Easy Pieces, Nashville, Day of the Locust) to mainstream Hollywood schmaltz (Airport 1975) to obscure straight-to-VHS exploitation/horror dreck. In Trilogy of Terror’s best known segment, Black is stalked by and eventually possessed by a cursed malevolent Zuni fetish doll which has come to life.

* SPOILER ALERT * It concludes with a final jolting image of the now-crazed and murderous, knife-wielding Black grinning blank-eyed and maniacal to the camera to reveal a mouthful of razor sharp teeth identical to the Zuni doll’s.


Karen Black in Trilogy of Terror (1975). You can watch Trilogy of Terror in its entirety on Youtube here

(Later, when asked about the significance of Karen Black Pfahler would reply, “She’s a very compelling cinematic figure,” keen to emphasise the name is an homage and not intended as satirical or ironic. Karen Black herself is ambivalent about the band).

In her traumatised state, that savage and disturbing image -- combined with almost dying-- made a powerful impression on Pfahler. Inspired, she would blacken-out her teeth, conceal her natural fine-featured beauty under cadaverous make-up and take to the stage clad in little more than a pair of thigh boots and a coat of body paint. Pfahler’s look can suggest a character from a John Waters film given an “ugly make-over”: think of Divine as the acid-scarred Dawn Davenport in Female Trouble (1974), an image which seems to anticipate TVHKB’s twisted glamour. Like Divine before her, Pfahler shaves off her eyebrows and shaves back her hairline to accommodate her extreme eye make-up. “I want to be both very beautiful and very repulsive,” Pfahler would explain to The Toronto Star in 1994.


Pretty, pretty? Divine as Dawn Davenport in the 1974 John Waters film Female Trouble


Pfahler’s minimalist dress code would appear to be informed by LeRoy Neiman’s Femlin cartoons from 1950s Playboy magazines

In the great tradition of husband and wife-fronted punk bands like Lux Interior and Poison Ivy (The Cramps), John Doe and Exene Cervenka (X) and Jon Spencer and Cristina Martinez (Boss Hog), Pfahler formed TVHKB with her then-husband and artistic collaborator Samoa Moriki (who’s from Hiroshima; he invested his knowledge of Noh and Kabuki theatre into TVHKB). Before forming TVHKB the duo had concentrated on performance art and making their own no-budget Super 8 experimental films together (described as “surrealistic fetish films”). Pfahler also appeared in films by key Cinema of Transgression auteurs Nick Zedd(War is Menstrual Envy, 1992) and Richard Kern (Sewing Circle, 1992). Like Catherine Ringer of French art-punk band Les Rita Mitsouko, Pfahler dabbled in specialist hardcore porn, playing dominatrixes in wrestling-themed fetish films. Legendary underground filmmaker George Kuchar (or his brother Mike Kuchar, depending which account you read) had already described Pfahler and Samoa’s art work as “voluptuously horrific” – hence the name.

This may all sound quite macabre or Goth, but TVHKB is in fact a scream: think of them as in the tradition of bands for which every day is Halloween (Alice Cooper, The Cramps, Siouxsie and the Banshees) crossed with a theatrical troupe / carnival freak show. Their songs are joyously trashy and campy, powered by the towering, ominous hard rock riffs of virtuoso guitarist Samoa (who’d previously played in a Japanese rockabilly band and sometimes cross dresses), over which Pfahler belts out her mordant lyrics (about subjects like alien abduction and plastic surgery) in a grating, bratty sneer (like all the best punk vocalists, she sings just well enough).

TVHKB’s cheap’n’cheerful infamous live shows, with each song a performance piece involving kitsch no-budget cardboard props and loadsa nudity, recall everything from The Addams Family and The Munsters to the cinematic oeuvre of Ed Wood Jr (a relevant comparison, considering Pfahler is surely the spiritual daughter of his Plan 9 from Outer Space leading lady Vampira). “It’s a demented school play,” is how Pfahler defined their stage shows to The Chicago Tribune in 1994.


"Mr Twilight" video from TVHKB's debut album A National Healthcare (1993). Who could resist that black-toothed smile?

Commanding attention at the centre (flanked by her semi-naked, body-painted showgirls, the Blackettes) is Pfahler, whose decaying glamour ghoul image is incredibly vivid. Her signature look – simultaneously seductive but repellent - is timelessly weird and alluring. It can evoke everything from killer zombie, to Linda Blair in The Exorcist, to voodoo doll or devil girl, to one of LeRoy Neiman’s Femlin cartoons, to horror movie scream queens (not just Karen Black, but Barbara Steele), to the sexy blue or green-skinned alien chicks that Captain Kirk used to make out with in 1960s episodes of Star Trek. “We try to concentrate on fun – the glamour, the pageantry. We like to think of ourselves as Ann-Margret, the glamour, the simplicity,” Pfahler told The Chicago Tribune in 1994. Indeed Rolling Stone would call Pfahler “a cross between Ann-Margret and Elvira.” Certainly Pfahler’s daintily mincing sex kitten-gone-berserk / go-go dancer stage moves recall camp icon/sex symbol Ann-Margret at her most wigged-out in the 1975 Ken Russell film Tommy.


TVHKB performing "Underwear Drawer" and "Sick Bed" in New York, circa 1996. They played both of these songs at Meltdown. Note Samoa's pristine platinum blond quiff worthy of Billy Fury

Unlikely as it sounds, long before this, Pfahler (born in 1961 in Hermosa Beach) had been a sun-kissed California girl. Her father was celebrity surfer Freddy Pfahler (he’d appeared in the 1958 surfing film Slippery When Wet) and her family had show business connections. Growing up in Malibu close to the beach, Pfahler’s neighbours included Shelley Winters and Barbara Streisand. As a child Pfahler was a gymnast, modelled and acted in some TV commercials (like Jody Foster before her, she once appeared in a Coppertone suntan lotion ad).

A conventional acting career seemed like a certainty for Pfahler. As an alienated and rebellious teen, though, Pfahler felt stifled by Californian conformity, in particular the narrow conceptions of physical beauty for women. She found solace in the feral Los Angeles punk subculture, then at its height. When she ran away to New York in 1979 aged 17, her imagination was already fired by LA punk (especially Exene Cervenka of X), Diamanda Galas, The Cramps, Lydia Lunch and the No Wave movement. Upon arriving, Pfahler befriended and sang with doomed scatological punker GG Allin. She also had a brief stint of heroin addiction, which she quickly got out of her system.

In the ensuing years after forming TVHKB, Pfhaler established herself as an iconic downtown New York art and music scene figure and a paragon of alternative glamour. The latter was made official in the mid-90s when she was photographed by Steven Meisel for an ultra-hip “heroin chic” Calvin Klein ad campaign, which also featured quintessential rock chick Anita Pallenberg, former Warhol star Joe Dallesandro, Jennifer Herrema of Royal Trux and Theo Kogan of The Lunachicks.


The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 'Bring Back The Night' from Bijoux Altamirano on Vimeo.

"Bring Back the Night" from the 2010 album Home of the Brave. The song is not particularly representative of TVHKB’s sound but the video – filmed in Claude Monet's Gardens in Giverny, France – is exquisite. (If you get an error message, refresh the page. The video does work)

(As a side note: TVHKB used to perform regularly at the outrageous, now sadly defunct nightclub Squeezebox!; my old friend Jayne County used to urge me to go to Squeezebox! if I was ever in New York, that I would love it. She almost certainly said it was “faaabulous.” I only managed to make it to Squeezebox! once, in 1999 and it more than lived up to Jayne’s claims. Pride of place on one of the walls was a giant framed photo of Kembra and Marilyn Manson embracing).


TVHKB performing “Shopping Spree” at a gig promoting the documentary Squeezebox! The Movie in 2008

In recent years, though, TVHKB appeared to grind to a halt. I remember reading about Pfahler and Samoa breaking up. (There would be a line-up of TVHKB with Adam Cardone of The Toilet Boys replacing Samoa). Their website is now yanked down and TVHKB’s Myspace page – remember Myspace? – has not been updated since 2010. All three of their CDs are now long out of print and virtually unobtainable. A new CD called Home of the Brave apparently came out in 2010 but seemed to promptly vanish without a trace (just try to order it online!). As a long-term fan (I'd written to TVHKB directly to order their self-released debut CD in 1995, and Samoa wrote back. I still have his letter), I’d always hoped TVHKB would come to London, but it was clearly never to be.

Or was it? Flash-forward to 2012 with the announcement that Antony Hegarty would be the curator of the 2012 Meltdown Festival. His line-up of concerts was bound to be interesting, with the promise of the elite of NYC’s downtown avant-garde (the milieu Hegarty himself had emerged from) coming to London. Sure enough, when Hegarty’s roster of acts was unveiled it included maverick extreme talents like Diamanda Galas, Joey Arias, Marc Almond ... and TVHKB! It looked like they temporarily re-formed just for Meltdown (with Samoa back in the band). My friend Christopher Raymond and I snapped up tickets as fast as we could. I’d given up on ever seeing TVHKB – and now I was!

Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 022
The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black at Meltdown

The gig on 10 August 2012 was a blast: good-natured, raunchy fun and everything I could have hoped for. Stalking to the stage, Pfahler and her lookalike Blackettes were like walking pieces of freaky art come to life. The band (a stripped-down trio) was awesomely tight, but the show itself was appealingly loose without being shambolic. (Most of the Blackettes were actually local London girls recruited for the gig; the budget obviously didn’t stretch to TVHKB bringing over their regular NYC-based dancers. You could sometimes sense they hadn’t rehearsed quite enough. It only added to the fun). It’s tempting to say they blasted through a 90-minute set of their greatest hits, but TVHKB never actually had any hits, so let’s say their “essential statements” instead: “Am I Blue?” “Neighbourachie”, “I Believe In Halloween”, “Water Coffin”, “Sick Bed”, “Shopping Spree”. Pfahler dedicated “Honky Tonk Biscuit Queen” to Antony Hegarty. For big finale “Alaska” one of the Blackettes pelted Pfahler with white feathers to simulate snow (the feathers stuck to her sweat and body paint; it looked like she’d been tarred and feathered).

The show felt wonderfully like a freaked-out soul revue: think of a perverse, Satanic nightmare inversion of the Ike and Tina Turner Revue in Las Vegas, with Pfahler and Samoa as Tina and Ike, and the Blackettes as the equivalent of their Ikettes. Pfahler’s fright wig (a massive jet black matted punk-bouffant haystack dusted with red glitter) started malfunctioning almost from the start, wobbling and threatening to fall off. Unperturbed, she began tearing clumps of hair from it and hurling it into the audience (Christopher caught a hank of it; bobby pins were still attached to it. Handling it, we both got covered in red glitter). Finally she asked, “Is this really necessary anymore? It’s really hot up here” and continued the rest of the concert wig-less.

Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 012
Kembra's malfunctioning wig

Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 044
Kembra and Samoa: The Ike and Tina Turner of punk performance art

The climactic moment was indisputably when Pfahler stood on her head, spread her legs and one of the Blackettes cracked paint-filled Easter eggs onto her vulva. It was a surprisingly solemn moment; it felt primal and timeless, like watching the re-enactment of an ancient Pagan or Mayan fertility ritual. I’d been waiting breathlessly for the egg-cracking segment and it didn’t disappoint. My friend Julian was seated in row B (Christopher and I were in row D) and I told him his view would be gynaecological (it was; and also proctological). Even before TVHKB took the stage, Julian turned to me to point out there was a carton of eggs in the corner of the stage. (Alongside Edith Massey in Pink Flamingos, Kembra Pfahler’s name should forever be associated with the word “eggs”). When one of the Blackettes emerged with a clear plastic tarpaulin and spread it centre stage, Christopher elbowed me in the ribs. It was time...

Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 026

Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 027

Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 029

I could kiss whoever filmed this clip and posted it on Youtube. Experience it for yourself!


Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 063
Christopher, Pfahler and I post-show. She was sweetness personified and twined her arms around us for the photo. I told her I’d loved TVHKB since their first CD in the early 1990s and she said, “Yes! We’re still alive.” I told her to come back again to London sometime soon, don’t leave it so long and she replied, “Oh, probably not ...” I think they re-formed just for Meltdown

Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black 064
My friend Emma (aka DJ Elma Wolf of Twat Boutique, Club Lesley and Saturday Night Fish Fry) and Pfahler

(It’s essential I mention TVHKB’s opening act, a band called Tenderloin from Berlin. I’d never heard of them before. My friends were indifferent about even checking them out, but I figure we’d paid to see them and they were bound to be interesting at least if they were chosen by Antony Hegarty. We took our seats a few songs into their set, and I was awe-struck to see their lead singer was Vaginal Davis! I’ve long been an admirer of Ms Davis (I swear she used to be called Vaginal Crème Davis, but she must have lost the “Crème” at some point). Alongside Canadian filmmaker Bruce LaBruce, Davis virtually invented the Queer-core (or Homo-core, if you prefer) punk movement in the early 90s and therefore made life one helluva lot more interesting. For anyone unfamiliar with Davis, the self-described "controversial black woman" is a towering African-American drag queen (seriously: he’s built like a brick shithouse), zine writer, punk musician, nightclub promoter and all-round provocateur. Like Pfahler, he emerged from the fertile Los Angeles punk scene (they’ve been friends since the 1970s); in recent years he’s re-located to bohemian Berlin. Anyway, Tenderloin was brilliant: minimalist, strange, stark but danceable, with Davis declaiming lyrics seemingly inspired by the film Christiane F – often in German – in a high-pitched voice, channelling Tina Turner and Whitney Houston in a tousled auburn wig, billowing white mini-dress and killer heels. Mindblowing! And in a foreshadowing of TVHKB, when they left the stage we realised Tenderloin’s fit hottie of a drummer had been playing stark naked the whole time; we’d just assumed he was shirtless! Read an interview with Tenderloin drummer Joel Gibb on the Butt website. Tenderloin is definitely divisive - I loved them, but most of my friends didn’t. But that’s probably true of all interesting bands and artists).


Tenderloin (feat. Vaginal Davis) from Earl Dax on Vimeo.

Brief fragment of Tenderloin performing in Berlin. This gives you a pretty good flavour of their Meltdown performance (Davis is even wearing the same wig and dress combo)

The following day, my friend Emma and I returned to the Southbank to see Pfahler give an intimate, low-key onstage lecture about the concepts and manifestos behind her work, chiefly availabism, anti-naturalism and future feminism. It was pretty sparsely attended (just a handful of devotees). Pfahler was endearingly nervous, she complained of jetlag and her lecture was a bit rambling: “slick” is not in her vocabulary, but slick is overrated. Out of her stage drag and close-up Pfahler is stunningly beautiful with a delicate face, tiny (5’2) and (at 51 years old) eerily ageless. She wore a floor-length white crocheted dress through which was visible her black bra and panties underneath. Her daytime look isn’t exactly neutral or low-key: her heavy black eye make-up was pure Bride of Dracula.

Some of the highlights of Pfahler’s lecture: she discussed onstage nudity and explained she carefully advises her dancers about it first (wearing a g-string is definitely optional). “Going bottomless will ruin your life; no one will ever take you seriously again. You will never get a job,” she cautions them. Asked about her most notorious film Sewing Circle directed by sleaze-meister Richard Kern, in which Pfahler temporarily sews her vagina shut, she explained she was making a statement about re-claiming herself after an abusive relationship. (Funnily enough, in the 1990s I interviewed Richard Kern and we talked about Sewing Circle). An audience member asked her about taking risks and Pfahler replied, “Risk is all I had.”

(As a nice postscript, Vaginal Davis was sitting directly behind me during Pfahler’s lecture, and afterwards we spoke briefly. I told him how much I loved Tenderloin and that I’d been following his work since the 1990s. In fact, at one point in the 90s I wrote to him requesting one of his zines and he wrote back. Davis exuded warmth and sweetness. My next art project is conniving how to get Tenderloin to return to London for another show).

(This nice anecdote from a Guardian article about Hegarty’s Meltdown line-up concisely illustrates Pfhaler’s theory of availabism – using whatever comes to hand for your art: “One day in 1979, a few weeks after her arrival in New York City, artist and musician Kembra Pfahler was invited to perform in a club on the Lower East Side. "I decided I would stand on my head and crack an egg on my vagina," she says with disarming matter-of-factness. "Just because my body was available and I had eggs in the refrigerator.")

"I wanted to be as unpopular as possible ... and that happened." This brief clip (just over three minutes long) offers a great summary of Pfahler’s philosophies and inspirations. It’s also fascinating to see her interviewed in her stark, compact New York apartment (I can’t tell whether it’s a studio or a one bedroom). Every surface is painted the colour of dried blood.


Bonus track! Sadly they didn't perform this at Meltdown, but it's too good not to include. TVHKB give "My Heart Will Go On" (the love theme from Titanic) a savage mauling. It's enough to give a Celine Dion fan a coronary.



Further reading:

See the rest of my photos from the Meltdown gig on my flickr page

At Home with Kembra Pfahler!

Nice thoughtful interview with Pfahler in The NY Times from June 2012

The Voluptuous Horror of Karen Black discography:

A National Healthcare (1993)
The Anti-Naturalists (1995)
Black Date (1998)
The Home of the Brave (2010)


Sunday, 12 August 2012

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.

What Katie Did Staff Christmas 2008 Portrait!
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

Tuesday, 31 July 2012

Wild Thing DJ Set List 18 July 2012



I found myself DJ’ing at The Retro Bar for vintage trash queer club night Wild Thing again on 18 July 2012. It was a last-minute gig: my friends Christopher Raymond and Paul Kennedy were meant to be guest DJ’ing alongside Joe Pop (the brains behind Wild Thing) that night, but Paul had to drop out at short notice. I was planning to go just to hang out, anyway, when Christopher texted me asking if I’d be interested in co-DJ’ing with him. To paraphrase the late, great Gore Vidal (a timely reference! RIP), I never turn down the opportunity to have sex, appear on television or DJ – so I quickly packed my DJ bag and rushed to the venue.

If the set list below looks exceptionally short, it was because our set was only an hour long and we “alternated” as a tag team, me on CDs and Christopher on vinyl. (I don’t have Christopher’s tracks to add to the set list, but his were more modern / post-punk: I definitely recall some Boss Hog, Holly Golightly, The Cramps, Babes in Toyland, “Atomic Bongos” by Lydia Lunch, "White Mice" by The Mo-dettes). The partnership worked well, and the flowing pints of icy lager only added to the inspiration. Both of us chose Link Wray for our opening tracks, which meant back-to-back Link Wray songs – but how can you possibly have too many twang-y, ominous Link Wray instrumentals? (Mine, “The Shag”, is of course the opening theme tune to John Waters’ Pink Flamingos – ensuring it will always hold a special place in my heart).



/ Black T-Shirt Convention: Christopher and I (double chin alert) photographed at The Retro Bar on 18 July 2012. Une photo originale par Joe Pop /

As ever, I endeavoured to pack in a varied selection of urgently sleazy music: some punk (X, Sid Vicious), hillbilly (Hasil Adkins), surf (The Fender Four), titty-shaking stripper instrumentals (The Hustlers), cooing / purring sex kittens (Ann-Margret, Mamie Van Doren) and weird Satan-worshipping voodoo shit (Esquerita).

I also worked in a mini-tribute to Kenneth Angers’s 1963 experimental / avant-garde homoerotic short film Scorpio Rising. I know I bang on about this film a lot, but I saw it at an impressionable age and it definitely had a transformative effect on me – it contributed to making me the twisted fuck I am today! I frequently dip into the songs Anger used on the soundtrack to Scorpio Rising when I DJ as a bit of an homage to the master - on this occasion, Elvis’s “Devil in Disguise” and Ricky Nelson’s “Fools Rush In.” Which is a nice excuse to post a photo of Ricky at the height of his beauty. (Sigh).



Here’s a tantalising fragment of Scorpio Rising to whet your appetite: you just hear the tail end of Ricky Nelson’s “Fools Rush In” before the music fades into “Wind Up Doll” by Little Peggy March. Now make it your mission to track down Kenneth Anger: The Complete Magick Lantern Cycle on DVD (easy enough on Amazon). You will thank me later.



Christopher has also asked me to point out he spun a track off a weird Halloween novelty compilation record on the Crypt label entitled Monster Rock’n’Roll, with truly inept but heartfelt “outsider art” cover art of Frankenstein jiving with a pony-tailed girl in a graveyard (I think it was done by a violent psychobilly prisoner in solitary confinement. See for yourself here).

Afterwards, while Joe Pop himself DJ’d I caught up with my work colleague, American ex-pat Eric. We bonded by reminiscing wistfully about our mutual all-time favourite rancid dive bar in the world: The Hole in the Wall in San Francisco. (Eric used to live in San Francisco). By then I was very drunk.

OK, enough of my wittering. Time for naked vintage beefcake – and I’m not feeling particularly “safe for work” today. I’ve mentioned before how Joe Pop’s designs for Wild Thing flyer images are nice mini-masterpieces of pop art. Unsurprisingly, gay icon / Warhol superstar Joe Dallesandro is a frequent source of inspiration.





/ In the shower with Little Joe: a relatively un-corrupted (pre-junkie, anyway) teenage Dallesandro in his nude modelling days /

Photobucket

The Shag - Link Wray and His Ray Men
She Said - Hasil Adkins
Little Boy / Little Girl - John and Jackie
Fools Rush In - Ricky Nelson
Devil in Disguise - Elvis Presley
Oh Lonesome Me - Ann-Margret
Somethin' Else - Sid Vicious
Dancing with Tears in My Eyes - X
8 Ball - The Hustlers
Go Calypso - Mamie Van Doren
Ballad of Thunder Road - Robert Mitchum
Big Bounce - Shirley Cadell
Esquerita and The Voola - Esquerita
I Stubbed My Toe - Bryan "Legs" Walker
Margaya - The Fender Four
Stranger in My Own Home Town - The Earls of Suave



/ I don't blame him. I wouldn't be able to stop staring, either /

Monday, 23 July 2012

Reflections on Susan Tyrrell (18 March 1945 - 16 June 2012)



“Actor often cast in sleazy, raunchy roles.” That was the headline for The Guardian’s obituary of the maverick cult movie actress Susan Tyrrell (18 March 1945 – 16 June 2012), who died last month aged 67 after a very tough life. Seriously: what greater career summary could an actress possibly hope for?

Since her death I’ve devoured all Tyrrell’s obituaries and found the outrageous anecdotes about this tempestuous outlaw / outsider actress so fascinating, it prompted me to do my own (belated) tribute. I hadn’t thought of Susan Tyrrell much since reading the tragic news of her losing both her legs in 2000 (they had to be amputated when she was stricken with a rare blood disease; considering her health problems, Tyrrell's death wasn’t entirely unexpected) or kept abreast of her subsequent film appearances. It’s sad when it takes death for someone to be reappraised, but there’s been a genuine outpouring of affection for Tyrrell online in the past month – a recognition we’ve lost a true original. I hope I can do justice to Tyrrell’s weird charisma.

Prior to her death, I mainly knew Tyrrell from just two films. Like many people of my generation, she made a vivid impression as raspy-voiced, gum-snapping hillbilly matriarch Ramona Ricketts in the John Waters juvenile delinquent rockabilly musical Cry-baby (1990). Many years later, I saw her as Carroll Baker’s mousey, tremulous and down-trodden daughter-in-law in Andy Warhol’s BAD (1977). (I know I’ve seen Big Top Pee Wee (1988) at some point, but it’s been so long I need to re-visit it to refresh my memory of Tyrrell in that).


Polaroid of Tyrrell as Ramona Rickettes and Iggy Pop as Belvedere Rickettes in John Waters's Cry-baby (1990). I want to look like them when I grow up


Tyrrell as Mary in Andy Warhol's BAD (1977). You can read my blog about this film and Tyrrell's performance in it here

Since then, I’ve loaded my LOVEFiLM request list with Susan Tyrrell films (not many of which are available on DVD in the UK, sadly) and seen Forbidden Zone (1982). But what all of Tyrrell’s obituary writers unanimously agree on is that her crowning achievement was her performance as the volatile alcoholic Oma in Fat City (1972).

When people lament wistfully about the golden age of gritty, small-scale 1970s character-driven American films, they mean films precisely like Fat City, John Huston’s downbeat and soulful study of melancholy losers. Set in a peeling, shabby vision of skid row Stockton, California, Huston’s tone is hard-boiled but sensitive and compassionate if ultimately pessimistic (“Life is a beeline for the drain,” one of the characters despairs towards the end). The action mostly shuttles between boxing gyms, derelict welfare hotels and dark dive bars where the characters chain-smoke and drink away their troubles while mournful Country & Western music emanates from a Wurlitzer jukebox. (The Kris Kristofferson ballad “Help Me Make It through the Night” plays under the opening credits and sets the mood for the ensuing film).

Fat City contrasts the stories of two couples: Jeff Bridges as a promising teenage boxer on the ascent and his naive girlfriend Candy Clark, and the stoical, battered Stacy Keach as a past-his-prime boxer and Tyrrell as his booze-sodden love interest Oma. (The older pair is far more interesting).


Tyrrell as Oma in John Huston's Fat City (1972)

The role of juicehead Oma was originally intended for Faye Dunaway, then at her zenith. No doubt Dunaway would have been fascinating in the part, but Tyrrell invests it with a totally idiosyncratic frowsy, bleary-eyed kewpie doll strangeness. (Dunaway would eventually get to interpret a similar role much later in her career, as the drunken Wanda Wilcox in the 1987 film Barfly).

It’s jarring to realise Tyrrell was only 26-years old in Fat City: with her matted rat’s nest hair, face screwed into a mask of misery and slumped, defeated body language she could pass for someone a good fifteen years older. (Tyrrell always looks vaguely forty-something in all of her films, regardless of her actual age). Her performance is the quintessential study of the jaundiced bar stool mama, the kind of drunk you pray doesn’t spark up a conversation with you at a bar while you’re waiting for someone (and they always do). She’s such a hardened barfly that when Oma makes a rare sojourn outside in daytime, the jolting unfamiliarity of sunlight makes her blink and turn unsteady. Tyrrell nails the stormy mood swings of an alcoholic: sherry-swilling Oma is alternately tearful, petulant, maudlin, raucous, self-pitying and needy. When angered she turns shrewish, a harridan. “Screw everybody!” she slurs. She and Keach have a piquant argument at one stage (Him: “Screw you!” Her: “Up yours, cowboy!”). She’s also prone to drunken philosophising: “The white race has been in decline since 1492 when Christopher Columbus discovered syphilis!”

Once Keach’s initial infatuation with Oma wears off, he realises what exactly he’s lumbered with. “Every time she opens her mouth, I think I’m going to go crazy!” he despairs. Yes, Oma is a nightmare, but Tyrrell scalds the screen every time she appears. While the rest of the cast give low-key naturalistic performances, Tyrrell is on an entirely different register – out-sized, bravura, Bette Davis-ish intensity. She’s an actress out on a limb, risking embarrassment. Tyrrell was nominated for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for her performance, but rather than herald greater things Fat City sealed her fate and set a bar she’d never be able to reach again for various complex reasons -- perhaps her own tumultuous personality, or maybe Tyrrell was so convincing as an unstable drunk it scared off producers?

Fat City certainly guaranteed Tyrrell would never be a conventional leading lady (probably not her destiny anyway). Luckily she saw herself as primarily a character actress: she was beautiful enough to be a mainstream star (sculpted cheekbones, feline eyes, heart-shaped mouth), but instead opted to embrace her inner freak. (One of the defining characteristics of Tyrrell's career was her willingness to look grotesque).

But looking back at Tyrrell's wayward, erratic filmography, she deserved better films. Tyrrell probably belongs to the elite tradition of actresses too uncompromising, eccentric, decadent and individual for Hollywood to know what to do with: think of loose cannons / trouble makers like Louise Brooks or Tallulah Bankhead (and more recently, Sandra Bernhard). In fact, in Barry Paris’s essential 1989 biography of silent cinema’s wild child Louise Brooks he quotes a friend of hers recalling asking Brooks how – when she was almost overburdened with beauty, potential and star quality – she wound up exiled from Hollywood and unemployable. Brooks admitted, “I like to fuck and drink too much.” I suspect that’s equally true of Tyrrell (who could swear like a truck stop prostitute). And it clearly rankled her: in interviews Tyrrell repeatedly bewails the quality of her films. In 1992 she starred in an avant-garde one-woman performance art stage piece about her career disappointments entitled My Rotten Life: A Bitter Operetta. You can watch it here: it’s like David Lynch meets Kurt Weill and Tyrrell is on scathing form.


Susan Tyrrell - MY ROTTEN LIFE; A BITTER OPERETTA from Norn Cutson on Vimeo.


The other Tyrrell film I’ve seen since her death is Forbidden Zone. Very deliberately striving for cult movie status, this zany musical looks great and has some amazing moments (it’s remarkable what was achieved on a clearly small budget) – but it’s also frequently shrill and annoying, and the music of Oingo Boingo is pretty much nails on a blackboard for me. As the vicious Queen Doris of the Sixth Dimension, Tyrrell walks off with the film. Boiling with sexual energy and fury, gleefully luxuriating in her own evil (Eartha Kitt's Catwoman in the 1960s Batman TV series would appear to be her template), Tyrrell demonstrates (for a heterosexual woman) a profound understanding of camp in this performance. In fact her only potential threat in the film is the superbly deadpan former Warhol superstar Viva, who makes a cameo appearance and delivers with peerless nonchalance the killer line, “See you guys later – I need to change a Tampax.” (In a climactic moment, Tyrrell and Viva roll around on the ground in a cat fight. It needs to be seen to be believed).


Once you’ve seen this clip, you’ve pretty much seen the highpoint of Forbidden Zone. Tyrrell clearly knew how to deliver a musical number with real verve. A definite added bonus in this song is The Kipper Kids in go-go boys mode shaking their asses in jock straps. Damn, those two were built like tanks! One of them is now married to Bette Midler. Boy did she luck out!

In Forbidden Zone, the sadistic Queen Doris is married to King Fausto of the Sixth Dimension, played by dwarf French actor Herve Villechaize (yes, Tattoo from Fantasy Island). In one of the extra features on the Forbidden Zone DVD, Tyrrell is interviewed and discusses her relationship with Villechaize (they’d been romantically involved, but split by the time they co-starred in the film). She reminisces about the first time she ever saw Villechaize, onstage in a play. As the play progressed, Tyrrell found herself drawn to him and it gradually dawned on her: “I want to fuck a midget!” When the interviewer splutters with nervous laughter, Tyrrell clarifies, “In a very loving way!”

As a nice postscript, this is Tyrrell interviewed in Lee Server’s excellent 2006 biography of Ava Gardner, recalling her encounter with the ailing veteran actress in Spain in 1984. It reveals much about Tyrrell's warmth, generosity, hedonism and ribald sense of humour.

“I was in Spain doing a film ... had two fabulous lunches with (Gardner). She had saddlebags of vodka on the sides of her eyes. But what a beauty. You’re just in awe, it’s like taking in the Taj Mahal of beauty. But she was a real girl. “Honey honey” and smoking smoking and the beauty of this face and drinking and laughing our asses off. She was trying to get me out of Madrid. She said I had to get out of there – get the fuck out of the country. And she leaned over the table, and she said, “You need to get the fuck out of Spain, because the guys all have little dicks and they’ll fuck you in the ass before you can get your panties off.” I loved her so much. We laughed so hard ... What a genius. She had a lot of vodka in her, boy, that’s for sure.”

I think I want to go to for a boozy, debauched lunch with Susan Tyrrell and Ava Gardner ...

Tyrrell is survived by her mother, but sadly they were estranged and hadn't reconciled by the time of her death. In 2000 Tyrrell recalled, "The last thing my mother said to me was, 'SuSu, your life is a celebration of everything that is cheap and tawdry.' I've always liked that, and I've always tried to live up to it." “A celebration of everything that is cheap and tawdry”: talk about words to live by. RIP Susan Tyrrell.

Further reading:

Tyrrell’s leading man in Fat City, Stacy Keach pays her a sensitive and lyrical eulogy in the Huffington Post online. “I loved her whiskey voice, always reeking of soul and sweetness,” Keach recalls. “She was like the Billie Holliday of the dispossessed. She sang the blues with every word she spoke, and the unique colors she brought to the behavior of the characters she played always embraced a vivid portrait of a highly sensual woman. Sexy and vulnerable, not unlike the qualities of a battered Marilyn Monroe.”

Michael Musto (doyen of the downtown NYC nightclubbing scene and Village Voice gossip columnist) has posted some hilarious recollections of the times he interviewed Tyrrell in the 1980s (once for Soho Weekly News and then for Details magazine, when it was still hip). Read some scathing excerpts from the 1983 Details interview here and here.

Nice, thoughtful piece on Dangerous Minds, praising Tyrrell's ability to "ignite flicks that strained to be weird with flashes of her eccentric brilliance, often salvaging otherwise unwatchable pieces of crap" and calling her "Cinema's Gonzo Goddess."

It was Dennis Cooper’s typically excellent blog about Tyrell (a treasure trove of photos, clips and juicy info) that prompted me to do my own in the first place.

Susan Tyrrell's own website (check out the outrageous photo gallery!)

Finally, the mother of all Susan Tyrrell interviews is Paul Cullum’s insightful and incendiary masterpiece from The LA Weekly News in 2000, subtitled “Susan Tyrrell’s Sentimental Journey through Money, Fame, Sex and Amputation.” Against a soundtrack of rap music (“Thank God for rap music — without it, I would slit my throat”), Cullum meets Tyrrell (accompanied by her geriatric poodle Willie) right after her legs have been amputated and finds her in a remarkably sassy, un-self pitying frame of mind – what a resilient tough cookie. I especially love Tyrrell tenderly reminiscing about her friendship with the doomed Warhol drag queen superstar Candy Darling. Less happily, her account of how she got the role in Fat City will forever tinge your opinion of John Huston (the man, not the director) and make you recall his sinister role in Roman Polanski's Chinatown.

Friday, 6 July 2012

Wild Thing DJ Set List 4 July 2012


/ 1960s Hair Hopper – Swiss style! Photo by Swiss cult / outsider photographer Karlheinz Weinberger from his book Rebel Youth /

Since starting my half-assed, harebrained DJ’ing “career” all those years ago (actually, not that many years ago), I estimate I’ve DJ’d pretty much everywhere in London: South (Vauxhall), North (Angel and Stoke Newington), West (Kensal Green) and best of all, East (Dalston and Shoreditch) – but never before in the actual West End. So this gig at the club night Wild Thing at The Retro Bar in Charing Cross officially represented my glittering West End debut. I’ve arrived! “Won’t you come and give me a warm hand on my big opening?” I urged everyone on Facebook. “Give me the clap I so richly deserve?” (Yes, I will keep recycling those jokes).

Retro queer record hop Wild Thing is the brainchild of artist, club promoter and DJ Joe Pop. Sprung on the world in January 2011 (first on a monthly basis, then weekly – it’s currently every Wednesday at the Retro Bar), the Wild Thing music policy is essentially (in the words of its Facebook page) “raunchy rock’n’roll, girl group melodramas, retro pop wonders and snot nosed punk of every type ... It’s got great hair, a bad attitude, a stuffed bra and possibly a switchblade in its back pocket! It’s the soundtrack to a John Waters / Tarantino / Warhol movie starring YOU!”

Needless to say, Wild Thing fits my own squalid musical aesthetic like a tight (wet) t-shirt, so when I was invited to guest DJ I leapt at the chance.

(Joe Pop has a real flair for creating striking iconic flyers for Wild Thing. Here are some of my favourites)


/ Tribute to Kenneth Anger's Scorpio Rising /


/ Tribute to Jayne Mansfield /


/ Tribute to Little Richard /

For this night I DJ’d as part of a duo with Phil Clark. He did the first hour; I had an hour solo, and then for the last hour we were an alternating tag team. The space behind the decks is tiny. Two people crammed back there is pretty intimate. A certain amount of lager was drunk. There may have been times when my tongue might have been in Phil’s mouth and my hand jammed down the back of his jeans; after a few drinks I get wandering “party hands”. But hey, the Retro Bar patrons are worldly and broad-minded adults and it all added to the night’s louche, anything goes, Max's Kansas City ambiance.

My set was pretty much a variation of what I used to play at London’s gay greaser night Cockabilly: think sleazy titty-shaking instrumentals, wailing rhythm and blues (Little Richard and Esquerita are, after all, the mothers – muthas? – of us all), white trash hillbilly rockers, punk and assorted confrontational / abrasive kitsch.


/ Me - DJ'ing at Wild Thing on 4 July 2012. Eine foto von my glamorous friend Lauren Jones. That Hillbilly Hop t-shirt is now so old it qualifies as vintage /

Speaking of Cockabilly: it’s been on hiatus since The George and Dragon kicked it out (well, refreshed their club night policy if you prefer) at the beginning of January 2012. The good news is Cockabilly is back, back, BACK! Tenacious and resilient promoters Mal and Paul have found a new venue in Dalston and they re-launched Cockabilly on Thursday 5 July. The timing was unfortunate: I was way too hung over from Wild Thing the night before to even contemplate going, but I’ll definitely report back after the August Cockabilly.

And now -- finally an excuse to post some vintage beefcake ...





Deuces Wild - Link Wray
Heartbreakin' Special - Duke Larson
Muleskinner Blues - The Fendermen
Jim Dandy - Sara Lee and The Spades
Hand Clapping Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Ain't That Lovin' You, Baby? The Earls of Suave
Beat Party - Ritchie and The Squires
Breathless - X
Chop Suey Rock'n'Roll - The Instrumentals
Bombie - Johnny Sharp and The Yellow Jackets
Funnel of Love - Wanda Jackson
Bottle to the Baby - Charlie Feathers
Crawfish - Johnny Thunders and Patti Paladin
Dance with Me Henry - Ann-Margret
Kruschev Twist - Melvin Gayle
C'mon Everybody - The Sex Pistols
Booze Party - 3 Aces and a Joker
Willie Joe - The Mystery Trio
Duck Calling Boogie - Gene Price
Chicken Walk - Hasil Adkins
Boss - The Rumblers
Chicken Shack - Ike and Tina Turner
Chicken Grabber - The Nite Hawks
Comin' Home, Baby - The Delmonas
Peter Gunn Twist - The Jesters
Sweetie Pie - Eddie Cochran
Elle est terrible - Johnny Halliday
Salamander - Mamie Van Doren
I Love the Life I Live - Esquerita
Tiger - Sparkle Moore
You Done Messed Around and Made a Mean Woman Mad - Julia Bates
Cry-baby - The Honey Sisters
I Stubbed My Toe - Bryan "Legs" Walker
Little Miss Understood - Connie Stevens
Can Your Pussy Do the Dog? The Cramps
The Girl Can't Help It - Little Richard
Margaya - The Fender Four
Fever - Nancy Sit
I'm a Bad, Bad Girl - Little Esther

Sunday, 24 June 2012

Performance Art Royalty: David Hoyle and Penny Arcade at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern

Penny Arcade David Hoyle 009
Dynamic duo Penny Arcade and David Hoyle onstage causing chaos at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern

On 21 June 2012 I attended the final night of David Hoyle's triumphant latest residency (entitled Pandregina: a programme of 'entertainment' for the post-political, pre-apocalyptic age) at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern. I went with Rachael Halliwell, Allan Taylor (who "transcends gender", by the way. At least that’s what Hoyle announced from the stage when he saw him) and Steve Millar. Bravely, we sat right by the front.

It was a spectacular night of performance art royalty. As well as Hoyle (on typically ferocious and scathing form) there were several special guests: porn star Ashley Ryder (who screened an eye-popping / eye-watering hardcore short film), Sjaak van Der Bent (who merits comparison to Klaus Nomi) and Al Pillay (who sang some spine-tingling torch songs).

I was especially keen to see New York underground theatre legend Penny Arcade again, who’s currently in town with her one-woman show Bitch! Dyke! Faghag! Whore! I’ve long been a fan of this tiny, volcanic force-of-nature – she’s the she-wolf/ earth mother / Anna Magnani of performance art. (Last Spring when Penny was in town sorting out the red tape for bringing Bitch! Dyke! Faghag! Whore! to London we liaised about me interviewing her for Nude magazine. Sadly in the end her schedule didn't permit it).

In Penny’s volatile performance piece she was “in-character” as tragic Andy Warhol Superstar Andrea Feldman. (Unstable and drug-addled poor little rich girl and Max’s Kansas City habitué Feldman committed suicide aged 24 in 1972. She was a totally idiosyncratic and unforgettable raspy-voiced comedienne and screen presence in the films Imitation of Christ (1967), Trash (1970) and Heat (1972).)

Afterwards, Hoyle invited Penny back again and it was just the two of them riffing onstage together. They were brilliant and lacerating. Hoyle was asking her about how New York has changed for her over the decades, which led to a discussion about gentrification. New York hasn’t been the edgy centre of bohemia now for years, Penny argued. She sang the praises of London, saying this is now the artistic world centre. Hoyle talked about how the middle classes all want to move into the city centres because they’re buzzing, cosmopolitan and happening – and then they complain about the noise of bars and nightclubs keeping them and their children awake, and campaign to get them closed! This led to a lamentation about middle class people and their precious children. Penny explained when she sees them on the street she wants to scream, “Your children AREN’T special!”

At the end for the finale everyone came back out and sang “Where Have All The Flowers Gone?” together. Then Hoyle serenaded each of them with a long, drawn-out and eerie “You Made Me Love You” (when he sings that jazz standard, he makes it sound like the music a stalker hears in their head).

Viva the avant-garde!

I managed to snap a few photos ...

Penny Arcade David Hoyle 003

Penny Arcade David Hoyle 006

Further reading: check out some photos I took of Penny Arcade onstage at the club night Duckie at The Royal Vauxhall in April 2011 here

Saturday, 16 June 2012

13 June 2012 Dr Sketchy Set List



/ The sublime Jayne Mansfield looking as understated as ever in Too Hot To Handle (1960) /

This Wednesday night Dr Sketchy at The Royal Vauxhall Tavern featured two Dr Sketchy doyennes: bad girl of cabaret emcee Ophelia Bitz and bump-and-grind artiste Cherry Shakewell. The outrageous Ophelia was on especially raunchy form. “I am and probably will Ophelia Bitz,” she introduced herself. Sporting an especially short micro mini-dress, she apologised in advance to the audience members by the front of the stage if they copped an eyeful of more than they bargained for. Truly, she is the Tallulah Bankhead du nos jours.

Cherry Shakewell’s act incorporated a bubble machine, and her spectacular green and gold outfit and headdress evoked an under-the-sea vibe, implying sexy mermaids, a Sea Queen or (as Cherry herself described it) Lady Neptune. (Unfortunately there was no one taking photos tonight, but Cherry looked a lot like this ... in fact, this tune was the cue for the bubble machine to start).



Ophelia used this as inspiration for suggesting themes when people drew Cherry. She paraphrased a line from a song in The Little Mermaid (“It’s better down where it’s wetter”) in a way that Disney almost certainly didn’t have in mind. Another of her suggestions was “Something Fishy, Starring Cherry Shakewell.”

I haven’t made any serious technical blunders in a while, so I guess I was overdue for one. There was a horrifying moment at the beginning of the night when I botched Ophelia’s music cue. Because there was just one model and burlesque performer this night, Ophelia treated the audience to a few songs from her cabaret repertoire. When she arrived and said her musical backing was on her iPhone rather than on a CD, my heart sank. I don’t have an iPhone myself so am panicky and unfamiliar with operating ‘em. And even at the best of times, I screw up musical cues (just ask poor long-suffering Claire Benjamin/Freuda Kahlo!). Ophelia quickly ran through with me what her musical cue would be but I still completely misunderstood it (I thought she was singing a song at the end of the night, not right after she introduced herself at the start!). So she stood there staring at me from the stage when her music was due to kick in, and I was staring back at her blankly before I realised, Oh! She means now! Luckily, Ophelia is such a seasoned and unruffled pro we quickly got back on track and she rocked the house with her first song.

Needless to say, we mostly get a great crowd at Dr Sketchy nights: fun, open, talented, smart, perhaps a bit drunk – and always respectful of the performers. Wednesday night we had a garrulous group of newbies (apparently some gals from the office on a night out) who were pounding back glasses of rosé or something and seemed not to be au fait with basic etiquette about not talking while a performer is singing (and bear in mind the RVT is a small venue, so it was right in Ophelia’s face). To her credit, Ophelia rose above it and handled it in her stride (well, she did tell them to shut up mid-song), but it made my blood boil. Obviously these are the same ilk of people who probably talk and text all through films, too. It’s unlikely any of them will read this, but seriously ladies – STFU!

Musically, it didn’t occur to me until midway through Cherry’s first pose I should try to play some underwater/sea-related music. Doh! I quickly remedied that by slapping on "Atlantis" by high emperor of Mondo Exotica, Les Baxter. Elsewhere, while she posed I cranked up cooing sex kitten tunes by Cherry’s platinum blonde spiritual predecessors like Mamie Van Doren, Brigitte Bardot, Jayne Mansfield and (token redhead) Ann-Margret. I decided long ago that “Cherry” by The Jive Bombers is Cherry’s unofficial theme song. For me Cherry’s 1960s go-go dancer look (tousled blonde mane, frosted pale lipstick, false eyelashes like thick black tarantulas) always suggests Nancy Sinatra and Russ Meyer’s sexploitation masterpiece (and what John Waters calls “beyond a doubt, the best movie ever made”) Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (Of the trio of homicidal, vengeful go-go dancers, Cherry most resembles the fun-loving blonde femme one, Billie).



I corralled some friends into coming to this Dr Sketchy: Christopher, Paul (these two used to be in art-punk band Matron together) and Ilana. (Ilana in fact won one of the main prizes at the end. Ophelia couldn’t decipher the signature scrawled at the bottom of Ilana’s sketch and announced her as “Lana”). After Dr Sketchy itself was pretty much over, I dashed outside where the three of them were standing smoking cigarettes like a bunch of delinquents. I said I’d just play one or two more songs to wind things up then I’d be free to join them. They had the nerve to say No, they’re going back in and they want to listen to me play more. So I continued DJ’ing for another 25 minutes or so for their pleasure while they drank beer. What can you do with people like that, huh?

Cockabilly 2 November 2011 001
Christopher and Paul photographed at the 2 November 2011 Cockabilly at The George and Dragon

Simba - Les Baxter
Run - Jeri Southern
Cocktail for Two - Cliff Duphiney
If I Love Ya Then I Need Ya, If I Need Ya Then I Wantcha Around - Eartha Kitt
Love is Comin' My Way - Myrna March
Trash Can - Ken Williams
Madness - The Rhythm Rockers
What Do You Think I Am? Ike and Tina Turner
Rompin' - Jerry Warren
Jim Dandy - Sara Lee and The Spades
Leave Married Women Alone - Jimmy Cavallo
I Want Your Love - The Cruisers
Good and Bad - The Gauchos
Pink Champagne - The Tyrones
Heartbreak Hotel - Buddy Love
Surfing Snow Matador - Mickey and Ludella
Shomblar - Sheriff and The Revels
Intoxica - The Centurions
Fever - Nancy Sit
It - The Regal-Aires
Scorpion - Jimmy McConville
Miss Irene - Ginny Kennedy
Night Scene - The Rumblers
Mambo Baby - Ruth Brown
I Learn a Merengue, Mama - Robert Mitchum
Wimoweh - Yma Sumac
Esquerita and the Voola - Esquerita
Delilah Jones - The Thunderbirds
Little Miss Understood - Connie Stevens
Beaver Shot - Hollywood Hurricanes
Drummin' Up a Storm - Sandy Nelson
Suey - Jayne Mansfield
Atlantis - Les Baxter
Boots - Nero and The Gladiators
Let Me Entertain You - Ann-Margret
Harlem Nocturne - The Viscounts
Handclapping Time - The Fabulous Raiders
Margaya - The Fender Four
Chop Suey Rock'n'Roll - The Instrumentals
Kruschev Twist - Melvin Gayle
Ain't That Loving You, Baby - The Earls of Suave
Comin' Home, Baby - The Delmonas
Peter Gunn Twist - The Jesters
Sweetie Pie - Eddie Cochran
Bombie - Johnnie Sharp and the Yellow Jackets
I Was Born to Cry - Johnny Thunders
Lucille - Little Richard
Tall Cool One - The Wailers
I Gotta Get Out of This Town - Nancy Sinatra
Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! The Bostweeds
Woman - Empress of Fur
Cherry - The Jive Bombers
Angel Face - Billy Fury
Je Me Donne A Qui Me Plait - Brigitte Bardot
Crawlin' - The Untouchables
The Girl Who Invented Rock'n'Roll - Mamie Van Doren
Beat Party - Ritchie and The Squires
Pass the Hatchet - Roger and The Gypsies
Vesuvius - The Revels
Beat Girl - Adam Faith
No Good Lover - Mickey and Sylvia
Breathless - Arlie Neaville
Torture Rock - Rockin' Belmarx
Drive, Daddy, Drive - Little Sylvia
Chicken Grabber - The Nite Hawks
The Chicken Scratch - The Commandos
Chicken Shack - Ike and Tina Turner