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Aerobella Trapeze (Harvest Moon & Mr. Fantastic)
(On Calamity Chang’s weekly show at Nurse Betty; Monty Leman & Don Spiro; “Beat Down” at Brooklyn Bowl)
Sometimes you can’t get a photographer, sometimes you can’t find the time to type it up, sometimes you can’t shake last night’s hangover to even get out the door. But we’ve got some kind of burlesque shindig happening every night in this town, and if you don’t believe me, check out the fab photog Ed Barnas’ running burlesque calendar.
King Michael Bloomberg I of Coney Island, Brighton, and Westphalia
CONEY ISLAND – Michael Bloomberg surprised residents of Coney Island today by declaring himself “King of Coney Island”. The move caught many political observers by surprise, both because the Mayor has never previously shown public interest in the more colorful aspects of Coney Island culture, and because he has never before shown interest monarchical powers.
Parlor Jazz in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn
Saturday night I experienced a Valentines day treat like you can only get in Brooklyn. This is the kind of True New York Experience you won’t find in Time Out.
I knew we were headed to a show , but as I walked down Vanderbilt between Myrtle and Park, I thought to myself, where is the venue? It’s a very residential block. Outside 119 Vanderbilt I saw a laminated card advertising “Parlor Jazz” featuring The Ed Stout Quintet. We entered at the garden floor door and were greeted by Jim Morehand and Dave Polazzo who have been hosting Parlor Jazz monthly for eight years. Up the stairs and into the parlor, and there they were — the Ed Stoute Quintet: Ed Stoute on piano, Keith Loftis on tenor sax, Julian Pressley on alto sax, Dave Jackson on bass and Butch Bateman on drums.
The quintet was incandescent on this cold, dark February night. Mr Stoute is a native of Brooklyn and a veteran of the New York Jazz scene, having formed his first trio in 1960 and performed all over the city and all over the world. His rhythms, provided by Mr. Jackson and Mr. Bateman are elegant and sly, like the wink of a sweet, young thing. The tenor and alto pass melodies and harmonies back and forth like an urbane, inside story. And the piano just sings.
The experience is what Small’s used to be and occasionally still is, but this is Brooklyn baby! And you won’t find jazz nearer to its beating heart and soul anywhere else in New York — or the world.
Jim and Dave provide delicious snacks and all the wine you can drink with the price of admission. My favorite was the pineapple upside down cake. The doors open at 8:30, and the first set begins at 9. I suggest getting there on time, or else you might have to stand in the back next to the snacks with easy access to wine throughout the performance. Actually, that’s not so bad. Next month, March 13th, check out Carrie Jackson and her Jazzin’ All Stars!
Parlor Jazz
ft. Carrie Jackson & Her Jazzin’ All Stars
Saturday, March 13th. Doors at 8:30. First set at 9, second at 10:30
$30
In that infamous dead week between Xmas and New Year’s, your friends at Wassabasco Burlesque—along with a who’s who of conjoining producers—are blowing up at the Burlesque Blitz at the Kraine Theatre. Sunday night the saga got rolling with the rollicking waves of Brian Fisherman’s band, an evening set up as a hallucination—Fisherman trapped on a deserted island with only his memories of Coney Island and its fair denizens—the dreamlike sound of the vibraphone spelling hallucinations for all of us.
One fine afternoon in the early 00′s, after having consumed several beers, two hot dogs, and probably as many cheese burgers at the Gowanus Yacht Club, my companion and I stumbled down Union Street headed East to Park Slope. After we passed the canal I saw the following graffito on the side of a building: “Go anus”. Someone had done a reverse Letter Man and taken the “w”.
The canal itself has never been pleasant. One source says “The opaqueness of the Gowanus water obstructs sunlight to one third of the six feet needed for aquatic plant growth. Rising gas bubbles betray the decomposition of sewage sludge that on a ripe, warm day produces the canal’s notable stench.” The environs around it aren’t much better. After you pass Hoyt headed East, the nice front yards and townhouses of Carroll Gardens give place to many warehouses and factories, many of which appear abandoned. It was in one such abandoned warehouse turned crackin’ night spot — The Green Building — that my date and I caught Michael Arenella‘s Winter Ball last Saturday night.
Cate Blanchett as Blanche Dubois
It seemed appropriate to be waiting on two self-described Southern belles to get into Streetcar at BAM last week. Nothing says “Southern” like being late to your own party. We were four, and at least three of us hail from south of the Mason-Dixon line, or as another of my Southern friends likes to call it the “Manson-Nixon” line. Ah the South! Home of pecan pie, obsessions with purity (mostly sexual), vowels longer than a summer sunset, religious revivals held in circus tents, Wal-Mart superstores, and — these days especially — widespread dependence on food stamps.
OR: Great Bacon at a Jewelry Show, Indian Sob Stories at a Dance Show, Bluegrass at a Chinese Restaurant, and a Crooner, a Sword Swallower, and the Junior-Miss-Pussycat-Dolls on Concrete Lily Pads
Madame Rosebud
By J.D. Oxblood
Saturday, Dec. 5, 2009
Yes, it’s true, I totally and completely hate Christmas. And Xmas. And “The Holiday Season.” And your mom’s eggnog and your grandma’s fruitcake. Though I will drink the rum your mom bought for the eggnog while flirting with your grandma’s granddaughter in the kitchen—coz let’s face it, the only bitchin’ aspect of the descent of winter (and accompanying descent of commercialized hordes on sidewalks and subways)—is the party-hopping potential. Office parties, house parties, annual parties… so long as the snacks are delish, the booze is flowin’ and the babes are randy, bring it on, and keep the scenes varietal so the flavors rotate like a lazy susan spicerack.
Sunday November 22, 2009 was a beautiful day in Brooklyn. I decided to take a leisurely stroll through Prospect Park to enjoy the fall colors and take in the smoky savor of Autumn air, and I saw this guy practicing his tap routine in one of the tunnels. This is pure New York.
A tap dancing mermaid at the Clinton Hill Carnival of Carnage
Happy Halloween! Tonight the good people at 313 Clinton Avenue put on their yearly Halloween show, and it may have been their best ever! The theme this year was “Carnival of Carnage.” As always the production value was top notch. The folks working on the show include some past and present theater folk from the Great White Way who know their way around sound and light equipment. They also know how to edit your favorite Disney songs to give them Brooklyn specific lyrics over the familiar music. Most of the ghouls and monsters in this year’s show crawled out of the ooze of the Gowanus canal, including the mermaid in the picture above, tapping her way into the hearts of the many children in the audience who were enchanted by the spectacle. (It seemed like half the audience was under three years old.)
Mr. and Mrs. Macbeth with their little stillborn demon child
October 1st, 2009
Macbeth is appropriate to autumn and October. Macbeth’s colors are red and black; the poetry evokes the lengthening of nights and shortening days; and it’s full of witches and ghosts. Pecfect for the month of Halloween! I went with Lesterhead to see Strike Anywhere and ANITYA’s joint production of “Macbeth Variations II” at the Irondale Center in the Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian Church on Lafayette and South Oxford St. in Fort Greene tonight. The production definitely set the mood for a spooky October.
There are a few things you might want to know before you go see the play. First, Strike Anywhere and ANITYA are based in New York and Paris respectively. It is performed in both English and French. Unfortunately the Irondale Center, unlike the Met, doesn’t provide subtitles in glowing green LED in the banquette in front of you. For those who either know French or know the text of Macbeth or both, this isn’t an issue. If you speak English but not French and don’t know the play well, it can be confusing. Second, this is an interpretation of Macbeth, not a staging of Shakespeare’s play. If you get upset when directors cut the Bard’s plays, you definitely won’t like this. Third, the philosophy of the joint company prioritizes improvisation. As they say on their website, it’s never the same play two nights in a row. If you love surprises and don’t mind the occasional sour note that’s great; if flat moments take you out of the action, you might be disappointed. On the other hand, if the classics bore you but you feel compelled to get cultured anyway, this production is both edgy and old skool.
I would give you my take with no chaser, but I happened to overhear a conversation as I was walking out of the theater that I think says it all about what this show accomplishes. Three men, all in their mid-20s, were walking ahead of me on the sidewalk as we left the theater, and this is what I heard. (I’ve given them names. If this is you, and I gave you the wrong name, email the blog’s administrator.)
Playground in South Williamsburg. I think if you play long enough aliens talk to you out of a crackling cloud.
Addicted to TV?
Or TV on the Radio?
Yesterday, Sunday July 26th, Save Coney Island had a rally on the steps of Brooklyn Borough Hall. (Check out the video above.) The speakers were in order of appearance: World Famous BOB as MC; Dick Zigun, “Mayor” of Coney Island; Miss Cyclone, Angie Pontani; photographer and Coney Island historian Charles Denson; Brooklyn artist Savitri D; Dianna Carlin a.k.a. Lola Staar, owner of Lola Staar boutique; Raya Brass Band; Kevin Powell; The Great Fredini; Juan Rivera; former Astroland operator, and current Cyclone operator Carol Albert; and Reverend Billy.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE http://www.saveconeyisland.net/
PRESS CONTACT: Juan Rivero, Spokesman
Save Coney Island, 646.229.6609, info@saveconeyisland.net
AS N.Y. HONORS JANE JACOBS, HER SON IS ‘APPALLED’ AT CONEY ISLAND REZONING PLAN
Ned Jacobs: ‘This rezoning plan for Coney Island does not appear to reflect
the urban values and planning principles she espoused’
by J.D. Oxblood
Cruised down to DUMBO last week—wow, has that neighborhood changed—to check out the XTO Nude Image Awards Winners at the Farmani Gallery. I had been invited by Robin Bobbe, partner-in-crime of the photographer Leland Bobbe, who had a winning image in the show—a photo of burlesque performer Victotria Privates. If you’ve never heard of XTO, it’s worth checking out. I’m always a big fan of anyone who is willing to give away money to aspiring artists.
Sidewalk musicians on Bedford Avenue @ N 7th July 2nd 2009
By the end of June people who can afford it have left town for two months, or at least every weekend. The moneyed leisure class get tans, sit on the dock or the deck drinking champagne, and contemplate early retirement. The rest of us wander the streets between July 4th and Labor Day looking for a party on or off a rooftop, cruising the nearly empty streets and braving the inevitable spike in violent crime. The unmoneyed leisure class (a.k.a. the unemployed) have plenty of time for idleness, and idle hands are indeed the devil’s weekend in the Hamptons.
photo by Jenny Bai
Last Monday I sat down with rising star Broadway Brassy at The Magician bar on Rivington and Essex to talk about her career, where she’s been, where she is, and where she’s going. She’s is out of town for the next couple of weeks, but be sure to catch her at Duane Park in late July and August! (Details below.)
CC: Hello Broadway Brassy! Thanks for coming to talk to us at Cultural Capitol. I guess my first question is, how did you get to New York?
BB: I took a chance, I don’t know. God I hate interviews. I just always wanted to come here to New York City since I was a little girl — always. There was never any wavering, there was never any other place I wanted to be. It was here. So I came. That was that. I finished college, and I just moved. To Staten Island. And it was horrible there.
CC: Why did you go to Staten Island?
BB: Because I had friends there. So I thought, if I go to New York City I should be near my friends. I didn’t know anything. So I moved there, and realized right away that was not where I wanted to be, so I moved to Brooklyn.
Madame Rosebud -- "Best Bikini"
by J.D. Oxblood
Pulling up a porcelain chair in the McCarren airport, I think, I could use some vegetables. I could use a drink that doesn’t contain alcohol. I could stand to inhale without sucking on a cigarette or breathing overly-oxygenated canned air. It would be nice to make a decision—about anything—without first weighing the odds and placing a wager. I need to sit without looking around for a cocktail waitress, to hear myself think without tuning out the din of slot machines, to look at a woman without immediately, instinctively imagining what she’s going to look like when she wriggles out of those clothes. A couple days in Las Vegas will do that to a man.
by J.D. Oxblood
Wow. What a weekend. I still can’t see straight, reek of booze & smoke, keep hearing slots in the background and am still finding body glitter in unmentionable places. In other words, we had a fantastic time at the 2009 Burlesque Hall of Fame Weekend. I can’t even count how many gorgeous women I saw in various states of disrobe–between the shows, the stripperiffic after parties, and the oh-my-dear-Kali pool party, I’ve got “me time” material for a decade. It’s gonna take a few days to put all of this overwhelming material into a readable format, not to mention the over 3000 photographs Melodie Mudd shot, kneeling at the front of the stage.
So you’ll just have to wait for the good stuff. We’re gonna do this fab weekend justice and give all the participants a blogorific experience that’ll make them think they’re still in Vegas, and make all y’all suckers who didn’t make the trip positively verdant with envy. You snoozed, you loozed. Tune in later this week for what promises to be a 4-part series of COMPREHENSIVE coverage on the annual event previously known as Miss Exotic World.
Meanwhile, I have to pass out some awards of my own. Sure, the judges made up some honorary awards–probably to kill time while they argued over who was gonna win best boylesque–but they had some trophies to back it up. I have no trophies, so… WINNERS OF THE 2009 BHFW “BLOODIES” WILL RECEIVE A MARTINI OF CHOICE ON ME. Dirties, Manhattans, Cosmos, what have you, courtesy of yours truly, payable the next time you see me in person–wherever we happen to be. Hey, that’s a $10-15 value, and you can’t drink a trophy. Don’t ever say that anyone loves you more than J.D.
(tympani please)
Best Reveal — Dinah Might
Most Badass — NANDA
Most Slammin’ (Badonkadonk Division) — Perle Noir
Most Slammin’ (Badinkadink Division) — Kellita
Most Overlooked — Peekaboo Pointe
Best Bikini (pool party) — Madame Rosebud
Most Devastating Glare — Miss Astrid
Most Likely to be a Contender in 2010 — Sapphire Jones
Hottest Photographer — Melody Mudd (no competition)
Priceless
A picture is worth a thousand words — especially when the letters have been rearranged to spell “vomit.” What more needs to be said?
The Propeller company cast doing Q & A after the show
Last Thursday some of the Propeller company’s all-male cast sat down with the audience to discuss their production of William Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice.
The last time I saw the Propeller company was two years ago when they did Midsummer Night’s Dream and Taming of the Shrew in repertory at BAM. The Taming production highlighted the text’s sexual violence by by playing on LGBT domestic violence issues. Petruchio as an abusive boyfriend just seems scarier when it’s a big, butch, swaggering cowpoke beating up on a skinny, emo boy. Or maybe they were reading too much into a cute, human story of a man teaching his new wife to be respectful. Either way, it was powerful — that is to say good theater — and good theater is always interesting.
Hipster riot for free guac
The 5th of May is a lot of things to a lot of people. You couldn’t turn on the radio or open up a web browser yesterday without someone telling you that the 5th of May is the day Karl Marx was born, the day Cy Young threw the first perfect game in modern baseball, the Day that Kublai Khan became the ruler of the Mongol empire, and the day that Coco Chanel debuted Chanel No. 5. It also happens to be the day that Mexican troops led by Ignacio Zaragoza repulsed repeated attacks by French troops under Charles de Lorencez at the Battle of Puebla. This is the occasion celebrated as “Cinco de Mayo.”
by J.D. Oxblood
Our livery car driver has inexplicitly decided to roll all the way down Flatbush, which is like a Christmas Eve parking lot considering that it’s Saturday night in Park Slope. I’m wearing a gangster-fied pinstriped double-breasted jacket, my editor is in a full tux, and our other accomplice looks like a 1950s cartoon character. We’re rolling with three gorgeous women and a bodyguard; I somehow feel that we’re one gorgeous woman short—I like to ride with a spare.
We arrive at the Montauk Club, designed by Francis H. Kimball and completed in 1891. The story goes that he was inspired by a palace on Venice’s Grand Canal, and the imposing Venetian gothic architecture rises from the banality of the Slope like a monolith in a highlands desert. Stone. Mahogany. Stained glass. My jacket pocket feels suddenly empty—I really should be packing hooch to fully be in character.
.357 Lover performs at the Coney Island benefit party at Southpaw Saturday night
The band .357 Lover promises on its website to sacrifice their souls so that we may be properly rocked, and Saturday night they delivered.
The Coney Island benefit party at Southpaw was Brooklyn to a T. Freaks, Geeks, Hipsters, Lezzies, Homos, Straights, Bents, Rockers, Mods, Burlesquers, and B-Boys all showed up to save the dilapidated symbol of Brooklyn Soul. The World Famous Bob co-Emceed the Burlesque potion of the show with Miss Astrid, and let me tell you dear reader, they are two of the funniest women in show biz. (Murray Hill, who was not there, is the funniest man.)
It was a night of New York burlesque all stars including Julie Atlas Muze, Gigi La Femme and the World Famous Pontani sisters who performed together and separately.
Peekaboo Pointe
You can’t go wrong with that lineup. Angie Pontani sealed the deal with her show stopping tub act, courtesy of Hendrick’s Gin. After that it was hard (so to speak) to walk out of the club upright.
The special surprise of the evening, what made it really special and not just really good, were the Daisy Spurs. They tore up the stage with sizzling energy and heart-pounding dance moves. It was my first time seeing the Daisy Spurs, and I was so impressed I imediately updated my mobile FB status to “Daisy Spurs, my new favorite crazy.” That impressed.
Brian Newman and Broadway Brassy at Duane Park Friday April 4 2009
by J.D. Oxblood
We were so drunk off the feeling of great art—oh, and bourbon. Bourbon makes me feel drunk, too—that we decided to carry on and get our asses downtown to drop in on our old friend Brian Newman for his weekly residency at Duane Park.
I don’t feel bad giving Mr. Newman unbridled, overly-enthusiastic, heavy-handed praise for two really good reasons: 1. He’s a badass musician. 2. He’s a truly nice guy. And no shit—he’s really a nice guy. I’m a prick, and I know a nice guy when I see one. Brian was so excited to see us, he bought me a drink—and then he spent the rest of the night calling me “Mr. Oxblood.” So damn RESPECTFUL. And just when I had almost decided to kill everyone under 30.
I think you should go to Duane Park next week, and I think you should get there EARLY. We showed at around 11 and the place was already jumpin’—that is to say, PACKED. And it ain’t nothin’ to fill a space so far downtown on a Friday night. Obviously Mr. Newman’s experiment is catching on, and it’s not for nothing. (Ahem… ready for this one, B? You can quote me on this.) Brian Newman plays the trumpet like a bat out of hell trapped in a mason jar. His freneticism is balanced by a consummate control. It began with his first notes: as the bass and piano steadied the firmament under him, he let go with his “intimidation lick,” appearing almost lazy in his approach, as if to say, “I’m really not working that hard.” That quickly went out the window as his intimidation went from a lick to a full-on scoop of smack-your-mama, and everyone in the goddamn room knew whose show this was.
by J.D. Oxblood
It’s so rare that I make it to a Broadway show—what with most of the Great White Way awash in Disney-fied claptrap, reincarnations of old musicals and old movies reincarnated as new musicals—that we decided to make a night of it. So much so that I actually went out and purchased an umbrella to keep my suit from getting soaked in the dismal, rainy April night. I was excited, yet anxious, because the last time I tried to get my fill of some good, old-fashioned absurdist drama, I was cringingly disappointed: to anyone else who shelled out the big bucks to sit through last years revival of (Harold Pinter’s exquisite test) “The Homecoming,” my condolences. Reeked so bad it took a month to get the smell out of my tux.
The Roundabout Theatre Company’s revival of Samuel Beckett’s anti-classic, at Studio 54, features Bill Irwin and Nathan Lane as Didi and Gogo, with none other than John Goodman as Pozzo and the spellbinding John Glover as Lucky, under the direction of Anthony Page. (FYI: everyone in the previous sentence has won a Tony, with the exception of Goodman, who’s won a Golden Globe.)
The Positive Brothers
I kind of forgot how bad the bad old days of the late 80s / early 90s were until the DJIA hit 7750 and the unbroken chilly gloom of February made pedestrians look like frosty denizens of an Edward Hopper painting. Then I went for a walk in Battery Park and saw the Postive Brothers doing their show, and I remembered how good it was to see guys performing acrobatics in the old fountain at Washington Square Park, telling me my monetary contribution was keeping my home safe from burglary later that night.
The show is much the same as it was back then: witty chatter, tension-diffusing racial jokes, break dancing, and some crazy acrobatics, usually concluded with a spectacular leap over the heads of six or seven terrified audince members. But these guys make it new every time with their good humor and positive vibes. If you’re feeling down with the market, unemployment, and empty pockets, go down to Battery Park on a sunny day and check out their show. Throw a dollar in the hat if you have it. They also accept enthusiastic applause for payment.
Hell(o) (t)here
I am truly in Hell. The only work I have managed to get is in the comic book convention world. Which, judging by the sold-out numbers of people at the Javits for the New York Comic Con, is still kinda recession-proof. I fell into the work, really. I don’t even read comic books* (Get the whole story here). And I definitely don’t “get” comic book geeks. I mean, they’re sweet enough, in their own, special, pasty, basement-dwelling way, but I mean, puh-lease. You weren’t all home-schooled, were you? There has to be an ounce of social skills somewhere in that cranium, right??? Whatever the case may be, these skills were not on display (yet again) at this year’s New York Comic Con. Actual snippet of overheard conversation on the crosstown bus on the way to the Javits:
Geek Girl1: So when I finally saw X-Men 3…
Geek 2: Oh you didn’t! It was HORRIBLE.
GG1: I didn’t think it was so bad, at first, you know, just taking it at face value, but then they explained to me how it was totally in opposition to the art and color scheme by so-and-so and blahdy-blahdy-geek-blah…
… and this drivel went on the ENTIRE CROSSTOWN RIDE. Nightmare. How do I get myself into these situations? Anyway, I was working a booth for my new semi-F/T gig with the longest running independent comic book convention in NYC. I have biz cards and everything! I am officially one of THEM. O.M.F.G.
... themmm
And I work for one of the top guys in the comic book collecting world. Somehow he’s one of them and not one of them at the same time. He knows them all, but he used to ski with the beautiful people at Studio 54. High and low, as it were. Anyway, scads of people come by his booth and I get to people watch them all. I could go on and on about the various freaks and geeks**, but the ones who really caught my eye were the Gothic Lolitas: you know, Asian girls in a mix of goth and maid uniforms, with a Lolita twist.
Essentially, these girls are walking manga. I was Goth, bitd, but this is a Japanese twist on an old classic. I talked with one self-professed Gothic Lolita, 18 year old Kana from Manhattan. She said she first got into the look 8 years ago after seeing J Rock artists on TV (example here). She saw the fans of that style of music and wanted to dress like them. It’s a very cute world with which to identify. As opposed to Cosplay fans at the Comic Con, Kana said this is her normal style of dress. She likes bands like Plastic Tree, and she and her friends get together for karaoke parties. She seemed really well-adjusted. It was refreshing, in this land of make-believe.
Kutie Kana
So I am officially an insider in this crazy comic book world. But I guess now I can finally finish my Sandman collection. I’m only missing #2 and #43. Christ. Kill me now.
*Except Neil Gaiman’s Sandman in the 90′s. Brilliant. Oh, and the occasional Betty and Veronica when I was little. Can you say cat fight? Me-ow!
**New rule: Guys, if you’re wearing spandex, will you PLEASE wear a cup?!?!?!? I am still scrubbing those lumpy images from my brain.
Michael DeCapite at Telephone
by J.D. Oxblood
Last night I stumbled into the Telephone Bar on Second Avenue and discovered that there was a reading series happening in the back room. A true masochist, I decided to check it out.
The first reader was a pleasant surprise. Michael DeCapite read from his book THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD, an outright hilarious piece describing a conversation between two men; one of them has been recommended, by his father, to move into a Veterans retirement home—at the age of 31. DeCapite read smoothly, charismatically, and in a move of programming genius had the audience rolling with laughter for the first 15 minutes. Then he moved into the heavy stuff, a couple of pieces from another novel that described the pain and regret of two blown marriages, told in an almost poetic style. He was naked on the stage, and the audience was rapt.
