The answer is everywhere and anywhere.
Part of my life involves event organising, primarily in the fashion industry, and over the past few years I have seen the rise of the strange and wonderful world of Burlesque.
Living in Amsterdam, as I did for a quarter of a century, I was party to the ongoing Continental heritage that is cabaret. Amsterdam still has at its heart the extraordinary core of political satire that expresses itself in music, dance and mime. In Germany, too, you will find the remnants of political satire and even in the 1980s it was possible to visit one of the infamous 'telephone bars' in a town somewhere. Let me explain.
The plush interior of such a bar was filled with small intimate tables, each with a couple of chairs, each with an ornate telephone atop its numbered table. And at one end of the room, a small stage complete with husky voiced beauty of indeterminable age or sex offering songs of lost love to a smoky crowded room. And then the phone at your table might ring. Well, not so much a ring as a flashing light. To lift the receiver was a thrill. To hear the low voice whisper their table number another. Ok, so it was Mrs G having a laugh, but you get the picture.
Back to the stage. In a lone spotlight, accompanied only by a pianist at a baby grand, the singer began in earnest. Pale white face, red painted lips and rouged cheeks and a blond wig to die for.
'Falling in love again, never wanted to...what's a girl to do? Can't help it!'
Close your eyes and it could have been Ms Dietrich. (I'd had a couple of Campari's) And then the clothes began to come off...
The Cotswolds. 2009. Mrs G and I have been invited to an evening of burlesque at a local venue. Of course we go. Dressed in our finery we enter another world. I'm back in the little German town again. All around are hordes of punters, dressed to the nines, eager for an evening of glamour. The Mistress Of Ceremonies takes to the stage. Miss Demeanor, or something akin, she could have stepped out of Luhrmann's Moulin Rouge, and the effect was almost perfect. I say 'almost perfect', because everything was fine until Miss D announced the raffle and pointed out to us the buffet. The prize was a hamper full of pies (baked by Miss D's mum) and the buffet consisted almost entirely of more pies, both savoury and sweet, all identical in size and shape and un-labelled! Not a great start for a vegetarian! Beef & Onion - or Apple? You get the picture.
But the evening was fun. A mixed bag of entertainment. A music hall singer, several strippers, a fearsome solo female bass guitarist who screamed out neo-punk songs for far too long, and Miss D herself, who sang sweetly and took off far too much.
I didn't win the hamper, but I did win a set of nipple tassels. Pasties to you!
Now, everywhere you look in the UK you'll see the influence of Burlesque. The Forties and Fifties look, the red lips, the careful coiffures, the corsets and feathers. And for the most part it is wonderful. In a time of recession, everyone needs a little cheering up. And Burlesque is one of those looks where being a size 6 is not a requirement. The big girls out there finally have their day! This is good. To see them rejoicing in their curves and size is a delight. An industry is burgeoning. There are websites galore. Clubs and events starting up. Magazines on the High Street dedicated to the look and lifestyle.
Now me, I always favoured the straight up-and-down look of the thirties, but to see this much fun in straight-laced England (it's not the Swinging Sixties anymore...) has to be a positive thing.
Mika said it best; 'Big girls, you are beautiful!'
So...come on down to The Butterfly Lounge - welcome to Burlesque!
Watch Mika's Big Girls
Now...how did I get started here? Oh yes, inspiration. Slow Poison has it, Red House full of even more...
Burlesque? You ain't see nothing yet!
These photos are of choice pieces from our vintage store, Time After time in the Cotswolds, speciallt photographed by Gloucester photographer Will Davis...check us out at stroudvintage.com
No comments:
Post a Comment