Sometimes you have to make yourself go out on a cold Wednesday night, when you had a long day at the day job that you're getting the sneaking suspicion is kind of awful and you kind of wish someone had mentioned to you before you took it that it's kind of awful. I didn't want to go. I was tired. Last week, I went to shows 7 days out of 8, and it was a blast but it was kind of exhausting. Last Wednesday was the third What's My Line? and it was great! But it was a long week. But, Clams was debuting a new number at Jo Boob's show at the Slipper Room last night so I had to go support! And it's those nights, when the place is half empty, where so often you're really happy you made the effort. The World Famous BOB was the emcee, and I got to hear her story about a few nights ago when she did a benefit gala for P.S.1 and the Mayor was there, and she closed the show with her famous finale number set to the theme from 2001 (which yes I know is actually called Thus Spoke Therathustra, or something like that), which of course ends with her in nothing but glitter and a sly grin, legs akimbo. And then she did a great impression of Bloomberg's slack-jawed reaction (although to his credit, he was clearly there all the way to the end of that show, because our Mayor likes to party even though he makes you smoke outside and wants the bars to close at 2.) Also, I got to hear a fey goth version of Devil Went Down to Georgia by a singer from LA, and some women took their clothes off, and yeah ok, it was worth the effort.
I love BOB, and if you missed her one-woman show F To F at Mo Pitkin's this summer, don't miss any opportunity to see it in the future. She has lived a life, and she's an absolutely charismatic, charming and funny storyteller who has the most natural stage-presence (not hindered of course by being the most statuesque broad to ever wear a perfectly arched pair of eyebrows and not much else). And she's completely genuine; it's infectious, no one else would ever get me do the robot in public (come to her monthly show at Galapagos and you'll see what I mean), and last night she got the cynical lot of us to share an actual, sincere moment of silence for CBGB's.
Speaking of CBGB's, can I confess? I never went to a show there. Clams did a show at their next-door annex the CB's 313 Gallery, so I'm very fond of telling people she played CBGB's. But I never experienced the place in its true grimy splendor. We talked about it a lot, but when it came down to it I never really wanted to go take a chance on a no-name thrash band and a bunch of drunk kids so I could experience the famously disgusting men's room. As it's final closing neared, I had a moment of clarity that, more then I had any interest in going to a show there, I wanted to live in a New York where CBGB's still existed. And now I don't. And that sucks.
Labels: burlesque, the dismantling of New York