When I “checked in” on Foursquare at The Electric Owl Social Club last night, I jokingly wrote, “Burlesque, jazz, and beer… If heaven existed, I think I just arrived.” A couple hours later, Nicky Ninedoors did a white fan dance, and when she flapped them up behind her back, she did look like an angel. I leaned over to Lola Frost and whispered, “If all angels looked like that, I might actually go to church.”
Last night was the opening show of The Night Owl Revue. MC’d by the lovely, talented, and outright fucking hilarious, Crystal Precious with music supplied by, killer jazz outfit, The Locksmiths it was one of those evenings you’re really glad you decided to come out.
I arrived downtown around 7 o’clock. Door for the show was 8. I slinked into The Keefer Bar for a quick drink, having made it a rule that I can’t walk past its open doors. That took about 20 minutes off the wait and I was still a little early when I got to The Electric Owl Social Club, so I walked right past and into the Ivanhoe for another quick beer. My timing perfected and sufficiently numbed, I returned to the Electric Owl, paid my $15 ticket price, and grabbed myself a table.
As the room started filling up, a couple looking very “normal and lost” were searching for a place to sit. I offered to share the table. They accepted and after sitting down asked if it was okay if they had some friends join them. Somehow “FUCK” translated into “Sure” and I was swamped. About the time they’d finished their second glass of water, I was downing my third Pilsner and wondering if they’d like directions to Yaletown. Before all hope was lost, Miss Lola Frost made her entrance. Game on motherfuckas.
It’s not a glide, nor a strut, and it sure as shit isn’t a walk, perhaps it is “floating with intent”, but whatever it was Lola made her way to the table and Vancouver’s Rock and Roll Flapper took a seat. “Everyone, Lola. Lola, everyone.” Hellos were exchanged, jaws were dropped, and I was back in my comfort zone.
Crystal took the stage at 9, immaculately dressed (of course), and kicked the evening off. I’ve heard Crystal rap, but I don’t often hear her sing, so it was indeed a pleasure to listen to her first number. That girl’s voice could honeydrip the stinger off a wasp. Also, as a little side note, when she smiles at you, you get the warm and fuzzy feeling that all is right in the universe. That, or the passing thought that she’s thinking about eating cornflakes out of your skull. I’m pretty certain that it’s the former, but, as Nietzsche wrote, “The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything.”
Nicky’s voice is insanely good. A recent article on Straight.com highlighted her musical training. To which one comment replied it was a shame she’d had to “resort” to taking her clothes off. Miss Ninedoors resorted to nothing. I sincerely hope “Anonymous” enjoyed feeding their cats leftover TV dinners last night while the rest of us were being thoroughly entertained by one of Vancouver’s most refined young women.
Outside of the Empire State, when people refer to “New York’s finest” they aren’t talking about the NYPD. They are talking about Burgundy Brixx, class and sass with a wicked ass. I’ve seen her perform a handful of times and she is mystifying in the way she moves. Her motions inform that she has a great sense of space and knows where every cell in her body is at all times. Imagine Salome as prima ballerina at The Bolshoi.
The first time I saw Milaika Millions do her “Lime in the Coconut” routine, I almost peed myself. Last night, when Miss Fitt performed her last routine, she almost elicited the same reaction. It was certainly one of the more elaborate (group effort) routines I had seen. Magic mushrooms send a hapless go-go dancer off into a magic world where her stuffed animals come alive and dance with her. Backed up by the Locksmiths, Ninedoors, and Brixx (with the Purrrfessor if i’m not mistaken. Could be; I was drunk) giving the Broadway cast of “Hair” a run for their money, the whole bit ended with animals dancing everywhere and Crystal throwing handfuls of feathers from a bucket, while Miss Fitt danced her go-go heart out to Age of Aquarius/Let the Sun Shine. It was insane.
After the show, Lola introduced me to DJ K-Tel, our meeting immortalized in pixels below. Maybe it wasn’t Stanley/Livingston or such but we had a camera; they didn’t. BurlyQ FTW.
We go in search of a smoke to bum because I’m cheap and Lola doesn’t smoke. For some reason lost to time and dead brain cells, she figures there are smokes to be had across the street at The Cobalt. She takes my arm and we intently float out of The Electric Owl. Reaching the sidewalk, I declare, “Hand!” We clasp hands and make a dash across Main St. It was a pretty good dash considering the heels she was wearing. As for heels, I heard the other day that if her heels are higher than your cock is long, you’re not getting any. I wasn’t expecting any, but to be honest, I did size her shoes up the moment she walked in last night! (xo Miss Frost…)
Over at The Cobalt, smokes were to be found, doorman bribed with a wink and a smile. Miss Frost graciously bought my broke ass a beer and we watched and listened to Claire Mortifee perform. ‘Twas awesome.
We grabbed a cab and Lola dropped me off at the bus stop (will the romance ever end?) on Georgia. She sped off into the night to wake up 7 hours later. I went home to fall asleep, after being told I’d been described to a friend as “dashing”. Heh… nice.
All in all, not a bad night I suppose.