Ask The Experts: George Peck

--> “Pa and I put in a good deal of time during the afternoon and evening performances in the dressing-room, near the door leading to the main tent. That is the nearest to being in an insane asylum of any place I was ever in. The performers get ready for their several acts in bunches or families, all in one spot, and they act serious and jaw each other, and each bunch acts as though their act was all there was to the show, and if it was cut out for any reason, the show would have to lay up for the season, when in fact each one is only a cog in the great wheel, and if one cog should slip, the wheel would turn just the same. These people never smile before they go in the ring, but just act as though too much depended on them to crack a smile. When a bunch is called to go in the ring, they all look at each other as though it was the parting of the ways, and they clasp hands and go out of the dressing-room as though walking on eggs. When they get in the ring they look around to see if all eyes are upon them, and bow to people who are looking at something going on in another ring, and who don’t see them, and then they go through their performance with everybody looking somewhere else.

When the act is over the audience seems glad, and clap their hands because they are polite, and it don’t cost anything to clap hands, and the performers turn some more flip flaps, and go running out to the dressing-room, and take a peek back into the big tent as though expecting an encore, but the audience has forgotten them and is looking for the next mess of performers, and the ones who have just been in go and lie down on straw and wonder if they can hit the treasurer for an advance on their salaries, so they can go to a beer garden and forget it all.

An average audience never gets its money’s worth unless some one is hurt doing some daring act.”

- George W. Peck, Peck’s Bad Boy With The Circus (1905)

Part II: Cautious Optimism or, A Challenge for 2013

--> And so, then, here is my challenge to each and every one of you for this regenerated year:

I challenge you to create something new, something original, unique and non-derivative; to be prepared to fail spectacularly in the effort but to be prepared to do the work in order not to fail; to constantly challenge expectations – your own as well as those of the art form; to innovate, not re-create.

I challenge you to turn every single instinct towards complaint or condemnation into the motivation for creation; to be thoughtful, constructive and appropriate in criticism; to keep your mouth shut if opening it contributes nothing but ill-feeling and hurt to the discussion; to learn that others’ success and happiness does not diminish the possibility of your own.

I challenge you to honestly examine your own skill level, attitude and artistry before you seek external excuses for a lack of bookings or support; to refuse to participate in the constant carping and snark and backstage evisceration of people in their absence; to form opinions of others based on your own actual experience and not out of some fabricated factional solidarity or second-hand gossip.

I challenge you to keep your motives honest, your behavior gracious, your expectations realistic and your interactions kind; to do the work and to keep working hard; to love the art in yourself, not yourself in the art, and always to respect the art in others.

Part I: Unbridled Enthusiasm or, Things I Liked A Lot In 2012

--> Last night kind of sucked, for reasons that are none of your damn business. And so, as is my wont, in my consequent insomniac state I managed to transfer that suckiness to every aspect of my life, work, art and career, such that by 4:30 this morning I had retired from showbusiness, dyed my hair brown, adopted three cats, moved back to New England and gotten a job at a strip-mall Circuit City. And then I realized several things:

One, Circuit City went bankrupt years ago;

Two, I really, really dislike cats; and

Three, It’s up to me to choose to end this year on a positive note.

Complaining is easier than praise: that’s why the bad Yelp reviews run to sixteen paragraphs of ungrammatical vitriol, while the good ones are three words long (“That was awesome!!!”). And while we all love a good razor-sharp Dorothy Parker-style evisceration*, today - for once - before that magical transformation that happens at the stroke of midnight apparently, I choose to defy that instinct and talk about a few of the things that impressed, delighted and inspired me this past year.

In no particular order, and without anyone having had to solicit website votes to be included, here are Some Things I Liked A Lot This Year:

• Penny Wren’s ‘Horny Penguin’ act (Brooklyn)

I’ve seen a lot of stupid stuff in my time, and this might just be one of the most brilliantly stupidest: a spheniscid** striptease that combines the pathos of the lonely penguin traversing the arctic wastes (to Morgan Freeman’s March Of The Penguins narration) with some very happy tapdancing feet, all mixed with flirtatious and exuberant breakdance moves (I defy you to watch footage of penguins belly-sliding on the ice and not see a Deadman Float) to 2 Live Crew’s immortal classic, “Me So Horny.” This act was everything I love: silly, surprising, technically stunning, completely joyous, and utterly idiotic. ***

Photos: Mo Pitz

Also I don’t know if Penny already owned the full-body penguin suit before she created this act, and I don’t want to know. 

• Flirty Sanchez’s performance at rePRODUCTION (Seattle)

I don’t know if this act has a title, and I’m hesitant to attempt to describe it in detail as I don’t think I can do it any justice. It is an incredibly, almost devastatingly personal piece that to me (I can’t and won’t attempt to speak to whatever inspired Flirty to create the act, or what statement she might personally intend it to make) is a meditation on the physical and emotional effects of abuse, and the possibility of transcending those effects. Conceptually it was incredible, and beautifully executed: there was a tremendous strength and an almost deceptive calm to the performance that seemed exactly right to me. It pushed the boundaries of “burlesque” in an absolutely inspiring way - the word “stunning” applies all over the place in relation to this act.

Also I had to perform myself shortly after watching it … which meant completely re-doing my sobbed-off makeup on the fly. Thanks a lot, Sanchez.

• Bathtub Gin (Manhattan)

I’ve had the privilege of performing regularly at Bathtub Gin with Wasabassco for almost exactly a year now, and it has become one of my absolute favorite venues of, like, ever. Not a performance space per se, it’s rather an intimate, immaculately-decorated back-room speakeasy. (The entrance is through a coffee shop so deceptively perfect that it’s easy to miss the venue entirely.) (And the coffee is damn good, too.) The fancy-ass cocktails are delicious, there are big squooshy couches, you can order s’mores for dessert, and yes, there’s a bathtub - all of which is fantastic for the audience. From the performers’ and producer’s point of view, it has been an utter delight to work in such a lovely space with a staff that is across the board pleasant, thoughtful, and eager to work with us to create the best evening of entertainment possible.

And the fancy-ass cocktails are delicious.

• Mr. Gorgeous (NYC)

Another of the great joys of this past year was getting to perform more often with Mr. Gorgeous, who has become one of my absolute favorite people both to work with and to watch. His acts are splendid, from concept (often ‘masculinizing’ traditional elements of burlesque in wonderfully effective ways) to execution (he’s a fantastic prop- and costume-builder) to performance (not only a skilled acrobat, he also acts the hell out of every character he performs).

Also he’s lovely to share a backstage with and has an idiotic streak a mile wide. ***

Photo: Edgar Delacroix

• St. Stella & James and The Giant Pasty’s ‘Statue’ act (Toronto)

St. Stella is a delightfully dreamy art student and James is a (well-cast) Classical sculpture whose worlds collide … this act is smart, loving, wry, visually beautiful, and again tremendously joyous (as much as utter idiocy, I am eternally inspired and energized by performers who take the stage with such a radiant joy). I’ve seen James and St. Stella perform together and individually, I’ve shared several backstages (and, for a weekend, their lovely apartment) with these folks, and I can’t wait for more.

(… And while I’m on the subject, a brief bit of sloppy love to Boylesque T.O. and the Toronto burlesque scene in general. Holy crap is there some fabulous stuff happening up there.)

• Amanda Whip (NYC)

It is difficult to describe Amanda Whip without resorting to inarticulate drool … but it is a drool based on extreme professional respect, I assure you. To say that she is a fantastic “stage manager” or “stage kitten” doesn’t do justice to her amazing ability to pull just enough order from the surrounding chaos to make a show run smoothly, while still leaving room for the unexpected to happen. She is utterly fearless, truly gorgeous yet always willing to look like a complete idiot ***, amazingly bendy, and one of the most utterly warped and depraved souls I have ever met in such a deceptively sweet and innocent body.

Also she lets me bite her pasties off in a professional capacity on a monthly basis.

Also and in brief:

• I first met photographer Ben Trivett when I woke up to find him asleep on the floor of my Orlando hotel room a few years ago, but I didn’t get a chance to shoot with him until this summer. He’s incredible. Seriously: interweb-stalk him. 

• Lannie’s Clocktower Cabaret made me want to move to Denver (and share a clubhouse with, among other people, Midnite Martini and Naughty Pierre). Rarely have I experienced such tremendous architectural envy.

• Polesque 's yearly pole-dancing-burlesque-hybrid competition is one of the most literally jaw-dropping shows I have ever seen. I look forward to the next one.

... I’m leaving it there, even though (happily) the list keeps expanding even as I write it. But I invite everyone to reflect on the people, performances, places (and other p-words) that inspired, surprised or delighted you this year – whether or not you choose to share it somewhere (and I hope you do), it’s helpful to take a minute at the end of what has been for many of us a professionally vexatious season and head into the next year with the good stuff close behind us.

* While forgetting that for all her vermouth-soaked snark, Dorothy Parker was both a genius and a skilled and thoughtful critic. Your average FaceTube comment-troll is neither.

** Look it up.

*** This is, for the record, pretty much my highest term of praise.

I Wish You'd Told Me That

--> 15 things appertaining to my job that I wish someone had told me years ago or, if they did tell me, I clearly wasn’t listening, but in a few cases I figured it out myself so now I’m telling you. 

In no particular order and to varying degrees of urgency and usefulness:

• Paint the bottoms of your stage shoes - or at least make sure there aren’t big stupid labels on them. The first time you see a giant “Jessica Simpson for K-Mart” sole logo in a photo of yourself you’re going to wish you’d grabbed the spray paint before you left home.

• It’s Okay To Say No. It’s okay to turn down gigs that seem sketchy, or that don’t pay, or that you simply don’t want to do. It’s okay to turn down projects that ask for a huge amount of your time, skill and effort and offer little or nothing in return. It's okay to say you’re not comfortable with a photographer in the dressing room. It’s okay to say that you don’t have time to ‘help out’ with costumes, or choreography, or poster design, or stripper wrangling, or that you really can’t ‘bring a few extra numbers to the show in case we need them,’ or come up with an elaborate theme-specific act at the last minute based on an obscure 1970’s Dutch cartoon you’ve never heard of. If you decline politely and honestly and when you’re asked (rather than an hour before the shoot, meeting or show) then no one is going to be mad or hate you or never book you again … and if they do, you probably don’t want to work with them anyhow.

• Unless it’s a deliberate character note, don’t hand-write signs or labels on props: it looks like crap. If you can’t get something computer-printed in time for the show, save the number until you can do it right.

• Your most elaborate or complicated number isn’t necessarily your best number, especially where first impressions are concerned. If you really want to make a good impression on a producer the first time you work with her, think long and hard before putting together a sixteen-minute-long aerial epic with working mayonnaise-filled waterslide and a shower of live fruitbats. (Or anything with a ton of baby powder.) If it’s a solid act you’ve had down for years, go for it; but adding bells and whistles to impress a producer can backfire spectacularly. Often it’s far easier to stun her with a simple act flawlessly executed.

• “Oh, please. We take our clothes off in bars.”*

• Pre-setting the tape on your pasties at home while you’re packing for the show saves a shit-ton of time backstage.

• You don’t have to like everyone you work with, and you don’t have to be everyone’s best friend. Just being in the same business isn’t a guaranteed automatic soul connection (I’m pretty sure that every nurse isn’t a spit sibling with every single other nurse on the planet). The only requirement is that you treat everyone with respect and professionalism - backstage, online, or at the diner after the show.

• Glitter isn’t the herpes of burlesque. Herpes is the herpes of burlesque.

• Rehearsing in large, tall, new or otherwise potentially disastrous wigs can save a lot of exposed-wig-cap-onstage-heartache - something that didn’t occur to me until I found myself pinned by the head to a paper parasol with dangling flowers attached by fishing line, from which there was absolutely no graceful extraction. (All extant copies of the photos have been burned, by the way, so don’t bother asking.)

• Okay, sure: no one is ever going to launder costumes with any regularity (assuming that any of our made-of-curtains-and-covered-in-feathers shit even can be washed). But do yourself the supreme favor and open up the gig bag when you get home and hang wet stuff up to dry. If you go-go’d for three hours in that bra and wig, for the love of all that is glittery do not leave them in a Ziploc bag all night. While it’s a fascinating practical experiment in bacterial cultures, it will destroy your costumes as surely as a pie fight at curtain call.

• Try everything. Never let the fact that you’ve only ever done rock-and-roll acts keep you from performing a classic fan dance if you really want to. Rehearse and prepare for it as fully as you would for any other act** and remember that if it doesn’t work, you can toss it out.

• Keep records. It can be as anal-retentive as a multi-page spreadsheet document listing the date, venue, acts you performed and what you were paid for every show you’ve ever done (ahem) or as casual as scribbling your schedule in a pocket calendar, but I guarantee that at some point you’ll need that information for remembering how long you’ve been doing a particular act, disproving income-tax fraud, or settling a bar bet.

• Nine times out of ten, your photo-in-a-frame prop is completely indistinguishable from a few rows back in the house … and half the time even the audience members who can see it have no idea who it’s supposed to be a picture of anyway.

• No One Cares About Your Shit As Much As You Do. Your web designer is never going to care as much as you do about updating your site calendar. That guy the producer got to video the show is never going to care about getting you that footage. Time Out is never going to care that they mis-spelled your stage name, got the time wrong, and used a photo of someone else in the listing for your show. The audience is never going to care that you have black gloves tonight instead of blue, or that you lost an earring in the middle of your act, or that you have 643,291 rhinestones on your corset instead of 623,712. Everyone else in the dressing room is too busy caring about their own tampon string showing to worry about yours. Producers, your performers care more about their own acts than they do about promoting your show. Just do your work, don’t freak out over missing gloves (and visible tampon strings), help out each other when you can, and try not to take everything personally.

Also:

• Try Not To Take Everything Personally. In general, I fail spectacularly at this – but we all must have something for which to strive, mustn’t we? Every distracted look backstage, every passive-aggressive archly-veiled Tweet, every random innocent statement in passing isn’t necessarily a venomous attack at your particular art or person. Likewise every performer with a pink dress isn’t ripping off your pink dress act and everyone who has ever used a champagne glass as a prop isn’t automatically plagiarizing your champagne-glass number. Advocate for yourself when you need to – no one else is going to (see above) – but take a moment first to decide if you in fact do need to speak up, or if you’re just reacting personally to someone else’s bad day.

••••••

* Someone actually did tell me this a long damn time ago, and for once I actually was listening, and it has stood me well many times and in many circumstances in the intervening years. I will be forever grateful to you for that, Veronika.

** As with any number, maybe don’t spend ten thousand dollars on the costume right off the bat … you can always add to it later if it’s something you want to keep in the rotation.

First, Last and Always: The Lineup Isn’t Forever

--> Backstage Myth #242: Being put first in the lineup is a kind of punishment: a throwaway performance spot before the house is full, before the audience is warmed up, and before the show really gets going.

BUSTED

A principal law of burlesque quantum mechanics* is that every setlist will appear different according to the physical and emotional circumstances of whoever is observing it. (This is because: Science.) In truth, there are no empirically good or bad performance spots (just more- or less-skillfully-crafted setlists), and being trusted by a producer to open a show is a testament to any performer’s skill and style.

There Are No Small Stripteases

There’s no point to opening a show with a ‘weak,’ ‘small’ or ‘bad’ number. (There’s no point to intentionally booking ‘bad’ numbers to begin with: though there most definitely must be differences in tone and tempo within even the most theme-specific show, any time a producer finds herself consciously burying a mediocre act in the middle of a set, she needs to reconsider her booking policies.) No, not every number is the right choice tonally or thematically to open every show; but a producer confident in the skill and professionalism of her cast will have a show full of performers who are all able to “open big.” A good producer will select as an opener a visually stunning, polished act appropriate to the show and theme, one that will immediately command the attention of the audience and make them eager for more. This is most definitely not a place to stick a throwaway act: open big, close big, and keep it fabulous in between.

(… and while we’re on the subject: Backstage Myth #242-A has it that closing a show is the ‘star’ position. While this is traditionally the “headliner” spot (if there is one in a given show), I’ve often found that going on late in a show means performing for a half-empty, wholly-drunk house. This can be as challenging as any other spot in a show.)

Don’t Throw Anyone To The Wolves

Several times I have been booked to perform my car alarm fan dance at a particular show with an audience that is usually unfamiliar with burlesque. Generally they warm to the idea very quickly, and more challenging or sillier acts such as this go over as well as the most classic ones when presented a bit later in the show. In one instance, however, so as to not have two fan dances in a row (this is a good idea), another performer’s very fabulous classic fan dance was left in the second set and my idiotic neo-burlesque ode to noise was moved to the second spot in the show. This was a bad idea: an audience that had never seen much striptease at all - fan dance or otherwise - was completely confused by my absurd commentary on the genre, and the host and next few performers had to work that much harder to regain their attention afterwards. A producer familiar with her audience and the structure of her show would better have put the classic fan dance early in the show and the neo-fan dance later on.

Balance is always key: rather than six slow numbers in a row, all the rock & roll songs in one set, or three short blonde performers in blue costumes one after another, splitting them up makes each one stand out as an individual and unique act. Even in shows with a specific theme to the music, acts, etc (all Neil Diamond songs, all clown numbers), a well-curated setlist makes use of the differences between the acts - resulting in a show that is constantly surprising to the audience, one that keeps them on the edge of their seats wondering what might be coming next.

Like any other aspect of producing, putting together an effective setlist is a skill to be learned and refined through practice. There are artistic as well as practical considerations. It can seem a fairly simple task, but when it’s done clumsily the entire show suffers for it.

Do Try This At Home

Taking into consideration all of the following elements:

• familiarity of the audience with burlesque and/or striptease as a concept

• type of acts booked (fan dance, boa tease, chair dance, neo-striptease, nerdlesque, variety acts, etc)

• music used by individual performers (specific songs, genres and tempos)

• costume colors and prop elements

• large or extensive setup or cleanup required by any acts

• any performance(s) specifically booked as a “headliner”

• time constraints of performers or staff

• anyone performing multiple times in the same show

and above all keeping in mind the overall flow of the show and evening as a whole;

craft a setlist of 10 to 15 acts that balances all these elements; accounts for performers who provide incomplete (or no) information about their acts ahead of time; leaves room for last-minute substitutions and changes; results in a seamless flow; and makes every performer feel happy, special, showcased and loved.

So.

Keep in mind at every show that a professional producer (or her professional staff) has put thought and effort into crafting a setlist that balances many elements, not just your act. Every performer can (and should) let the producer know ahead of time if there are aspects to their performance that need to be taken into account in this respect – and every performer should remember that no matter when they step on the stage, it’s time for their star turn.

* Totally a real thing.

Ask The Experts: David Wong

--> "... Because that's the step that gets skipped -- it's always "How can I get a job?" and not "How can I become the type of person employers want?" It's "How can I get pretty girls to like me?" instead of "How can I become the type of person that pretty girls like?" See, because that second one could very well require giving up many of your favorite hobbies and paying more attention to your appearance, and God knows what else. You might even have to change your personality ...

"But I'm not good at anything!" Well, I have good news -- throw enough hours of repetition at it and you can get sort of good at anything. I was the world's shittiest writer when I was an infant. I was only slightly better at 25. But while I was failing miserably at my career, I wrote in my spare time for eight straight years, an article a week, before I ever made real money off it. It took 13 years for me to get good enough to make the New York Times best-seller list. It took me probably 20,000 hours of practice to sand the edges off my sucking.

Don't like the prospect of pouring all of that time into a skill? Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that the sheer act of practicing will help you come out of your shell -- I got through years of tedious office work because I knew that I was learning a unique skill on the side. People quit because it takes too ling to see results, because they can't figure out that the process is the result. The bad news is that you have no other choice.

If you want to work here, close."

- David Wong, 6 Harsh Truths That Will Make You A Better Person

Thoughts For Today: On Showbusiness & Maturity

--> Take pride in your legitimate accomplishments. Express this pride appropriately.
Allowing others to do the same diminishes neither your accomplishments nor your pride.

You have chosen this business: now deal with it like a grownup.

When P.T. Barnum called it "The greatest show on Earth," none of the other circuses immediately got on Facebook to whine about it.

Rope it in. And grow the fuck up.