Further Reading on Sugar

SUGARTIME is an expression of the Burlesque revival. In a nation now so devoid of the pageantry and spectacle needed to sustain a grip …Sugartime provides.

A manifestation of the human inclination to have fun, it is a revisiting and revival of the unsubtle but gorgeous art of teasing attention; providing colour and movement at close quarters

… Sugartime has charm, ch-ch-ch-charm, my dear!

The den of fabulous display is a carnivalesque bar on no less a street than Oxford st. Darlinghurst… each occasion at the venue sports a theme for one’s attire. The Sugartimer’s being thoughtful in that way. Events have varied recently from a night of Leopard skin spots, to Parisian motifs, from Circus Sideshow to Arabesque.

States of dress are attained before the undressing begins. There is dress up on the audience’s part and paring down on the part of the performers. The crowd gathers in well attired array, lining the street in expectation, making no small spectacle of themselves in their finery even before the real show upstairs begins. They add just a touch of daring to the streetscape in a way that the boring attendees of most clubs don’t. Top-hats, feathers, boas and gloves mix, then, once inside, the whole audience, tangled in fish net & pearls, absinthe and cheroots watches on as the night grows delightful. Sword swallowing dare-devilish bewitchers, perky and playfully personable cigarette usherettes, glamour pusses and a swathe of fabulous folk each mingling, gyrating, promenading and posing; the night so much a treat for the sophisticated perv.

A brilliant time was had by all on the night of the carnies. The sideshow, like a Victoriana tableaux come Moulin Rouge of the south cleaves time! The contortionist was bendy and the jugglers were comical, the freaks were out, the twins were chaste as alabaster, we were lead on a devilish dance, the tattooed lady unfurled like a banana, and the long legged lingerie Miss could, it seemed, to the untrained eye, touch the ceiling with her sequined toes. With a DJ score by Mai Tai & Thomas Crown, the whole procession, thoroughly magnifique.

Burlesque is not just stripping. The goal is the journey as they say in the Zen classics. The theatrical moment of many humans in a room watching the antics of others is rich. It is posturing, it is entertainment, is it religion? Whatever it is, the journey is a titillating one here. Evenings are not without naughty moments. Spontaneity is the art for which we pay. And here ‘tis. Your correspondent was a’ gasp (though not at all, aghast…) to see what could possibly be construed as a small befeathered and measured dose of cunnis on display one evening, dear gentle reader. Be not alarmed as it was not a flash of gash, or a dash of slash that could be seen just anywhere in the precinct, but rather an artful, momentary punctuation to a climactic routine of sophisticated cavorting. A beauteous butterfly in the spotlight. 3 minutes on the internet will provide you with more gynecology, several hours in a room of like minded sugertimery enthusiasts however, will inebriate you delightfully.

Turning to the Arabesque, visions glittered and glimmered, and indeed, glamoured. 1001 Opium Nights sauntered in exotically in a slow half daze of smoke. Knife dancing slit the throat of carnal silence, and the evening was away. The Tiki Two spun wildly, like dervishes deranged. Belly dancers, more voluptuous than any harem could contain, took the stage in a caravan of sassy sauce. They seemed to be going to burn it up at one point. I took immediate action and quaffed more champagne. They were the darlings of the proscenium, mesmerizing all. Little Egypt bade us come hither with a belly so neat, her scanty Beledi seemed a garment superfluous to nature! Drag Geisha took the stage in a blaze of energy electrifying the air. Musicians rollicked and some frolicked. Lola, the vamp, a woman so in control of her art form as to be more dominant the greater her state of undress, was magnetic. We are fish on hooks!

Let us hope that we never lose the Burlesque from these events. Let’s hope that a distinctive theatre of the burlesque rises. No matter the beauty or the state of dress, no matter how old, ugly, freakish or exotic, no matter the deep European roots or the oriental fetishism, burlesque can be a venue of expression when done well. Dress-ups is fun, but clubs is just clubs without the show. The city needs, Christ knows, the nation needs more of this! Watch this space … real human performance possesses the very real potential to develop into something new and wonderfully strange.

So Sweet, so timely!

Victoria Mist 2006